Page 4 of The Devil and the Dancer
You should learn to dance with her.
He should do lots of things. He should be more empathetic to homeless people. He should donate more to the environment. And he should take the dance classes Chloe teased him about. But what vampire took ballroom dance classes? Gavin wasn’t the dancing type, even if he had a keen appreciation for the art form. He always went to Chloe’s shows, and he’d bought season tickets to the ballet. He even watched the horrid dancing reality show she was addicted to on the television. Mostly he appreciated watching Chloe dance around the room he’d had retrofitted for her.
“Wow! I can’t believe your apartment came with a studio like this.”
“I know. I was shocked myself. Not sure what I’ll do with the space, but you’re welcome to use it while you’re here.”
He’d had the gym renovated with mirrors, a wooden floor, and a practice barre two months after they’d met. It had taken less than a week when the right money was thrown at the project.
It had been an impulse decision. Gavin didn’t usually get impulsive about humans. So when he felt the urge, he indulged it. Luckily, it had garnered many hours of pleasure for both Chloe and himself. Chloe because she liked to dance. Gavin because he liked to watch her.
He leaned across the back seat and touched her cheek. “Home, dove.”
She sighed and leaned toward him. “Huh?”
“We’re home.” He ran a finger down her cheek and slung her messenger bag over his shoulder. “Fucking hell, woman, what do you keep in this thing?”
Her eyes were still closed. “Contact lens stuff. Glasses. Change of clothes. Leggings. Shoes.”
“When are you going to start leaving things here? Your room has a closet bigger than most East Village apartments.”
Her eyes flickered open. “Pushy.”
Gavin shook his head and opened his car door, waiting outside for her to wake up and join him. The driver sat idling and silent while Gavin stood, his jaw clenched.
Pushy?For fuck’s sake, he was anythingbutpushy. If he was pushy, she’d have been in his bed months ago. If he was pushy, Chloe Reardon would be in his thrall.
You don’t want that.
Chloe got out of the car and walked around to him, rubbing her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
“You say that”—she stood in front of him as the car pulled away—“but your tone says you’re pissed off at me.”
Gavin walked toward the elevator. “You’re tired. I don’t want to talk about this right now.”
Chloe followed him. “I shouldn’t have called you pushy. You’re not pushy. You’re like… the opposite of pushy.”
He pressed the button to call the elevator and felt the air stir across his skin. He needed a nice long flight tonight. Needed the wind across his skin. Needed—
Chloe nudged his arm out of the way, slid her hand across his back and into the rear pocket of his trousers.
Gavin looked down in surprise. “Miss Reardon, you have your hand on my arse.”
The corner of her mouth quirked up. “Are you complaining?”
“I don’t know,” he muttered. “You’re being a bit pushy.”
Her laugh was punctuated by a small snort, and Gavin broke into a smile. She started to slide her hand out of his pocket, but he grabbed it and kept it exactly where she’d put it.
“Are you planning to keep that there all the way up to the penthouse?”
“Are you worried someone has seen you stake your claim? It’s three in the morning; I think we have the elevator to ourselves.”
Her cheeks flushed a little. “Stake my claim?”
“It’s about fucking time, I’ll add. I like it when you get territorial.”
