Page 31 of Marlowe Banks, Redesigned
Marlowe stammered out more excuses but she wasn’t at her most articulate with a few drinks already buzzing through her system and so many people watching her. She’d always floundered when under observation, and this was no exception. The voices rose and the pressure mounted until she caved and drew a slip of paper from the basket. She unfolded it and read the dare to herself. Before anyone else could read it, she crumpled it up, grabbed the nearest shot, and tossed it back.
“Looks like I lost,” she said, which, of course, was when she dropped the paper.
Tanareve snatched it up and flattened it out before Marlowe could stop her.
“Dance with the person on your left,” she read. “You can’t forfeit this one. It’s too easy. Anyone can manage a dance.”
“Yeah, but I haven’t really, and he’s not, and we don’t—” Marlowe backed up, rotated her body, tried desperately to ensure someone else—anyoneelse—was on her left, but the club was toocrowded and she didn’t get far. Idi and Whitman were already chanting for Angus to stop sulking, others joined in, and before Marlowe knew what was happening, a hand slipped around hers and she was being dragged onto the dance floor.
“You don’t have to do this,” she said as Angus pivoted around to face her, both of them jostled by the throng of sweaty bodies bouncing all around them.
His chin tipped up, as it so often did. “Think you can’t handle it?”
“I’ll ‘handle it’ just fine, thank you very much.”
“Figured I should ask. I can’t always tell what ‘vibe’ I’m giving off.”
She rolled her eyes. Were they really going to fight again? Here? Now?
“Let’s call it anI’d rather be anywhere but herevibe,” she said.
“Bad call and untrue. I could be in a pit of snakes. Shark tank. Gulag.”
“Then I’m grateful I can spare you the pain.” She shot him a light sneer before closing her eyes and focusing on the downbeat, letting her body settle into just enough movement to officially complete the dare. If Angus was willing to dance with her, she could manage a few minutes of swaying in his presence. Especially with her eyes shut.
As before, the music found its way in. The crowd. The heat. The noise. The rhythm. The raw power of lost inhibitions that sparked from person to person as they pulsed en masse. Also, that last tequila shot felt amazing. Marlowe should hang out with rich people more often. They bought the good stuff. It coursed through her veins, freeing her body to twist and thrust as her arms rose over her head and she stopped holding back.
A knee grazed hers. Then another. Accidental, surely, with the crowd pressing in on all sides, but when a hand brushed her waist, her eyes popped open. Her breath caught at the sight of Angus dancing closer now, his elbows bent and his hands hovering near the waistband of her skirt. He was watching her in that way he had, as though he didn’t give a damn if he got caught staring, as though there was no shame in looking at something—or someone—that piqued his curiosity. And it was…
Hot. Really hot. Knee-weakening, skin-tingling, how-much-did-I-drink-again hot.
Angus registered her intake of breath, leaving her three options. One: let him know he’d flustered her. Two: act like something else had unsettled her and step away to regain space. Three: pretend she was totally unfazed that he was touching her, fitting himself against her, matching her movement. The first was out of the question. The second demanded acting skills beyond her reach. Also—did shereallywant space?
As his hand settled on her waist and stayed there, she set her hands on his shoulders. Played along. That’s what they were doing, right? Playing a game? Fulfilling a dare? Except his shoulders were like a dare unto themselves. Good lord.
“Tanareve seems great,” Marlowe said, using the name like a shield.
“She is great.” Angus inched closer, swaying with an even rhythm centered in his hips. “We’ve known each other for ages. She gets the whole scene. The pressures. The paparazzi. The lack of privacy. The way people think they know you from what they see on a screen.” He gave Marlowe a pointed look.
She stiffened at his jibe but the tension didn’t last long, not with the heat and the motion and the tequila. Also, both of Angus’shands were on her waist now and they felt good there. They probably felt good a lot of places. A thought she instantly aborted.
“So I’m not allowed to draw any conclusions about you?” she asked, a little breathless now. “Even from what youchooseto put out into the world?”
“That’s the trick, isn’t it? Knowing what I’ve chosen.” His breath gusted faster, too, laced with spearmint or peppermint. Toothpaste, probably. Clean and unpretentious.
“Why do I get the feeling you’re not going to tell me?”
“Because I’ve wasted way too much energy defending myself to people who didn’t bother getting to know me. It got me nowhere. I don’t do it anymore. So you can pick through what you find on the Internet, crafting whatever version of me suits your purpose, or you can ignore all the noise and judge the person in front of you. Your call.”
The person in front of me,she thought. The one with the tiger’s eyes and the full lips and the strong hands gripping her waist. The one with his thumbs rubbing circles so faint she could almost convince herself they weren’t moving at all. Almost.
It was all too much. After half a year of sleeping alone, showering alone, never holding a hand or snuggling on a sofa or even leaning a head on a shoulder to watch the clouds go by, Marlowe’s body took over. Every warning light sputtered and went out. Every wall crumbled. Her hands laced together behind Angus’s neck. Her thighs wedged more tightly against his. His hips met hers. And still, it all felt so good, so right. Maybe it shouldn’t, but it was only a dance. She might as well enjoy the hell out of it.
Lights strobed. Beats overlapped as DJs blended two tracks, one loud and driving, the other softer, lower, more like thethunk-thunk-thunkof a heartbeat. Swaying turned into grinding. Angus’shand slid to the center of Marlowe’s lower back, fingers splayed open. She arched against them, bringing her chest to his as her hands rode upward into his hair. It was softer than she’d expected, like the silken threads that dangled off cut satin. He found her skin beneath the hem of her tank top, barely, but enough to send a shiver rippling to her toes and back. Again, he registered the way she responded to him. It wasn’t fair, the way he saw, the way he knew, but she didn’t pull away, couldn’t pull away, not when he was right there, so close and so strong and so beautiful.
That sense of desire has to reach straight through the camera,Lex had said hours earlier. The cameras were off now, and halfway across L.A., but damn if Marlowe wasn’t nailing her performance. Angus wasn’t exactly the picture of indifference, either. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes were glassy, and his chest was rising and falling rapidly. An effect of dancing or of something else entirely?
He skated a hand around her ear and she nearly imploded.
