Page 48 of Her Reluctant Hero
She snapped her gaze to him, questioning. He looked out over the dance floor, edged closer to her, too uncomfortable with having his back to the door. She drew in on herself, as if she didn’t want any part of herself touching him.
“Bella? Do you see anything?”
She pulled the glass toward her. “It’s so crowded.”
“You want to go?”
“And do nothing?” She shook her head, rolled back her shoulders, before lifting her head in resolve. “We’ll stay.”
She took a sip, then another, and he actually saw it take effect, wondered how often she drank, if she drank to get through what Saldana put her through. Except she was clearly affected after one drink.
She began to move to the music as she looked around. The gentle sway was unconscious. She added a tapping foot, a bounce. Did she want him to ask her to dance? He didn’t dance. He looked out over the packed floor below them. He especially didn’t do that, at least not in public. As one man stood, keeping time to the movement, his partner splayed her hands down his sides, writhing as she lowered herself, till her mouth was even with his belt buckle and he was thrusting his hips at her face.
He turned away to see another man pull his partner back against him. She looped an arm around his neck, her lips parted in pleasure and invitation. His fingers spread wide over her bare belly, his thumb between her breasts, his hips grinding into her ass as she circled it against him in time to the pulsing music.
Christ. Disgusted with himself for watching, for being aroused, he turned away and signaled the waitress. He ordered more drinks, despite a halfhearted protest from Isabella.
She drank quickly, until he caught her wrist, pushing it down to the table.
“You don’t want a rum hangover.”
“Calms my nerves.”
“It’ll make you sloppy. I need you clear-headed and clear-eyed.”
“Right.” She swallowed and slid the drink away.
“You don’t see anyone?”
“You asked me already.”
He braced both hands on the table. “I think this is a waste of time.”
“What else would we do? Please, Alex.”
He saw the guy approaching, straightened automatically, squaring his shoulders. His size, his presence didn’t deter the young man, who only had eyes for Isabella.
“You want to dance?”
Isabella looked pointedly at Alex, but he wasn’t letting her use him as an excuse.
“Go ahead,” he said, lifting his bottle of beer by the neck.
She drew back as if surprised by his attitude. Slow learner. Still, he thought she might blow the guy off on her own. Instead she tossed her head back with the least amount of confidence he’d ever seen in her and straightened.
“Sure.” She tucked her arm through the stranger’s and followed him onto the floor.
Everything in Alex went tight. He couldn’t stand seeing her easy casualness with this man. He’d watched her dance with the security guard last night.
Today he’d seen evidence of what she’d told him about her life in the compound.
If this man laid a hand on her, he’d snap it off.
God, the woman couldn’t help being sexy. He didn’t like seeing her be sexy for someone else. Still, like every man here, his eyes were drawn to her.
She moved like a wet dream, sinuous, her movements so graceful, gorgeous. Her body in that dress had its own message, one the man she danced with received and responded to, moving closer, reaching for her. She danced backwards, as far as the pressing crowd allowed. The man pursued, but with a smile, Isabella moved away to the beat of the music.
Her partner moved after her, acting like the pursuer in some cat-and-mouse game. Isabella kept her smile, but made her message—no—clear, at least to Alex.
