Page 9 of Hit Man
“See anyone you like?” she prompts.
With a sigh, I sweep my gaze across the room. Searching for Reason Number One. Until . . . I blink, and . . . find him.
Staring. At. Me.
He’s across the dance floor, leaning against the bar. Dressed casually in black jeans and a black T-shirt. Blatantly watching me.
I hastily glance away. I’m light-headed, giddy. Totally overreacting to the situation. My brain, trained to be active, to be constantly thinking, overthinking things.
He’s here.
He’s here for me.
You’ve probably swallowed a tiny piece of that tequila worm.There’s no rational reason why he’d be here for me. One glance across the open space? That’s some mighty voyeuristic magic I had going on yesterday.
Phat P decides to switch things up and sing us a slow soul song. Couples quickly partner up.
I don’t dare glance back at my stranger. Despite my desperate desire to do so. Instead, I do the next best thing. I begin to dance, losing myself in the tequila and beat. Slowly. Swaying my hips and pretending his hands are on my back, guiding me, his big hands touching my warm skin. Giving in to the croon of Phat P’s music, the sexy words of his song about heartbreak and desire.
“Dios mío. Who started the fire while I was gone?” Renaldo exclaims. I hear Zoey giggle and I ignore them both. My focus on my body, the music . . .him.
No more obsessing about funding, planning my sales pitch, worrying about money and my job and my last-ditch plan. Raising my arms up over my head, I sway and gyrate. Feeling sexy in this red dress. Feeling sexy from the thought of him watching my movements, watching how I’m dancing for him.
Is he watching me?
I open my eyes.
I’ve caught his attention, his gaze is fixed on me. Like a thunderbolt of blazing fire reaching across the space. Arousing me, I feel the heat connection between my thighs and at my core. I. Want. Him. This bold, naughty stranger.
It makes me bold like I’ve never dared to be before. Brazen. I move without constraint, feeling the music, rolling my hips, and swinging my body. I see his jaw tighten and smile. The red dress spreading sexy karma between the distance that separates us.
You. I’m dancing for you.
Once more, I lift my arms overhead. A dance of flirtation. A dance of seduction.
He slowly straightens.
My heart swings into double tempo.
I spin, playing coy. Shaking my ass, getting my sexy on. Breathless with anticipation.
I turn back, eyes wide open yet full of invitation.
And stop dancing.
He’s . . . gone.
I scan the room, searching, searching. Until all I find is disappointment. I read it all wrong.
He hadn’t been here for me, after all.
Someone screams. It’s the kind of scream that begins with a shout, a pause, and bloodcurling screech before it fades off then abruptly ends.
A scream that echoes over the floorboards from across the great room long after it’s been muted.
I’m cold, chilled. Despite the warm bodies and hot, summer night. Despite my brazen come-and-get-me dance. I place my hand on the glass wall. Thankful for its security. Because I know what’s happened.
An accident.
