The song fades into another as I step onto the dance floor, a Latin song with a sexy, driving rhythm. I watch the man’s hands slide toward her ass as her arms lift to drape over his shoulders and pull him closer.

And then I’m there, shoving him out of the way, my hands replacing his.

“Hey—”

“Mine,” I growl at him.

To his credit, the dude merely lifts his hands in surrender before backing away. I don’t know where he goes after that, because my eyes are locked on Lucy.

I expect her to be pissed at my high-handedness, but although she goes momentarily still, she recovers quickly, her arms wrapping around my neck as she picks up the rhythm once more, and I don’t think it’s my imagination that her movements are slower now. Sexier. Seductive.

I move right along with her.

I’m not one for dancing, but this I can handle. This slow swaying is little more than a grind, and though I don’t know a lick of Spanish, the gist of the song is clear. It’s a promise of hot sweaty nights, of my hands on her skin, my mouth on her mouth….

I’ve pulled her closer now, a little unnerved by how right it feels that after all this time we move together so well.

The rhythm shifts; there’s an interlude with a woman’s voice, and Lucy pulls back slightly, hands sliding over my chest, her gaze locked on mine, teeth dragging against her bottom lip in blatant seduction.

She slowly turns, and my fingers grip harder, thinking she means to move away, but she’s merely pivoting, turning so that her back’s pressed to my chest, her small ass tucked against me.

Shit. Holy hell and fuck. I’m dying.

I can’t help myself. My hands skim over her sides, down over her hips, slowly teasing the fabric upward, just enough so that my fingertips can touch her bare outer thighs. I feel her freeze for a half second before she resumes her torturous wiggling, more deliberate this time, her ass teasing my cock which hardens more with every breath.

We go on like this endlessly, torturing each other, the music, the lack of words, the unfamiliar city somehow letting us pretend that this is all a dream. That in real life, we didn’t break each other’s hearts, that we won’t hate each other tomorrow.

The song slows to a stop long before I’m ready, the DJ coming on the microphone to babble about some shit.

Lucy turns back around slowly, both of us breathing hard as we stare at each other.

What was that? her green eyes ask.

I shake my head once. Don’t know.

The closest I can come up with is dry humping, and that’s not nearly sexy enough to describe what just happened.

Without a word, she turns and walks back toward our table. She picks up her drink, which is now mostly just ice and water, but I grab her wrist and pull the drink away.

She frowns and I frown back.

“Don’t be stupid,” I say, lifting the drink. “Picking up a drink that’s been unattended in a club. Really?”

She shakes her head a little, pushing her hair back from her face. “You’re right. You’re right. Stupid. I’ve probably had enough rum.”

Stupid is right. Both of us.

“You wanna get out of here?” I ask.

She nods, and I’m relieved. Everyone around us is one drink away from screwing. Not the sort of atmosphere we need to be in. I need fresh air, a glass of water, a change of scenery….

Instinctively, I hold out my hand for hers, and the second we make contact, palm to palm, I realize that we’re so not out of the woods yet.

This godforsaken club is the least of our problems.

Because somehow, Lucy Hawkins and I are supposed to survive a dirty dance, one too many drinks, and then share a hotel room without touching each other.

I mentally add a cold shower to my agenda for the evening.

Chapter 20

Lucy

So, silver lining?

At least I’m not thinking of Oscar anymore.

Reece deliberately picked places near our hotel so that we’d be able to walk back, and as we leave the club, I feel a flash of gratitude, because I’ll have a chance to gather my thoughts, clear my head, and get the hell out of the danger zone.

But we’re in Miami, and it’s summer. The air is thick and heavy, just like the tension between us.

Why did he come dance with me? Why?

Except I know why. I love to dance, I’ve always loved to dance, and I wasn’t trying to make Reece jealous with that other guy, really I wasn’t. I’d just needed to feel…wanted. Reece had been kind but platonic all evening, and Oscar, well…he was probably in that other girl’s bed.

So when the guy with the grabby hands had wanted to dance with me when nobody else had…sure.

Only Reece wasn’t nearly as immune as I’d thought, and somehow it’d gone from what was supposed to be a freeing night out, embracing an “All the single ladies” vibe, and it had turned into…well, whatever this is.

Neither of us says anything as we make the slow trek back to the hotel, and all I can think about is that we’re sharing a room.

To distract myself, I try to remember all the reasons why letting him anywhere near me would be a bad idea. I try to remember what it was like when I’d seen him kissing another girl.

But the rum is messing with my brain, and now the only place my memory wants to go is Reece and me together. The first time he’d kissed me. The first time he’d touched my breast over the shirt. Under the shirt.

The first time I’d given him head, the first time he’d put his head between my thighs, and then finally, the first time he’d thrust inside me, the pain and the wonderfulness all wrapped into one glorious memory.