Every Part of You: Resists Me Read online

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  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Notice

  Begin Reading

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Simone took Elliott to the place she thought he’d like the least. Loud music, black light, goth decor. Guys in eyeliner, girls in latex dresses. Expensive liquor. Honestly, it wasn’t one of Simone’s favorite places even when she’d been younger and more into this scene, but she could fit in here if she tried. She’d layered her eyes with thick, black shadow and painted her mouth the color of fresh blood. Spiked her hair. The transformation had taken only a few minutes, and she’d looked at Elliott’s face carefully when she came out of the office lobby restroom, watching to see his reaction.

  He hadn’t looked scared.

  She couldn’t get a read on him, but at least she could tell that much. Now, sipping from a bottle of beer while he drank whiskey on the rocks, Simone studied him. He hadn’t so much as loosened his tie. “Wanna dance?”

  Elliott looked like he was at least considering the idea before he slowly shook his head. He lifted his glass toward her. “You go ahead.”

  Simone rolled her eyes and tipped her bottle at him, mirroring what he’d done. “You’re in a dance club. But you’re not going to dance?”

  “Nope.”

  She took a long pull on the beer and set the bottle on the small highboy table an arm’s length away. “Scared?”

  Elliott looked surprised. Then he laughed, cutting his gaze from hers. It was a surprisingly endearing look on him, that hesitant humor.

  “No,” he said. “Should I be?”

  Simone grinned. “I’m a really good dancer. Maybe you can’t keep up.”

  “Maybe.” Elliott finished off the whiskey and signaled to the bartender for another.

  “Maybe,” Simone said, leaning closer, “you just like to watch.”

  Elliott took the glass from the bartender and slid a ten-dollar bill across the bar without looking at her. He drank before giving her his gaze. There was a smile there, too. Not shy. She still couldn’t read him, which intrigued and irritated her. Usually she was better at figuring out the machinations of men. But though she’d seen Elliott in a lot of intimate positions, she had to admit that she really didn’t know him at all. He tipped his head toward the dance floor like he was offering her a challenge and took another slow, deliberate drink.

  Simone hadn’t come here to stand around at the bar all night, that was for sure. Why exactly she had come here, she didn’t want to think about. Didn’t want to give that much power to her emotional reaction to what Aidan had told her. So now she leaned in close enough to smell Elliott’s musky soap scent and feel the heat of his skin on her cheek.

  “When you want me, you’ll know where to find me.”

  Her lips brushed his cheek so close to his mouth that all it would take was him saying a single word for that touch to become a kiss, but Elliott didn’t answer. Simone didn’t wait. With a laugh, she pushed away from him and, looking over her shoulder just once, moved through the crowd to hit the dance floor.

  It was lower than the rest of the club and surrounded by metal railings, making it possible for observers to lean and watch without getting in the way of the dancing. Having an audience had never been Simone’s thing. Voyeur, not exhibitionist. Still, knowing that Elliott was indeed watching her had set her heart to beating just a little faster.

  She loved the song that came on as she hit the dance floor. A steady, grinding industrial beat. Sexy lyrics. It was music made for fucking, and what was dancing but fucking with your clothes on? At least if you were doing it right, she thought with a grin as she gave another glance over her shoulder to see that Elliott had taken up a spot along the railing. His hands gripped the metal. How had she not noticed how big they were?

  Then, she was dancing.

  With herself at first, though after a minute the girl next to her turned to shimmy and shake, easing closer. Simone matched the other woman’s moves. She wasn’t into girls, as a rule, though she could appreciate a beautiful female body and she’d experimented a time or two with the making-out thing. This girl wasn’t trying to come on to her. She was a reverse image of Simone, almost ridiculously so, like a photographic negative. Short, white-blonde hair, but deeply tanned skin. Dark eyes. Pale mouth. Even her clothes, covered in sequins and glitter, were the opposite of Simone’s tailored shirt and skirt.

  They turned heads when they picked up a coordinated set of steps. The other woman grinned, tossing her blonde hair and shaking her ass. Simone, laughing, matched it.

  And this, this was what she loved. Losing herself in the music. Not giving a single tiny fuck about how she looked or what anyone thought. Letting it all out, getting loose, it didn’t matter if she made a fool of herself or seduced an army, all that mattered was giving in to the need to move her body.

  The song changed, and with a little bow the other woman danced away, leaving an empty space that was filled immediately by a tall man with a fringy Mohawk and amazing biceps revealed by his black tank top. Splashed in white across the front of it was a rabbit with a skull face and the name of a band Simone had heard of but never listened to. In the black light overhead, his teeth gleamed very bright.

  He didn’t grab her—that would have earned him a not-so-accidental kick to the shins or a jab to the side. Instead, he held out a hand almost formally, like an old-fashioned gentleman asking a lady for a waltz. The gesture was incongruous in this crowd of jerking, twisting, and grinding dancers, but it worked. Simone took his hand and let him twirl her. Again, the music changed, one song blurring into the next, and they both moved with it at the same time.

  His lips moved, speaking words she couldn’t hear and didn’t care to interpret. Shaking her head, Simone indicated that she couldn’t understand him. With his hand still in hers, he tugged, bringing his mouth closer to her ear so she could hear his question.

  “What’s your name?”

  It was her usual practice never to give her real name to men she met in bars, but this time Simone didn’t even have to come up with the standard answer of “Mary” or “Susan.” Before she could say a word, a big hand had gripped the tall guy’s shoulder, half turning him. Elliott, with a smile that was all teeth, didn’t have to say a word. All he did was jerk his chin to the side, and the tall guy gave Simone a sheepish grimace and ducked out of the way.

  “Thought you didn’t dance,” she shouted over the beat and throb of the music as Elliott pulled her into his arms.

  She’d expected a bob and weave. Maybe even a grinding pelvis against her, that was common enough. She ought to have known better from Elliott Anderson.

  That man could dance.

  One hand on her waist, the other taking her free hand, he led her into a pseudo jitterbug/waltz combination that kept them spinning until the other people on the dance floor cleared the way. Simone hadn’t done any formal dancing in years, though once upon a time she’d taken lessons every week. Elliott, however, knew how to lead, so that even a woman who hadn’t had any dance training might’ve been able to keep up with him—but he took it one better when he saw that Simone knew the steps. He raised his brows at her after a slightly more complicated combination of steps, and Simone, grinning, heart pounding, nodded.

  “Let’s go,” she cried.

  That’s when Elliott really began to dance.