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  “You’ve never been with a woman who liked to be on top?”

  “Well...” Niall looked as though he were considering the idea. “Literally, sure. But not with the whips and leather and whatever.”

  I laughed, loud and long, turning heads.

  “What?” he said.

  “It’s not like that.” I shook my head and took a sip, letting the flavor of the good wine coat my tongue before I continued. “I mean, it can be like that, I guess. For people who like it that way.”

  “And you don’t?”

  I gave him a serious look. He seemed genuinely curious, so I gave him an honest answer. “No. Not really. I can play with the toys, sure, and the clothes can be fun. But overall? No. That’s not really what it’s about.”

  “So...what is it about? I just don’t get it.” He made a face. “What guy wants to be dominated?”

  “Lots of guys. Believe me.”

  He smiled, looking into my eyes. “Oh, you could make me believe it.”

  “Don’t flirt with me if you’re not ready to deal with the consequences,” I told him, putting the tiniest bit of edge in my voice, just to see what he’d do.

  Esteban’s gaze would’ve gone dark and shadowed; he likely would’ve shuddered a little, just enough for me to see. He would’ve made a small, low noise of arousal. His cock would’ve gotten hard, and I’d have known that, too.

  But Niall was not Esteban. He leaned closer, just enough to let his knee brush mine and his breath caress my cheek as he said into my ear, “Who says I’m not ready?”

  We were close enough to kiss, if I were the sort of woman to make out with a man I barely knew on a bar stool at a hotel bar during a Bar Mitzvah party. Instead, I let my cheek barely graze his before I pulled away and gestured at the bartender for two more drinks. Niall watched me for a second before sitting back.

  He watched me sign the tab with my room number before he said, “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “You can pay for them, if it really rubs you wrong. Or you could let that free beer slap you in the face,” I told him serenely and crossed my legs.

  His gaze flickered to the glimpse of thigh and stockings I’d given him, albeit not quite on purpose. “You’re not going to insist?”

  “You really do have it all wrong.” The wine I’d just finished was working to loosen my tongue.

  “You said that, but you haven’t told me what it is like.” Niall turned his bottle around and around on top of the bar. “So, tell me.”

  “You want to know why I think you’re confusing?”

  He blinked at the change of direction but said, “I do. Yeah.”

  I leaned toward him. “You took my picture home. You asked me out. We went out. Then you blew me off. Said you’d call and didn’t. Said you wanted to take me out. Didn’t.”

  “I...something came up,” he said lamely.

  I raised a brow.

  Niall looked shamefaced but didn’t say anything else. Around us, people laughed and chattered. On the dance floor not so far away in the ballroom, couples were getting down to The Electric Slide. Niall gestured toward the dance floor, a question in his eyes, but I shook my head.

  “But you could go out there. Find yourself some cute young thing as a partner.” I looked past him to the crowd beyond then met his eyes again. “Don’t let me keep you.”

  “You’re not keeping me from anything. I want to talk to you.”

  I laughed, and an uncommon flush of heat rose in my cheeks. I toyed with my wineglass and gave him a sideways glance, not certain why I found it suddenly difficult to meet his eyes. “Why?”

  “Because you’re beautiful,” Niall said simply. “And fascinating. And there’s nobody else in this place that I’d rather be sitting next to.”

  My stomach dropped like I’d crested the highest hill of a roller coaster and begun that throat-clogging plummet. I swallowed wine to keep myself from saying something stupid like “no, I’m not,” or “I’m sure there could be.” I gave my head the faintest shake, though. Not so much in denial or disbelief as a warning. I’d meant what I said about consequences, though he’d clearly disregarded me.

  “You want to know what it’s like, for me?”

  “Being a dominatrix? Yeah.”

  I didn’t laugh, though a small and somewhat indulgent smile tugged the corners of my mouth. “I’m not a dominatrix. That sounds like someone who does it professionally. Like a job. I am a dominant woman, but I don’t like the labels, and I don’t charge my lovers for my services, either.”

  “Lovers,” Niall said in a low voice, leaning close again. “I’ve never met a woman who called them that.”

  “Well. They weren’t boyfriends. What would I call them? What do you call women you slept with, but didn’t date?”

  Niall’s eyes went wide for a second before he laughed, startled. “I don’t... I guess I never... Flings? One-night stands?”

  “I’ve never had a one-night stand.”

  “Don’t tell me it’s because you’re too shy. Or reserved.”

  “No,” I told him, leaning closer to be sure he could feel the gust of my breath on his neck and ear. “No man I’ve ever taken to bed has been satisfied with just one time.”

  Again, we were close enough to kiss. This time, I didn’t pull back. Not right away. I breathed him in.

  “You smell delicious,” I said.

  “Don’t flirt with me unless you’re ready to deal with the consequences,” Niall said.

  There, right there, was when he had me.

  “Clever boy,” I murmured. “Who says I’m not ready?”

  Niall eased back on the bar stool and looked over his shoulder toward the lobby elevators. Then back at me. His smile, an invitation I discovered I wanted to take.

  I slipped off the bar stool and put my hand out. He took it automatically, which was what I’d expected. He might not be submissive, but he was a gentleman, I’d seen that already. I squeezed his fingers then leaned in once more to say into his ear, “Come dance with me.”

  * * *

  There’s a part of every wedding reception or Bar Mitzvah party where things start to go sideways. Sometimes it’s when Grandma gets a little out of control after too many gin and tonics, or that couple on the verge of breaking up decides now’s the time and place, or the bride’s brand-new mother-in-law loses her shit about that whore her son married. Most of the time, it’s just toward the end of the night when jackets and shoes have been tossed and people start getting down to the Chicken Dance because they’ve lost all sense of what constitutes appropriate dance-floor behavior.

  I love that part of the night.

  “C’mon,” I told Niall with my hand out for him to take. “Show me what you’ve got.”

  A lot, as it turned out. The DJ had started playing “Wobble” by V.I.C. just as we entered the ballroom, hard on the heels of “You Shook Me All Night Long,” so anyone who was going to dance was already on the parquet dance floor. The paid dancers who’d been showing everyone how to do the latest group dance now started putting people in lines to do the steps to this song. I already knew them, but seeing Niall jump in without hesitation, adding his own flair to the drops and turns, totally made my night. It wasn’t only that he knew how to do the dance, but also that he did it unapologetically, with enthusiasm. And style.

  Oh, I was a goner.

  The song ended with us both laughing. He pulled me into his arms as the music slowed a little. Not a slow song, thank goodness. This DJ knew what he was doing to keep the party hopping even as it was winding down. But slow enough that it felt okay for Niall to ease me a little closer.

  “Your grandma’s watching us,” he said into my ear before twirling me out and then in again.

  He dipped me, and I let him. “That’s not my grandma.”

  “She’s clearly someone’s grandma,” Niall whispered into my ear.

  “Then you’d better behave.”

  “If that’s what you really want. I th