“Not quite. The thing about legends is they often contain an odd mixture of facts and—”
“Fantasies,” Fiona insisted. “I prefer just pain facts.”
“Okay,” D. C. agreed amiably.
The music had slowed again, and Fiona realized that they were standing very close. So close that she could feel his breath on her cheek.
“So, let’s talk facts. Fact number one here is that I want you and you want me.”
She could hardly deny it. Not when her heart was racing so fast. Not when each cell in her body was yearning.
“And we’re going to have to figure out what to do about it.”
“I—I have to think.”
For an instant, he pulled her closer and she felt the press of his body against hers. This time, if he hadn’t been holding her, she would have melted. Then he gently eased her back. “Don’t you ever just let loose and enjoy yourself?”
She frowned. “Of course I do.”
“When was the last time you did?”
Fiona thought. And thought.
“If you can’t remember, it’s been too long.”
“I’m just taking the time to choose my best example.”
“Right.”
“Okay. I went to the Lincoln Center two weeks ago and enjoyed myself thoroughly.”
“The Importance of Being Earnest?”
She stared at him. “You saw it?”
“It’s one of my favorites.”
Fiona stared at him. “Mine, too. It’s so absurdly ridiculous. I own the DVD.”
“With Reese Witherspoon and Judy Dench.”
She nodded.
“And they said we had nothing in common.”
When he drew her closer, Fiona didn’t resist. And for the first time since she’d stepped into his arms, she allowed herself to relax. He was right about one thing. Doing something just for the pure enjoyment of it wasn’t a regular part of her life. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d danced with a man. When D.C. ran his fingers up her back, she managed not to purr. But she did close her eyes and rest her head against his shoulder.
Just for a moment. But the moment stretched, and Fiona only realized her mistake when she felt the press of bricks against her back. She opened her eyes to find that D.C. had not only steered her off the dance floor, but they were now standing behind the row of Christmas trees that lined the inner wall of the patio. Beyond his shoulder, the tree lights blinked on and off. On and off.
Her heart gave one good kick, then began to race. “If the dance is over, we’d better get to my office.”
“First things first.” He ran one finger down her throat. “I want to kiss you again.”
Fiona stiffened, but it was a thrill that raced through her. “I agreed to a dance, not—”
“You can stop me with a simple no.”
But she didn’t say it. She might not understand it, but there was no denying that she wanted this. Hadn’t she been expecting it all night? Wasn’t that the real reason she’d let down her guard on the dance floor? For this…
He didn’t move so quickly this time, and it gave her time to anticipate. As his head lowered, heat shimmered from her center to her belly and then to her throat. When his tongue traced her mouth, then slipped between her lips, she gripped his shoulders and hung on. His fingers threaded through her hair, then skimmed over her shoulders, and all the while his mouth barely brushed against hers. It wasn’t even a kiss, she thought. Not really. It was more of a promise that she desperately wanted fulfilled.
She heard herself make some small sound. His name? She couldn’t make out the word over the pounding of her heart.
Then those hard hands moved slowly down her body, lingering for a long, breathless moment at the sides of her breasts. Even through the thin silk of her dress, she felt the meticulous press of those hard palms, those calloused fingers as they moved lower down her body to grip her hips.
“I want to touch you, Fiona.” He didn’t wait for permission, but moved in, trapping her between the wall and his body. “I want to really touch you.”
She could feel everything—the sharp nip of his teeth on her bottom lip, the scrape of the bricks against her back, the hard planes and angles of his body. But most of all, she felt that clever hand moving from her hip down her thigh. Fire and ice shimmered in its wake.
“I thought of doing this earlier on the street.” His hot whispered words feathered along her skin and burned through her mind. “And I can’t seem to get it out of my mind.”
As he slid his fingers beneath the hem of her dress and began to push the material up her thigh, she began to tremble—one convulsive shudder after another. As if she’d given him a signal, his mouth became harder, hungrier. And those calloused fingers moved higher and higher up her thigh.