Hard Bastard(91)

“Now that’s what I call classic,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“Old people dancing to old music.”

I laughed. “It does look a little . . . slow.”

“And you prefer it fast,” he said. Not a question, but a statement.

I hit his thigh. “Cut it out.”

He looked innocent. “What? Just making the logical assumption.”

“Yeah, you’re so logical all the time, aren’t you?”

“I sure am. Just because I didn’t go to college doesn’t mean I can’t think.”

I ground my teeth. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh, sorry, my uneducated brain must not have understood.”

I shook my head, frustrated, and he grinned hugely at me.

“Do you ever turn off?” I asked him.

“Can’t turn off perfection.”

“That makes no sense.”

“Makes sense to me. Why are you so on edge tonight, anyway?”

I sighed and took a sip of my wine. “I don’t know. I hate this sort of thing, I guess.”

“What, a charity event full of old white people?”

I laughed. “Yeah, that. Also crowds and working for your mom.”

“I don’t blame you there.”

“I shouldn’t complain. She’s been good to me.”

“You can feel however you feel, Brie baby. It’s cool.”

I blinked, surprised by his decent response. “Was that a glimmer of humanity I just got from you?”

He laughed, and I wanted to reach forward and kiss the stubble along his throat.

“Don’t get used to it.”

He leaned back in his chair and finished his wine in three big gulps, gesturing at the waitress for another. She quickly came over to refill it. I rolled my eyes at him as she left.

“Fame must be nice,” I said.

“Has its perks.”

I looked across the room, trying to spot my dad or Jules, but couldn’t see either of them. “Did you see my dad yet?” I asked.

He froze in his seat. “Cliff is here?”

I gave him a look. “Yeah, of course. It’s his wife’s event.”

“I just figured he was too busy.”

“Nope. He’s here. What’s the deal, why do you look weird?”

He shook his head and composed himself, but for a moment there he looked like he had seen a ghost. His expression was quickly rearranged into his usual cocky grin, but I couldn’t help but wonder what that had meant.

“Not a thing, sweet Brie. Want to dance?”

I laughed. “Dance? Can’t you barely walk?”

He jerked his head at the dance floor. “Look at that pace. I think I can handle it.”

“I don’t know. I don’t want to push you.”

He leaned in close and I felt the blood rush to my brain. “You couldn’t push me too far even if you tried.”

“Okay. Let’s see about that.” I pushed my chair back and stood up.

His face broke out into a huge smile as he struggled to his feet and grabbed his stupid, skull-headed cane. “That’s the spirit.”

We walked together out toward the dance floor as the original song ended and another began. We stood for a second and watched how the old people were dancing.

“Think you can handle it?” he asked me.

“After you, Prince Charming.”

He dropped his cane onto the carpet and stepped out onto the floor, gesturing for me. I stepped up against him, standing with my hand in his and his arm on my hip, the oldest and most cliché dance position ever.

“Think my cane is safe there? These old dudes look pretty shady.”

I giggled softly. “I think you’re safe.”

We began to dance, matching the pace of the people around us. It was a simple step, just a few paces and a turn, and the rhythm was easy enough.

For a second, the world fell away. Lincoln wasn’t my stepbrother and I wasn’t stressed about Jules and being stuck at home without any friends in the area. There was just me and him, his strong hands guiding me, his breath close against my face, and my heart beating hard in my chest. I didn’t care who saw us or what they thought. The only thing I wanted was for the song to keep playing. He was smooth and strong and confident, and we quickly fell into an easy step together. Despite his injuries, he never fell behind or gave any indication that his legs were bothering him.

I breathed deeply and filled myself with his smell, losing myself in him. I had never danced that way before with anyone, had really only ever danced with guys in clubs, but for some reason it was so much more intimate with Lincoln. Although my ass wasn’t crushing up against his dick, and we looked like proper rich people, I still felt like we were coming closer together than I ever had with anyone else. Maybe it was the glass of wine, though I doubted it.