Only in Dreams(28)

I hear the woman at the microphone give a loud scream, trying to pull everyone’s attention in. She proceeds to announce the dance style and exactly how everything is going to work, but she is speaking so fast I barely understand what she says.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” I protest, starting to feel anxious about my foreign surroundings.

“You’ll be fine, just watch what everyone else does and go with the flow.” His advice does not bring me any comfort.

Before I can think, the music begins, and we are off. Christian escorts me from one side of the dance floor to the other. In one second my backside is pressed up against him, and in the next I spin around and am handed off to the next man.

I feel my head begin to swirl and my heart pound as I jump across the floor. Christian is right; I only step on a couple sets of toes before I fall into the rhythm of the movements. It is invigorating. I haven’t felt so alive since ... well, for as long as I can remember. Each gentleman I dance with seems more chivalrous than the last, with Christian occasionally working back into my partner rotation.

When the song finally comes to an end, I find myself panting, but better than that, laughing. Laughing so hard it hurts.

“Are you having fun?” Christian asks, his arms wrapped around me for support.

“Are you kidding?” I gasp between breaths. “That was a fucking blast.”

“I told you,” he exclaims. “Now what, you want to ride the mechanical bull?”

I burst out laughing, shaking my head. “No, I think I’ll stick to dancing.” Just as the words leave my lips the next song comes on—a slow song. I sigh, the pure joy of the moment shifting to awkwardness.

Christian doesn’t miss a beat. His hands link behind my lower back as he pulls me in close. Instinctively, I lift my arms and wrap them around his neck. We begin swaying mindlessly to the music. I’m careful not to look into his eyes, but standing so closely, it is difficult.

“I’m really glad to see you having so much fun,” he says.

I blush. Why am I blushing? Damn it. “Thanks for getting me out of the house.”

One of my hands slips from behind his neck, and instead grips his arm. I can feel his fingers playing with the waistband of my jeans, flicking the fabric back and forth. Even though I don’t want to, I find myself looking up into his eyes, searching for some idea of what he might be thinking.

He’s already staring down at me, and in an instant, our eyes lock. I don’t notice when we stop swaying; we’re just standing on the dance floor, looking at each other.

“Are you all right?” he whispers.

I lick my lips, swallow, and nod my head yes. He presses himself against me, and I feel him trailing his fingertips across the top of my panties. I know I should push him away, but I can’t.

“Are you sure?” he asks again. I know what he’s actually asking me. He wants permission to go further. Why aren’t I pushing him away? The pull between us is growing stronger with the intensity in his eyes.

I close my eyes and force myself to turn around; I need to walk away from him before I lose all control. Before I can take a step, I feel his arms wrap around me from behind and pull me back in, his hot breath blowing into my ear as he speaks deeply, “The song’s not over.”

His lips graze my ear, but rather than move them away, he lets them linger, touching my flesh ever so slightly. I can feel a stirring from within my body, and it’s alarming, to say the least.

“I’m so glad you decided to come for a visit,” he says, our bodies backed up against one another, once again swaying to the twang of the love song.

“Is it hot in here?” I ask, desperate to change the subject. “I think it’s hot in here. We should get out of here.”

I can feel his lips shift into a smile against the tip of me ear. The song finally slows and then falls into complete silence. His arms are still around me as I wait for him to move first. He doesn’t.

Lifting my hands, I break his grasp and rush off the dance floor. I can hear him calling after me, but I don’t stop. I walk as fast I can, straight out the front door, gasping for air, swallowing as much of the freshness as I can.

“Paige!” Christian yells as he emerges from the door behind me. “Will you stop? What is going on with you?”

I can feel myself trembling. I turn around and stare at him, my eyes full and wet, and lifting a finger, I point at the door and ask, “What in the hell was that?”

He doesn’t look away; he’s watching me, and I feel my chest begin to constrict again. He walks forward, moving in close. “What do you want it to be?”