Her cheeks heated. Time to change the subject. “What about you? Are things serious between you and Jon?” He didn’t seem her type at all. He was a restaurant owner and . . . old.
“No, we’re just friends. I like spending time with him. He’s stable. Dependable.”
Portia wondered if her sister was using Jon in some way, but for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out what her beautiful, eccentric musician of a sister would need from a man like Jon. “I would’ve thought you’d like Braden. He’s sexy, confident—”
“Infuriating. Domineering. He’s too much work. Besides, I’m not sticking around much longer. Why start something if it’s not going somewhere?”
Portia couldn’t help but laugh at her sister’s reaction. “You just told me to have a fling. Why can’t you?”
Viola crossed her arms and gave her a pointed stare which said not to push the matter any further. “Different circumstances. Now, are you ready for your double date? I believe it’s time to go dancing.” She winked and swung out the door.
Right, her double date.
She couldn’t wait.
The pounding bass of the music drowned out all conversation, allowing Portia the luxury of focusing on her body’s movement to the beat rather than Dillon and Ryan. They hadn’t let up on their pissing match over her. If it weren’t for the fact she hadn’t seen her sister in a while and she loved to go clubbing, she would’ve called it a night after dinner. As it was, they only had a short time before she and Ryan had to return to the mansion to make curfew. She shook her head and laughed to herself. Her entire life, she’d never had a curfew. Tonight, she was glad Alexander had made it a condition of the Will.
She closed her eyes, still seeing the red laser lights flashing behind her lids. The voices of flirtatious young women and eager young men and the scents of cologne and sweat disappeared, leaving only her and the music. It was the same as when she danced on stage. A contentment which bordered on bliss filled her, erasing all her worries and doubts.
Pressure against her hipbones alerted her to a change. The beat had slowed to a four-four tempo as the male singer lamented over lost love. Since when did they play slow songs at a club? Add it to one of the many differences between New York and Michigan. The cloying scent of musk assaulted her.
Dillon.
She reluctantly opened her eyes and stumbled, her equilibrium thrown off by the lights. Dillon’s arm banded around her waist to steady her.
“Thanks,” she murmured, uncomfortable by his audacity to use the opportunity to pull her closer. How long did she have to dance with him before she excused herself? The whole song?
“I’m glad I got the chance to meet you. I’d like to see you again. You know, without your other date.” He smiled, his eyes dipping to her lips.
How could she explain and let him down easy? “Ryan’s not my—”
“Can I cut in?” Ryan asked, suddenly appearing next to them. His tone sounded casual, but the darkness in his eyes suggested anything but.
Dillon released his grip and gave a little laugh. “You were saying?” He nodded at Ryan as if to say ‘it’s not over,’ and swaggered over to the bar.
At that moment, Portia wanted to stomp off the dance floor and take a cab home. She was tired of the tug-o-war. “What the hell, Ryan?”
He didn’t give her a chance to get away before he splayed his hand on the small of her back and yanked her tight to him, her breasts smashing against the planes of his chest, his knee between her thighs, hitting that spot which most men couldn’t find with a flashlight and a roadmap.
“What the hell? What do you think you’re doing with that loser?” he hissed, his other hand moving to support the nape of her neck. “Do I need to remind you where you’ll be sleeping tonight?”
“You don’t need to remind me of anything. I’m not going to sleep with Dillon. I hardly know him!” That look in his eyes, the one which proclaimed her as his possession, set her heart racing. She should demand he unhand her. She should tell him off. Instead, her hips were automatically grinding against his thigh. What was she doing?
“I know you’re not going to sleep with Dillon. Because you’re already sleeping with me. And there’s no room for anyone else in our bed.” His hand swept from her nape down the side of her neck. His finger brushed across her collarbone, making her acutely aware of him in a way she had never experienced. She clenched her hand into a fist to keep from exploring the erection pressed against her thigh.
“I . . .” Climax just out of reach, she couldn’t speak. Desperate, she pressed her swollen clit into the hard muscles of his leg.