Wrong (A Bad Boy Romance)(3)

“Of course.” She slides her hand into mine. Her fingers are long and slim, and I notice her nails are cut short. There’s no polish on them at all. I wonder why. Most of the rest of the women here are dressed and groomed to the nines, right down to the perfect manicures. I find her blunt, plain nails intriguing. I find everything else about her intriguing, too.

We weave through the crowd until we reach the area where other couples are dancing. I swing her out to arm’s length and then draw her back against me, and we sway into the rhythm of the music.

There’s a thing about dancing. Maybe it’s just me, but when I have a woman tucked up nice and close against me, swaying to the music, her body moving against mine, all I can think about is sex. I want to slide my hand down the curve of her back, cup her ass with my fingers, see how close I can get to her pussy before she cuts me off. But I won’t do that, because I want to keep dancing. She told me to keep my hands to myself, so I’m going to have to stay polite if I want to keep her here in this perfectly chaste, perfectly acceptable embrace.

Still, that doesn’t stop me from thinking about it. Glancing down, I can see between the twin mounds of her breasts. My hand would fit perfectly in the dark space between them. She’d be warm there, the heat collecting under her tits. I could slip my fingers around to the front, pinch her nipple…

My hand is splayed across the small of her back, and I jerk back to myself as she gives me a slight head tilt. I realize my dick is rock hard; she can probably feel it as we sway together. I give her a smile. It’s probably pretty smug. But there’s nothing I can do about my dick. It has a mind of its own. Right now it wants to be inside Sarah.

I can’t say I don’t agree. What would Sal think about that, if I fucked his woman? He wouldn’t like it one bit, I’m sure. Suddenly I’m thinking about what Sal’s face would look like if I fucked Sarah and he found out about it. Face red, veins bulging. Maybe he’d drop dead from a stroke, or a heart attack. Wouldn’t that be a kick? Easiest way ever for me to take over as Spada’s favored successor.

I sober then, focusing again on Sarah, letting my gaze settle on hers. My own thoughts unsettle me. A few months ago, chortling to myself about somebody’s death would have been par for the course. But not so much now. I want Sal’s position, sure. I want his woman, sure. But I don’t really want his death. There are better ways.

Sarah tips her head again, her brows drawing together in a frown. “What are you thinking about?”

I shake my head. “Nothing.” Then I think better of it and lean forward to whisper in her ear, “I’m thinking about taking your clothes off and fucking you up against a wall.”

Her hand tightens on mine, and her frown deepens. “I don’t think that’s appropriate. Let me go.”

Rather than letting her go, I pull her a little closer. “They’re just thoughts. Thoughts don’t hurt anyone.”

I feel her relaxing against me. “Maybe you should think about something else.”

“Probably.” I swing her around, give her a little dip, and grin. The playfulness of it seems to defuse her suspicions a little. She’s enchanting. Why in the world is she stuck with Sal?

Somebody should do something about that. And, I decide, that somebody should be me.

“You should run away with me,” I tell her.

She laughs. It’s got a nervous edge to it. “I can’t do that.”

“Sure you can. Let’s go. Right now. I’ll take you home with me.”

“Why would you even want to do that?”

I can’t quite read her voice. It’s the tiniest bit shaky. Is she afraid? Excited? Then her eyes cut to one side and I realize she’s looking for Sal. And she’s afraid. Of him, not of what I’m suggesting to her. Something twists in my chest.

I keep my voice light, though. Teasing. It’s just a game. So far, anyway. “I like you.” It’s true enough.

“You barely know me.”

Also true.

“Do I need to know anything more than that you turn me on?”

She tosses her head in a movement that would have tossed her hair behind her back if it wasn’t in that fancy updo. “Well.” Her voice is tight now. She’s chastising me. I like it. “It’d be nice, don’t you think, to know you have something in common with the person you’re planning to carry home to your caveman cave?”

I just laugh. I wonder if she’s this sassy with Sal. Probably not. I can’t picture Sal putting up with it. Honestly that just makes me sad. A woman with this kind of spunk ought to be allowed to show it.