Текст книги "The Rules According to Cracie "

Автор книги: Stefanie London

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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 6 страниц)

Chapter Two

The days dragged until Tuesday night. Gracie had a blind date with the cousin of a friend—a lawyer, divorced, no kids—so she returned to First. She’d changed at work, touched up her makeup, and ignored the fact that she was more excited to see Des than she was to meet her date.

The city was dark and glittery. A hint of leftover winter chill caused Gracie to pull her coat tighter around her. She’d had one of those days—the drop your latte, ladder your tights, trip on the stairs in front of your boss kind of days—and she was late.

Clicking up the narrow sidewalk, she kept her head down to watch for any cracks or grates which might claim her new stilettos. Breaking a heel would be the cherry on top of a perfectly crappy day and, if Murphy had anything to say about it, a broken heel would come at the worst possible moment.

Her feet moved quickly, a blur of bright red patent leather, as she hurried toward First. As she was about to turn into the restaurant’s entrance she slammed into something hard and dark. Her flattened palms connected with a solid wall of muscle, her nose pushed against black fabric as she tottered on her heels.

What in the—

“Whoa.”

Large hands gripped her arms and the scent of spice and wood-fire filled her nostrils. Forcing herself not to sigh against the man’s chest, she looked up and met two onyx eyes. She would recognize those eyes anywhere.

“Gracie Greene, what a surprise.”

“Des,” she squeaked, stepping back to straighten herself. She brushed his hands off before her brain decided to remember how they felt, and tugged her coat back into place. “You shouldn’t come storming out of a doorway like that. Someone could get hurt.”

“Perhaps that someone should watch where they’re going.” He quirked a thick, black brow at her, his luscious lips curved into an amused smile.

Why did he have to smell so damn good?

“Isn’t the customer always right?” She tilted her head, hoping to hell her face wasn’t as flushed as it felt.

Des stepped aside and pulled the door open with one hand, motioning with the other for her to enter. “I’m assuming the dude in the obnoxious suit is waiting for you? Be warned, he’s going thin on top. Give it a few years and you’ll be able to use his head for a solar panel.”

“You’re awful,” she said, stifling a laugh.

He didn’t move as she stepped through the doorway, the confines of the entrance forcing her to get close. At six feet something, he towered over her, and his huge shoulders crowded her as she slipped past. She kept her hands against her stomach, lest she brush them over the denim that melded to his thighs like a second skin.

“Give a girl a bit of room, why don’t you?” she muttered.

“That was much more pleasurable than giving you room.” His wolfish smile made her heart thud an erratic beat, her palms slick around the handle of her bag. “See you for a drink later?”

“Only if you’re lucky.”

She stepped into the restaurant, the dim lighting making everything warm and cozy. Deeply colored wood panelled the walls and candles flickered at every table. The space was intimate, sensual. Or perhaps she connected the place with Des, and she associated him with those words? Shaking her head, she looked around until she found the man in a suit sitting by himself. He wore a purple tie, as he’d said over the phone.

“Barkley?” His name was almost as obnoxious as his suit…almost. The dark gray wool was patterned with thick, white stripes, and the shirt he wore underneath was louder still.

“Lovely to meet you, Gracie.” He extended his hand. Clammy flesh slid into her palm and Gracie swallowed.

Perhaps breaking a heel wouldn’t have been the worst thing to happen to her that evening. Her date smiled, his reptilian lips spreading thin.

“Nice to meet you, too.”

“I don’t usually do this,” he said, retracting his hand and appraising her openly.

“Date?”

“Specifically, blind date. I’m serious about finding someone to settle down with, and like all good investments, I like a thorough opportunity to do my homework before making any commitments.”

Did he call me an investment?

“Of course,” she said slowly, careful to keep her facial expression neutral. When she didn’t continue, Barkley motioned for the waiter.

“A bottle of the De Bortoli Reserve Chardonnay, please,” he said.

Gracie opened her mouth to respond but quickly snapped it shut when her date relieved the waiter with a, “That will be all”.

“You’ll like it, Gracie. It’s an excellent wine.”

“I don’t drink chardonnay,” Gracie replied, stifling a smile at the shocked look on his face. “I’m quite capable of ordering my own drinks.”

“Excuse me for being a gentleman.”

Gracie seriously doubted he understood the first thing about being gentlemanly. She flagged down another waiter passing by.

“I’d like to order a drink, please.” She used her most charming tone and delighted in the red flush that swelled in Barkley’s cheeks. “A Bellini, please, with a cherry on the side.”

…

Des sat in the back office of First, clearing his head. His literal brush with Gracie had left him irritated and…horny. With a single glance, a flick of her lashes, a glimpse of a smile, she made his blood roar and his hands itch to be on her. It wasn’t healthy how much he wanted her, especially since she brought loser after loser into his bar.

Was she trying to torture him?

He stared at the unfinished staff roster. Lately he couldn’t seem to concentrate on the most basic of tasks without getting distracted by thoughts of her.

Paul walked into the office and winked at him. “Your lady friend is here. Looks like she’s on another date.”

“Don’t start,” Des warned him.

Paul held up his hands. “All I’m saying is that you might want to, you know, grow some balls and ask her out. It’s obvious you like her. What’s with the silent act?”

The last thing he needed was his younger brother berating him. The Gracie thing was… Well, it was complicated and Paul wouldn’t understand. He changed girls more frequently than he changed his underwear. He didn’t know what it was like to harbor feelings for someone in the unattainable zone.

“Besides, she’s hot. Why wouldn’t you ask her out?”

“Enough,” Des growled.

“Des?” The trainee barman poked his head into the office and thrust an order docket in Des’s direction. “I got a strange order from table seven. Where do you keep the cherries again?”

He smiled and plucked the piece of paper from the young man’s hand. “I’ll take care of this one.”

He hadn’t even finished pouring the Prosecco when Gracie appeared at the bar, her eyes narrowed. Her silken dark chocolate curls were piled on her head, but winding tendrils had escaped to softly frame her heart-shaped face. Large green stones hung from her ears and glinted in the candlelight.

“Thanks for coming to the rescue,” she said, not sounding thankful at all.

Des finished her drink and passed it to her. “I only just got your order.”

She grabbed the flute and brought it immediately to her lips, downing a third of it in one swallow. It was then that Des noticed the glimmer in her eyes.

“Have you been crying?” He grabbed a small handful of cherries and put them into a dish in front of her.

“No.” She blinked at the cherries, the smudges around her eyes revealing the truth.

“Gracie, what’s wrong?”

A tear dropped onto her cheek, her lashes glistening with those that hadn’t yet fallen. Her lips quivered but she held herself together.

“He said I wasn’t as described,” she managed to get out, her voice wobbling.

“He said what?”

“Apparently I was oversold by the friend who set us up.” She let out a little sigh. “I don’t think he expected a woman with a mind of her own.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well he ordered a bottle of wine without even asking me if I wanted a drink, let alone which drink I wanted.” She let out an indignant huff. “And when I called the waiter to order the drink I wanted, he said I was rude and classless.”

“Has he gone already?” Des looked around, his hands gripping the edge of the bar. Son of a bi—

“Yeah, he left.”

“I have a baseball bat.”

She smiled, her gaze flicking up to meet his. “Don’t go all Tony Soprano on me.”

He let out a long sigh, calming himself. “I swear to God if I ever catch him hanging around here…”

“I hope for both our sakes that doesn’t happen.” She brought the champagne flute to her lips, this time taking a more delicate sip. “Sometimes I think there’s something wrong with me.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Gracie. But for whatever reason, you pick losers.” He balled up his towel and threw it to the other side of the bar. He needed to get rid of this pent up energy. Keeping a distance between the two of them was becoming harder and harder.

“They don’t seem like losers when I organize the date—well, the ones that aren’t blind dates anyway.” She bit down on her lip. “They all match the things I’m looking for.”

“Ah, that must be the checklist you mentioned,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“Why do you say it like that?”

“Because finding the right person is not something you can tick off a list.”

“Why not?”

He shook his head. “Because you don’t always know what you want until it’s right there in front of you. These things cannot be quantified.”

“But I need the list. It helps me work out what to look for.” She said it as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

“Maybe if you stopped looking so hard you’d see the forest for the trees.”

“But I only need one tree,” she said, her brow crinkling. “If the forest is a metaphor for dating.”

He sighed. “You’re looking for the wrong things.”

Her affinity for perfection explained a lot, like why she kept setting herself up to meet these BMW-driving, stuffed shirt guys who would never treat her as well as she deserved. She was expecting someone’s value on paper to hold up in reality. Unfortunately, life didn’t work that way.

“Okay, tell me Mr. I-Do-My-Wooing-in-Private, what should I be looking for?” She sipped her drink, peering at him over the edge.

An inexperienced guy might’ve launched into an explanation of the right characteristics to look for in a man. But Des had been with his fair share of girls—despite the recent drought—and he recognized the challenge in a woman’s tone when he heard it. The fire in her eyes dared him to tell her what to do, dared him to give her the excuse to lash out.

“It’s none of my business,” he replied, his tone neutral and even.

“If there were good guys available don’t you think I would have found them by now?”

“Not the way you’re going about it.”

She narrowed her eyes at him.

“I’m not going to tell you what to do, Gracie.”

He tilted his head and took in the glorious sight of her. A silk top and black pencil skirt hugged her body in all the right places, hinting of pleasures beneath but revealing little.

“How come you’ve never asked me out?” Her question shocked him momentarily, and her dark brows rose, issuing a challenge. She reached for another cherry, pushing the red fruit through pillowy, rose-colored lips. “Well?”

“Maybe it’s because you keep flaunting your dating life in front of me?”

“I don’t flaunt,” she said, her pouty lips parted in indignation.

“You bring them all here.” He studied her. “Is that because you’re looking for my approval, or my protection?”

“I don’t need anything from you except the occasional extraction.”

“You might not need anything, but what do you want?”

He cursed himself the second the words left his mouth. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Bright pink spots appeared on her cheeks and spilled down into her neck. “You know, maybe you should tell me what to do.”

Des couldn’t imagine why she would avoid his question—pushing her would be asking for trouble—so he let the change of topic slide. “What do you mean?”

She tapped a finger against her chin. “My way of finding a suitable match doesn’t seem to be working, and you’re convinced I’ve got it all wrong. Plus, you’re a guy.”

“So?”

“You know where guys go, what they do, what they like.” She seemed to be warming to her idea. “Besides, you’re a bartender. Isn’t that like the male equivalent of a psychologist?”

“I own the bar, in case you’ve forgotten,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “I’m not here to listen to people’s problems. I’m here to make sure they have a good meal and to grow my business.”

“But you can help me find a man…right?” She looked at him expectantly, her brown eyes shining.

Sure he knew they were wrong for each other, but the idea of her being with someone else made him want to slam his fist into a wall.

You’re all kinds of screwed up. This girl has gotten into your head and she doesn’t belong there.

“Well?”

He pondered Gracie’s suggestion for a moment. As much as it would kill him on the inside, helping Gracie find someone else would make the barrier between them even stronger. She’d be less of a temptation if she were with another guy, less of a danger to his sanity.

It was actually the perfect solution.

“Sure.” He threw his hands up in the air. “Why the hell not. I’ll help you find a guy, but there won’t be any checklists.”

“Fine.” Her lips curved and she tilted her head to one side. “Name the time and place.”

He waited for a wave of relief that never came. Instead Des had a horrible feeling that he was setting himself up for failure. But he’d already offered to help and no matter what, he wasn’t a guy who went back on his word.

Chapter Three

By Friday night, Gracie was barely clinging onto her nerve. Des had told her to meet him at First and that he was going to take her somewhere where she would have a better chance of finding the right guy.

She stood outside his bar, waiting for him to appear. The crisp, spring evening chilled her through the wispy layers of her dress, sending goose bumps skittering across her skin. She tugged her coat tighter, wishing she’d had the forethought to put on a pair of stockings, or at least bring a scarf.

It had taken her nearly two hours to get ready. She’d tried on every dress in her wardrobe and had styled and re-styled her hair so many times that the curls had rebelled into an uncooperative tangle. Normally she would wind her hair up into a bun and forget about it, but tonight was different.

Why are you so nervous? It’s not like this is a date.

What was she even doing here? She should never have gone to Des after being shot down by some over-confident, balding rat. It was a moment of weakness and now she was about to expose how desperate she was to the one guy she respected.

She huffed, fidgeting with the large hoop earrings that dangled next to her jawline. Would he really be able to help her? By her list Des was all kinds of wrong. For starters he made her stomach all fluttery and her palms all sweaty. He made her tremble and laugh and fantasize.

And he didn’t tick any of the boxes she required in a partner. He didn’t have a job her mother would deem acceptable, and he was…scruffy. He wouldn’t fit in with the straight-laced Greene family the way her brother-in-law had, and her mother would perceive Des as rough, even if all his tattoos were covered. He’d always be on the outside, and she’d be stuck in the middle.

A lump settled in her throat. More than their differences, it was a promise she’d made to her father on his deathbed that held her back. Three things: settle down, get married, keep Mother happy. She would have sworn anything to have more time with him, and those requests had seemed like nothing.

She couldn’t date a guy like Des, not when she knew it would mean breaking the last promise she’d ever made to her father.

“I know I’m late.” Des’s booming voice made her jump as he barrelled out the door, tugging on a black motorcycle jacket. He looked the same, yet different. He still wore jeans and a black T-shirt, his perpetual uniform, but there was something fresh about it.

He’d shaved.

Gracie smiled and waggled a finger at him, shoving memories of her father from her mind. “Tsk tsk.”

“We had a situation with the kitchen. Not enough of the special.” He frowned. “Again.”

“You’re off duty now,” Gracie said, linking her arm through his and attempting subtlety as she took in a deep breath. The leather from his jacket and the spice of his aftershave was a potent combination. “No worrying about work, that’s a rule.”

“I thought I was in charge tonight. Why do I have to follow your rules?”

They took off down the street, Gracie’s heels clicking against the pavement. Even with her tallest stilettos, the top of her head was still below his chin. “I thought the rules might help you find the right guy for me. Anyway, where are you taking me?”

“It’s a surprise.”

They rounded a corner, away from the hustle and bustle of the main strip in South Melbourne. The market glittered in the distance, lights glowing and people gravitating to it like flies to honey.

“I didn’t know the market opened at night,” Gracie said.

“It’s the first week,” he replied, holding her close as they passed a group of people. His arm flexed as he pulled her in and she stifled a sigh. “It runs through the last bit of spring and all through summer. One of my regulars has a stall here.”

“This is different.” She nodded, smiling to herself. One point for creativity.

“I never did understand why you always brought your dates to my restaurant. I think it’s a great place, obviously, but a restaurant is a bit boring for a first date, don’t you think?”

“It’s not boring, it’s…traditional.”

“And you like traditional?”

She detected a note of disappointment in his voice.

“I like familiar,” she corrected. “Besides, I always wanted to have a story to tell when I finally met the right guy. And I thought saying that we had our first date at a place called First was cute.”

Des looked at her as though she’d sprouted antennas and started speaking another language. “Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously.” She straightened her shoulders and tilted her chin up. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing is wrong with the fact that you thought it was cute, but forcing something by doing the same thing over and over…well, that’s never going to work.”

“You think I should leave it to chance?” She raised an eyebrow.

Gracie Greene never left anything to chance.

“Didn’t someone say that the definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result?”

She tugged her arm out of his. “Yes, someone did say that, but that someone was a man.”

“I guess that’s why you asked for my help,” he pointed out. “Not that I think finding a boyfriend is all that important, by the way.”

“You haven’t met my mother.” She rolled her eyes and allowed Des to steer her to the market crossing. “It’s perfectly fine for a guy to be single, but a woman…there must be something wrong with her.”

“Nobody believes that shit anymore.”

His hand was at her back, the light pressure barely registering through her coat, but it was enough to make her pulse race. Why was it that simply being near him caused her body to do all kinds of crazy, involuntary things?

He was wrong for her, so wrong. But she couldn’t deny the flicker of excitement he stirred, the tiny, rebellious hint of fire she’d never sought, never wished for. In fact, it was a feeling she actively avoided, because it meant that she’d have to put herself on the line.

“Rule number two: don’t mock a girl’s ideals.” She offered a smile, sidestepping the argument for now. But she wasn’t going let him off the hook too easily.

“What was rule number one again?” His brow crinkled.

“You’re going to struggle if we’ve only gotten to rule two and you’re already forgetting. Rule number one was no worrying about work.”

“Right.”

As they entered the market, Gracie’s senses were swarmed with a glorious fusion of food scents, noisy chatter, and warmth. Everywhere people were laughing, eating, talking, and having a great time. She had to admit, it did seem like a more fun environment in which to meet someone than browsing profiles and taking notes on her own.

Des held her tight as he led her through the crowded stall lanes to the dining area. Hawker-style food carts ran the length of the market, selling everything from Indian curries to French crepes to churros, paella, and more. Spices and herb smells filled her nose, making her mouth water.

“I’m starving,” she announced. It was the truth, though food was not exactly what she had in mind.

Close in the crowd, she leaned into the hard warmth of Des’s body. Her fingertips brushed his jean-clad thigh and she kept her vision straight ahead. She felt wicked, far away from her usual, conservative self.

You’re not here to play pretend with him. You’re here to solve a problem. Eye on the prize, Greene!

She checked out the menu for a Greek food stall and a warm hand embraced hers.

“I’m assuming there are no rules against hand-holding?” He leaned down, his breath tickling her ear. She desperately wanted to turn to him, to see those full lips of his up close and admire every curve in detail.

“This is strictly a business outing.” She removed her hand from his. “Hand-holding is more of a date thing…and we’re not on a date.”

The reminder was as much for her as it was for him. Her body wanted nothing more than to fuse to his, to clasp his hand, to find his lips with hers, to explore and delve and taste. Gracie swallowed against the desire building in her.

They ordered their food and found a seat at the end of a long communal table. It shouldn’t have been romantic—they were surrounded by crowds and noise and chaos—yet the way the world dissolved around them whenever he was near was the most heart-fluttering, stomach-flipping, breath-stealing thing Gracie had ever experienced.

She was in way over her head.

“So,” she said, hoping her voice didn’t sound as squeaky out loud as it did in her head. “How is this supposed to help me find a man?”

“It’s all about variety.” Des gestured with his fork. “You’ve been hitting the same type of guys via the same mediums and it’s not working. You need to break out of that rut.”

She had hit a rut. Dating had begun to feel like a chore and each disastrous date was making her increasingly despondent about the whole thing. She hadn’t been kissed in a while, she hadn’t had sex in…

Biting down on her lip, she tried to calculate the days in her head. Too damn long. She speared a piece of lamb with her fork and popped it into her mouth.

Maybe that was why she thought about Des constantly. She was parched and he was the refreshment she craved. It was a totally natural response, her body’s way of telling her what it needed.

So why didn’t she feel that way about anyone else?

Watching Gracie eat was unsettlingly erotic. She savored every mouthful, pulling the fork through her lips slowly with each bite as though she wanted the moment to last forever. Des had to shift in his seat; he found everything about her so carnal he was in a constant state of arousal. It wasn’t healthy, particularly if she had a rule against that kind of thing.

Des wasn’t a rules guy. In fact, some of the best experiences of his life had come out of breaking the rules—or ignoring them at the very least.

“Aren’t you enjoying your meal?” She motioned to his plate with her fork. He’d barely touched the moussaka, mainly because he’d been fighting off thoughts of devouring her instead.

“No, it’s good.” He stuffed a forkful into his mouth and she grinned. Under the table their knees touched, and his blood pulsed hotly. “Tell me, Gracie Greene, what do you look for in a man? ’Cause I’m not sure, beyond briefcases, shiny shoes, and bald patches.”

She laughed and reached for the plastic cup that held her wine. “The bald patch wasn’t a plus.” She took a delicate sip. “I look for a guy who’s got it together, who’s successful and serious. I look for someone who’s going to be reliable and stable.”

Des studied her. Those were all things that were far removed from who Gracie was. Not that she wasn’t successful or stable, but she appeared to be so brimming with light and passion that it baffled him that she would look for a guy who sounded so…dull.

“It sounds like you’re shopping for insurance.”

“And you look for a girl who’s into extreme sports and body piercing?” she drawled.

“I don’t look for anyone, truth be told.” He speared another piece of moussaka with his plastic fork. “I’ve been off the dating scene for a long, long time.”

“Why?”

“Picked the wrong girl, got burned, didn’t feel the need to try it again.” And he hadn’t experienced the desire to get close to anyone…until now.

Damn.

He might not be looking for someone in particular but he seemed to be falling for exactly the type of girl he promised himself he’d stay away from. There was no way he’d go through the constant judgement and shame of being considered “lesser” ever again.

Except he was sure Gracie was a different person underneath the ridiculous list-checking and rule-making behavior.

“It happens.” She shrugged, tossing her curls over one shoulder. But her nonchalance didn’t come off as sincere. “That’s why I don’t leave things to chance, much less allow the opportunity for things to get out of hand that way.”

“Don’t you ever want to get out of hand?” He reached over the table and grabbed her wrists. They were small and delicate between his fingers. She’d covered them with thin, gold bangles and he could feel her pulse racing. “Don’t you ever want to go crazy?”

“I don’t do crazy.” She looked at him through long, thick lashes. How could this girl look like a luminous, free-spirited gypsy, have a light inside her like she was wild and passionate, yet be so careful and cautious? “Rule number three, don’t go crazy.”

“That’s a terrible rule.”

She laughed, her jewelery jangling as she threw her head back. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting a little security in life.”

“It’s an illusion, Gracie. Nothing is secure.” He shook his head, trying to dislodge the memories of his relationship crumbling like an old building. It had happened so suddenly; at least it had felt that way at the time. Looking back, he saw he’d been in denial for a long time.

“Maybe that’s because you don’t plan things properly. I plan, I think about all the things that could go wrong, and I make contingencies.” She speared another piece of her dinner and chewed thoughtfully. “I wasn’t always like this you know.”

“Like what?”

“Concerned with rules and planning.”

As he’d suspected, she was forcing herself into a mold. For some reason this admission made his chest ache. Who had made her feel so unworthy that she’d squeezed her life into such a neat, risk-free box?

“Why did you change?” he asked.

She shrugged and pushed the remainder of her dinner away. “I made a few mistakes and I realized the error of my ways.”

“You don’t get to say that and then not provide me with an example.” Color him curious. Gracie didn’t talk much about her past and this was like getting a glimpse at a unicorn.

“I dated the wrong guy. It caused my family and me a lot of pain. I decided I wasn’t going to do that again.”

Now that was something they had in common.

“I figured if I put so much effort into choosing the right career and the right apartment, then I should do the same for a partner.” She let out a self-deprecating laugh. “Hell, I put more effort into choosing an outfit for work than I did into choosing my first real boyfriend.”

“Don’t you think these things should happen naturally?”

“In a perfect world…maybe. But what if I left it all to chance and then I ended up alone?”

She looked genuinely stricken and Des had to resist the urge to wrap his arms around her. He was supposed to be here to help her on her manhunt, not to protect her. Not to comfort her.

“You would never end up alone, Gracie. You’re gorgeous and any guy would be lucky to have you.”

Her lip trembled for a moment before she plastered a slightly too-wide smile on her face. “I’m done with dinner, what’s next?”

“Music.”

Standing, he extended a hand and she took it, her delicate fingers intertwining with his. A short walk from the food area a band played jazz music.

“And dancing.” He led her to an empty space near the band, where a few people were moving to the music.

“Oh no.” She pulled back, digging her heels in and leaning away from him. “Rule number four, no dancing.”

He swayed his hips in time to the music and pulled her close. Someone nearby cheered. “I’m in charge tonight and there will be dancing.”

“Hell no, I don’t dance for anyone.” Her eyes were wide, pure terror rolling off her in waves. “Besides, there’s no way I’d meet a guy on the dance floor.”

The fact that Gracie Greene didn’t dance was a crime against humanity. Every single curve on her body looked as though it was made for music, for sambas, for jazz and gyrating. Releasing her hand, he watched as she shrunk back into the crowd, but he kept going, the beat running through his body.

Dancing was a part of his life in the most fundamental way. He’d grown up watching his Sicilian grandparents dance at every family function, every wedding, every Christmas. Dancing could convey all of the emotions that he couldn’t string into a sentence. His body communicated better than his mouth ever could.

More of the crowd joined in, but he kept his eyes on Gracie. Her luscious, cherry-colored lips were open, her eyes wide as she watched him. She inched closer, sticking with the group, but as more people moved to the music she gained confidence. Enveloped and concealed by the throng, she came back to him, but resisted dancing.

“The dance floor is a great place to meet guys,” he said, leaning forward to speak directly into her ear. “Guys who can dance are better in bed.”

Hot pink color flooded her cheeks and a nervous giggle escaped her lips. Gracie Greene getting turned on was about the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen—she seemed suddenly shyer, a little more tentative, a little more vulnerable.

“Ok, maybe I can sway a little.” She looked at him shyly, her small body venturing the most subtle of dance moves.

“You’re breaking your own rules,” he teased.

“I’m not dancing, I’m swaying.” Her hand found his and she stepped into his space. “It’s more like standing than dancing.”

As the density of people increased, they were forced together. Her body pressed against his, her movements causing her breasts to rub against him. He wanted to groan, but he had to hold himself together. He was on the verge of letting go, of bending down and scooping her into his arms. If he didn’t find some space soon, a groan wouldn’t be the only thing to alert her to how turned on he was.