by Jill Shalvis
What was the matter? Nothing, except that she felt like an idiot. For all her wild days in her crazy youth, she’d never really gotten comfortable with this elementary skill. She’d never wanted to. But she had a gorgeous man holding her in his arms, his entire attention focused on her as they tried to forget the world around them, and she really did want to help him forget. In any other way except this.
He dipped his head down a little, ran his jaw over hers. “Sam?”
She could sense the firmness of his body. She could even feel his heart beating, strong and steady, and she stared up at him, one arm around his neck, her other hand entangled in his, absorbing the strength of his fingers at the small of her back, the pressure of his hips swaying gently against hers. Her body reacted, hormones revved, bones melted…
How did a man who palmed a basketball for a living get to be so sensual?
“Sam? You still with me?”
“It’s just that dancing seems so…clichéd.”
“Clichéd,” he repeated. “Dancing on a dance floor is clichéd?”
“Yes. I’m sure we could find something else to do.” Anything…
“Like…?”
“Um, like…” She searched her brain, feeling a little disoriented by the pulsating lights from the disco balls. “I don’t know. You think of something.”
“No, I think you’d better.” His eyes were deep and dark, his hands gentle on her, and also, whether he intended it not, unbearably erotic. “Because suddenly, with you looking at me like that, I can’t seem to think of anything appropriate.”
Well, neither could she! In fact, a bunch of inappropriate thoughts kept bouncing through her head, and her body slid even closer to his.
Now what? She knew what her body would like, and her hand glided over his chest, her fingers curling into him.
“Sam—”
The lights went down even more, so that all they could see were the silhouette of the people dancing around them. Perfect camouflage. Sliding her hands into the hair at the nape of Jack’s neck, she tugged his head down closer, and planted her lips on his.
The sexy little surprised murmur he made echoed through her, tingling her nerve endings, over-sensitizing them, and she wound her arms tighter around his neck as her eyes drifted shut.
Technically, she should have shut her eyes before then, but she’d waited to make sure he was okay with the direction in which she’d just taken the evening.
Given the way he slanted his head for a better angle, while hauling her up against him even closer, he was good with the new direction—quite good.
Kissing a man for the first time was always an experience, an adventure—not unlike the story of Goldilocks. Would he use too much tongue, not enough tongue or just the right amount? But Jack Scandal Knight kissed juuuusssst right.
And he didn’t pull away, not even when they were both breathless. He had one hand on her hip, the other on her spine, fingers spread wide, and when she slid her hands down to his shoulders, sinking into his tough, hard muscle, he let out another groan, low in his throat.
At the sound, something came over her on that dark dance floor. Lust, yes, but this felt different. It gripped her and held on like a bulldog; she couldn’t bear to back away, not even to come up for air. She simply dragged her mouth over his jaw, and let out a little whimper when he did the same. Her fingers tightened on his hair, tugging just a little, while her hips danced to his, and he let out another low groan.
“Not fair,” he managed.
“Why?”
“I’m not going to be able to walk off this dance floor for a while.”
Suddenly, she didn’t want to move, either, and she arched against him, nearly seeing double when his thigh rubbed against hers.
With a glance around, making sure that no one was paying them any attention, he cupped her face. “Sam…what are you doing to me?”
Hopefully driving him half as wild as he was driving her. Avoiding a dance had become the last thing on her mind. “I should mention…” She sank her teeth into his lobe, thrilling to the sound that dragged from him. “It’s been a little too long for me. I’m liking this way too much.”
“Don’t tell me that.” One hand skimmed up her back, the other was on her hip. His thumb glided over her belly, upward, stroking, tracing her last rib, barely skimmed over the very bottom curve of her breast.
All the while, his gaze held hers, conveying hunger, passion, desire…more heady than the champagne she’d sipped. She let out a shuddery breath, her bones long dissolved away.
Then he took another sweep with his thumb, not quite touching her nipple, and she had to concentrate on breathing.
“Sam.” His voice was low, hoarse.
Sinking her fingers into his hair again, she brought his mouth back to hers, and their moans commingled, becoming a part of the crazy, wild kiss.
Then the song ended, and the lights came up slightly as the band leader started talking about their next set.
Jack’s eyes were sleepy and very sexy when they opened on Sam’s. “What else will you do to keep from dancing?”
“Um…that was about it.” At least that she was willing to admit.
His eyes flitted down to the front of her dress, where her hard-as-rock nipples were pouting against the black material, begging for more attention, and he let out a low groan that pulled at them even more.
It was getting crowded, with people dancing in earnest now the music had started again. Everyone looked as if they knew exactly what they were doing as they gyrated and swayed on the floor.
Oh boy. Sam tugged on Jack’s hair again and put her mouth back on his. With a soft, silky laugh, he obliged her for a long moment, until finally, dizzy, dazed with lust, she lifted her head for air.
“Are you really going to let me keep kissing you to avoid dancing?”
He was breathing heavily, too. “Oh, yeah.”
4
SAM BLEW OUT a breath and looked at Jack. “Okay, truth,” she told him. “I don’t dance. In fact, I stink at it.”
“But we were just doing it.”
“That was slow dancing. And you did all the work.”
He couldn’t take his eyes off the woman who’d just rocked his world with a flash of both heaven and hell in one kiss—heaven, because she’d been soft and delicious; hell, because he suspected that was all he was going to get. How could a woman so self-possessed, so naturally sensual, not dance? “Come on, really?”
“Really.”
He thought about that while the feel of her body against his sank into his brain. Her nipples were still hard, her arms tight around his neck, and she wasn’t the only one affected. He wanted her with a surprising hunger. But when he had her—please God, he’d have her—it would be in a much more private location than this.
The next best thing to that would be another nice, long slow dance where she could writhe and arch against him, and he’d close his eyes and inhale her. But this song wasn’t slow. “I’ll help you.”
“Jack—”
“Come on,” he coaxed, moving to the beat. “It’s not that difficult. First, you feel. Feel me, feel the music—hey, you have to at least try. Hang on, this song is ending—Oh, you lucked out,” he said as the band ended the fast upbeat number and launched into an achingly slow love song. He pulled her just a little bit closer. “Mmmm, nice.” His lips brushed against her ear, and suddenly it took all the will-power he had not to start kissing her again. “Better,” he whispered, when she softened against him.
After a few moments, she let out a long, slightly shaky sigh. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt as an entirely different kind of tension gripped them. Swaying with him, eyes closed, he felt her smile against his shirt.
“I can’t believe I’m liking this evening,” she said.
“Me, too.”
“A small part of me really was banking on you having that potbelly or bad breath, something awful.”
“Sorry to disappoint yo
u.” He pulled back and looked into her eyes. “I’m also sorry about the whole sneaking in here thing.”
“Don’t be.” She shot him a wry smile. “Or then I’d have to be sorry about kissing you to avoid dancing.”
“You didn’t kiss me just to avoid dancing.”
She stared at him. “No,” she finally whispered. “I didn’t.”
“And you didn’t let me touch you just to avoid dancing, either.”
Another slow shake of her head. “No. I wanted both.”
His gaze dropped to her mouth. Her fingers played at the back of his neck, urging him closer, then closer still. It was all the encouragement he needed, and he dipped his head and kissed her. It sent hot licks of desire skittering down his spine. Locked in her arms, mouth against mouth, it was somehow easy to forget the press, the people, his sister, everything, lost as he was in the taste and feel of her.
She pulled away first, looking as shell-shocked as him. They made a couple of more turns on the dance floor, silent. Heather was out there with her date, and she waved at them.
“Did I mention I’m sorry about her, too?” Jack asked.
“Because she’s overprotective? I think it’s sweet.”
“She’s worried someone’s going to take advantage of me, if you can imagine that happening.”
“Only if you were willing,” Sam said.
He laughed. “Willing…Do you want to take advantage of me, Sam?”
Oh, yeah, Sam did want to do just that. Now, please. But the truth was, she didn’t know him well enough to sleep with him yet. “I haven’t decided,” she said as honestly as she could.
Eyes still on hers, his smile became a little subdued and he nodded slowly. “I wouldn’t want to rush that decision.”
Her body tightened, yearned. “Thank you,” she said so politely he grinned broadly. The music changed again, and so did Jack’s tempo. Faster and faster, he whirled her around the floor with dizzying speed.
“Where did you learn to do that?” she asked breathlessly when the song ended.
“My sister. In high school, if she couldn’t get a date, she made me be her partner.”
“Made you?”
“She spied on me for ammo, which she’d detail in a diary she kept locked up to use as blackmail when necessary. And, believe me, she found it necessary a lot. God, she loved holding stuff over my head.”
“That sounds…” Sam searched for a word. “Horrible.”
“Spoken like a woman who has no siblings?” he guessed.
“Not a one.”
“How about your parents? Didn’t you ever dance with them?”
She hesitated, never knowing what to say. She hated pity, and talking about her past always evoked that in others. Luckily, another couple bumped into them. The woman dripped diamonds and the man with her wore a dopey, infatuated grin. “Jack Knight,” he said reverently. “Miss you, man.”
“Thanks,” Jack said.
“I must have an autograph for my son,” the woman said. “After the dance?”
“No problem.”
“I noticed you’re not entirely a social pariah,” Sam said when they were alone again—or as alone as they could get on a crowded dance floor.
“Nah, it’s only the people who want something that bug me.”
“That couple wanted something. Your autograph.”
“Yeah, but an autograph, that’s easy to give. It’s when they want a piece of your soul that you’ve got to watch out. So,” he said lightly, changing the subject on her like a champ. “Your parents. They never twirled you around the kitchen floor?”
Her father had been a professor at Pepperdine University, her mother an administrator in the offices there. They’d loved her, but they’d been incredibly devoted to their work, disciplined to long hours, with little time off for such things as dancing in the kitchen. “No twirling around the floor for us, I’m afraid.”
“I think everyone should have memories of dancing in their pj’s, slipping in their socks on the linoleum with their family.”
“Mine weren’t the dancing kind.”
His easy smile faded. “Past tense?”
“They’re both gone now. They have been for a long time.”
People never knew what to say when she said that, and subsequently did one of two things—said they were sorry, or awkwardly changed the subject.
Jack did neither. “That’s incredibly unfair.”
“Yeah.”
The song ended. People began to talk. Many looked their way. A few with cameras started walking toward them.
“Oh boy,” Jack said.
A surge of protectiveness rose within Sam, which was silly. The guy could take care of himself, and yet she pointed to the long row of tables set up against one wall, piled with lavish amounts of food. Her stomach growled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. “Food. People won’t want to stare at you if you’re eating. Unless…you don’t by any chance eat with your mouth open…?”
He laughed. “Not usually.”
“Okay, then.”
They each took a plate. She eyed the salads and, saving herself for the big guns up ahead, spooned a small amount of fruit salad onto her plate.
“Tell me you’re going to eat more than that.”
“Oh, I’m going to eat much more.” Farther down, she stabbed a nice sized steak, then helped herself to a roll and a huge heap of potatoes.
“Good.” He piled his plate high, as well. “I might have had to throw you to the press as bait if you’d stuck with only fruit.”
They walked to the least crowded table, which so far held only two women and a man, all three at least seventy years old. The women sipped their drinks and the man sandwiched between them had a very contented look on his face as he ate.
Jack gave them an easy smile. “Hello.”
The man returned a full-fledged grin. “I’d call you one lucky SOB for escorting a woman as beautiful as you’ve got there…” His voice was craggy, as if he’d been smoking for fifty-plus years. “But tonight I’m the lucky SOB because I’ve got two beautiful dates.”
Jack laughed as he held Sam’s chair out for her. When he sat, he lifted his water glass to the man. “To having beautiful women at our side.”
“I’ll drink to that,” the man said.
They began to eat. Sam found herself watching Jack. When he caught her at it, he smiled. “What?”
He had such a graceful, smooth way of moving when he danced, ate…everything. It made looking at him very easy on the eyes. “What else do you like besides a woman who eats more than a carrot stick?” she asked softly.
When he simply looked at her, she let out a little laugh. “I was…just wondering.”
He set down his fork. Reached for her hand. “I like a woman who can come out of the waves and get ready for a date in two minutes.”
“Saw that, did you?”
“Yeah.” He stroked a thumb over her palm. “I like a woman who can go with the flow, risking the wet grass to help me out without worrying about her shoes. I like a woman who doesn’t take down a guy’s sister even when she’s interfering and deserves it. And I really like a woman willing to try new things, like dancing in front of several hundred people when she hates dancing.”
“Well, I didn’t risk the grass, you carried me.” And she’d loved it, his easy strength, the feel of his hands on her. She took a bite of mashed potatoes that melted in her mouth. “And as for the dancing, you did all the work. I’ve never felt comfortable dancing.”
“You felt comfortable to me.”
Yeah, in hindsight, being in his arms had been pretty damn comfortable. Hot, too.
And exciting, very exciting.
He scooped up some fancy-looking noodle salad onto his fork and held it up to her lips.
“Something else new to try this evening?” she murmured, and took the bite into her mouth.
“Nah.” His voice was low and husky, his gaze glued to her mouth. “I just l
ove watching you eat.”
AFTER DINNER came the auction.
Jack eyed the long roster of prizes at his place setting, knowing that he was coming up on the list. He and Sam had watched the proceedings so far, eating their self-made ice-cream sundaes from the dessert bar. Someone had just won on a two-day trip to Santa Barbara, and then a ski package to Big Bear. Each time the bidding ended, Sam turned to him, her eyes bright with excitement, her hand on his arm, grinning.
“So much money for Heather’s charity!” she’d said after one huge round. “Unbelievable.”
What was unbelievable was tonight. He’d expected to be bored, but that had been the last thing on his mind…“Sam.”
She was watching Heather run the auction. “I like her. I mean, she’s pushy but I’ve been known to be pushy, too, so—”
“Sam.”
Laughing, she put down her spoon, licked her lips and turned to him. “Hmm?”
Her eyes were shining, her hair still in that sexy, messy bun that made him want to pull it out and run the strands through his fingers. Unable to help himself, he reached out and ran a finger over her full lower lip, where she’d missed a spot of ice cream.
He brought his finger up to his mouth and sucked on it.
Her eyes darkened and her mouth fell open just a little, as if she was suddenly having trouble breathing.
He certainly was. “I’m up next.”
She stared at his mouth. “What?”
“The auction. I donated something, and it’s about to come up on the list.”
“How sweet. What did you donate?”
“Myself.”
Just as he said this, Heather’s voice came over the loud speaker. “And now for the finale…a series of private two-hour basketball lessons from one of the greatest players of our time—Jack Knight. We’ll start the bidding at two hundred dollars.”
Still turned toward him, Sam raised her eyebrows slightly, the only sign she’d heard and digested Heather’s words.
“Two fifty,” Heather said, acknowledging the man at one of the front tables who had gestured.
Sam grabbed her bidder’s paddle. She hadn’t bid all evening, and Jack had already given a healthy check, so he hadn’t, either.
