Page 53 of Chasing Caine

He shook his head and turned slightly to accept a tumbler from the bartender. Bringing it to his nose, his eyes closed as he inhaled the amber liquid. He sipped, slowly, deliberately, licking his lips when he finished. As I stilled, tilting my head at his elegant movements, the crowd moved so I couldn’t see him for a moment. When it parted, he was still sitting there, watching me, the exasperatingly sexy smirk firmly in place. He made the gesture with his finger again.

Dance for me, he mouthed.

Christ, I wanted him.

But I was not about to give up. I could win this game.

I started to dance, letting the thudding bass fill me. The lyrics vanished and the crowd became a blur. My entire existence was the rhythm, my body, and his eyes. And the fantasy of his hands exploring underneath my dress.

I latched my legs closed, rocking my hips from side to side. The friction burned, heightening the throbbing in my core, while the dress caressed my skin like the gentle drag of his tongue. My eyes locked with his as my hands slid down my sides, along my hips, and down my thighs. They brushed lightly across my groin and between my legs, taking his gaze with them. That was his map for later. I brought them back up, pulling the hem of my dress dangerously high, then releasing it. They continued along the sides of my breasts, pushing them together and up into my hair.

I kept moving, gyrating for him, making love to his eyes. His wicked smirk remained as he took another sip from his glass. He needed to get off that damn barstool and come dance with me.

Wrapping my fingers in my hair, I pulled it on top of my head and let it fall in a cascade, my hands sliding back to my breasts. But he didn’t budge.

He leaned against the bar, one casual elbow resting on it. His shirt gaped open where the undone buttons revealed his chest, showcasing the slope between his rock-hard pecs. He bit his lip as I moved and a jolt ran through me.

The trip to Naples was bringing out a side of me I’d never known before. Somehow, with the ridiculous clothes, the lingerie, the hand-holding, and all the time between the sheets, I’d become more confident in my sexuality than ever before.

His hand resting on the bar pointed to my midsection and flicked downward. What was that supposed to mean? I continued dancing, and he made the motion again. This time, accompanied by an eyebrow raise. Underwear. He wanted them off.

Was he kidding? I laughed, but his face remained steady.

Take them off, he mouthed, teeth bared, as though threatening me.

I rolled my eyes, which caused the corner of his lips to ratchet up higher.

He wanted to raise the stakes? Fine. Time to double down.

I found the edge of the lacy wisp that passed for panties through the dress fabric and inched them down far enough I could do the rest by moving my legs. I coaxed them to my feet, where they caught on my sandals and I nearly fell over as I snatched them.

Great. I’d had too much alcohol for doubling down on anything. But no one was looking at the floor. No one saw me.

Except for him, and he was all that mattered. His lips parted and he ran his tongue along his teeth, head tilting toward me. He’d charge in any second.

I was definitely going to win.

The crowd closed in and I lost sight of him. Running my hands over my torso, longing for his forceful grip on my thighs, I waited for the sea of bodies to part again so I could see him. I could pull at the neckline of my dress. Maybe that would work. Would it be cheating if I beckoned him with a finger? We hadn’t exactly set any rules for the game.

Once the crowd shifted, I couldn’t see him. A woman in a sparkling silver dress—even shorter than mine—was directly in front of him, moving her hips between his legs propped on the barstool. All the air rushed out of my lungs. I could see his broad shoulders on either side of her, the top of his head, and his arm on the bar.

She knew how to use her curves. I tensed and my hands dropped to my sides. Her long, dark hair obscured his face as she leaned to him, head angling to kiss him or whisper in his ear or something else equally inappropriate. A pit opened in my stomach.

Was she why he’d pawned me off on Mario? He abandoned his drink and placed a hand on her bare arm. I’d been warned he was a serial womanizer. I was so stupid, thinking I was enough for him.

One week. I’d only been there a week, and he already had someone else.

Or was she from before I got there? The room began swimming again, and I looked to where Mario had been sitting. Or the exit. Which direction should I go?

But I didn’t go anywhere. My stupid feet just stuck to the floor as the crowd pulsed, and I lost sight of them. I ran my empty hand over my face and stared at the ground to center myself.Calm down, Sam. Breathe. The alcohol’s making you see things.

Suddenly there were hands on my waist and hot breath on my neck. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the room to stand still. The scent was all wrong—cigarettes and sweat. Not vanilla and amber.

“Keep dancing, you sexy thing,” he whispered, pulling my hips backward against his body. Wait. Backward? And a New York accent?

My eyes shot open. Antonio launched from his seat, the woman in the silver dress nowhere to be seen. His eyes were lit with a very different fire than before. I put up a hand to stop him and spun out of the stranger’s grasp. As I turned, the man who’d pawed me grabbed my hips and pulled me close, reaching around to squeeze my ass.

Holy shit! It was the guy from the Casa. The rude one who dumped his chips and said the place sucked.