Page 24 of Hard Deal
“What? Out in the open?”
“Well, they might be doing negotiations out in the open but I’m sure they’d get a room. I doubt it’ll happen, though—the girlfriend is not feeling it.”
“She’s probably jealous. Who wants to share the attention with someone else?” Imogen snapped her mouth shut, suddenly aware that she’d revealed something of herself. Saying too much around a guy like Caleb was dangerous. “How did you get to be so good at reading people?”
“Don’t think I missed that little statement, Miss I Want to Be the Centre of Attention.” His arm was still around her shoulders and it took all of her willpower not to melt against him. “And people reading is a necessary skill in my family. When no one wants to say what’s really going on, you have to read between the lines.”
“I’m not very good at that.” She frowned.
“True. But then I always know where I stand with you.”
Did he, though? Did he know that she willed herself not to be attracted to him? That she’d thought about him every night since they’d kissed? That she tried to convince herself it would be better to lust after his brother instead?
“So why the fake jokes about us going out?” she asked. “Why not come out and ask me seriously?”
“I knew you’d say no.”
He was right, she would have said no. “Then you got lucky at the masquerade ball.”
Grinning, he took the cocktail glass from her hand and placed it on the bar with his. The brush of his fingertips made her insides turn to goo. It was soft and subtle, but undoubtedly intentional. He knew every string to tug, every button to push, every bell to ring. Her body was an instrument for him to play. Her desire his to shape.
The breath stuck in the back of her throat as he pulled her closer, his hand snaking around her. Memories of the ball flashed in her mind—of his sharp jaw beneath that incredible mask, his lips firm and demanding on hers. His body hard between her legs.
“If I’d gotten lucky at the ball then I wouldn’t have felt the need to touch myself every night while thinking about what I would do to you, given the chance.” The words were like sparks, like little flares of energy threatening to start a fire. Threatening to burn her to the ground. “About how many different ways I could make you scream my name.”
“There’s more than one way?” The question popped out before Imogen could think about how juvenile and inexperienced it made her sound. She cringed. “Forget that.”
“Not on your life.” His hand stroked up and down her back, not going low or high enough to frighten her into pulling away. But rather, creating a soothing, sensual burn at the base of her spine that radiated all through her body, melting her slowly, but steadily, into his arms. “That’s one thing I’ve realised about you, Imogen. I couldn’t forget, even if I tried.”
Slipping his hand into hers, he pulled her toward the dance floor. The music playing overhead wasn’t the typical bass-heavy club thump. It was more relaxed, a slower grind but no less sensual. Caleb pulled her to the middle of the floor, into the heart of the crush.
Oh God, no. Not dancing.
While she’d been blessed with her father’s eye for detail and a sharp memory, she’d also inherited his two left feet.
“I don’t dance,” she said, trying to raise her voice above the music, but Caleb tapped his ear and shrugged as though he couldn’t hear her. Bastard.
People pressed in from all sides, pushing her closer to Caleb. He moved easily, as though he conducted the music and allowed it to flow through him. It was sexy as hell and when he pulled her against him, his hips brushing against hers, a tremor ran through her. The pulsing flicker of strobe lights made his hair flash gold. A lock curled forward, stubbornly brushing his forehead no matter how many times he tried to push it back. The desire to reach up and tug at it ripped through her.
Maybe it was due to the shelter of the dim lighting, the inhibition-loosening effects of the alcohol, or the fact that he’d finally gained an ounce of her trust...but she melted. It was hard to worry about consequences in the middle of a dance floor where the crowd granted anonymity.
He dipped his head, forehead pressing against hers, and she sucked it all in. Cologne and sweat on his skin, the scent of whisky on his breath, the wicked curve of his lips. He reached behind her, finding the elastic band holding her ponytail and tugging until it came loose. Her hair spilled over her shoulders and into his hands. He ran his fingers through it, gently pulling so her face angled up. He pressed his lips to her neck, holding her captive, and she fisted her hands in his shirt. Was this what it was like to fall?
Because she was inches from the edge of the cliff, ready to tumble into the deep abyss below.
“Don’t dance, huh?” he growled into her ear. “We’ll see about that.”
He nudged her legs apart with his thigh as they moved. The crush closed in, people crowding from all directions but the second that Imogen’s mouth popped open, a silent moan causing her eyes to flutter shut, everything dissolved around them.
The bass from the dance music created a rhythm in her blood. There was nothing tangible left, only sensation. The flicker of lights, the tightening grip of his hands at her waist, the rub of his thigh against her sex, the vibration of a moan in the back of her throat. The club was warm, the scent of booze permeating the air, intoxicating her. Imogen wrapped her arms around Caleb’s neck and followed his lead, swinging her hips and losing herself in the music.
She rubbed against him, letting her body revel in their mismatched state. While she was languid, liquid softness, he was hard. Everywhere. His teeth scraped her neck, stubble roughing up her skin. His hands were full of her, tugging, pulling, biting. She’d never thought dancing was like this—that it was a precursor to sex. Foreplay.
Caleb Allbrook’s seduction had begun.
* * *
Watching Imogen’s outer layer dissolve was truly fascinating. The difference between now and the night of the ball was that before she’d been fuelled by frustration. Anger. Lust. Things squarely in the defensive category.