Page 105 of Dust to Dust

Her face lit up. “I know. Let’s dance.”

With a groan, I replied, “Like I told you the night of the gala, I’m not much of a dancer.”

“You don’t say,” she teasingly replied.

Grunting, I crossed my arms over my chest. “I’m serious, Isla.”

“Please.” She batted those damn eyelashes of hers. “For me.”

“Fine,” I grunted.

At her squeal, I reluctantly grabbed the remote to turn on the stereo system. When music blared around us, Isla pinched her eyes shut and bounced on the balls of her feet. “I love this song. I haven’t heard it in forever.”

“What is it?”

Her eyes popped open to survey me. “Not much of a music listener either, huh?” At the shake of my head, she replied, “It’s Girls Like You by Maroon Five.”

As she began swaying her hips and waving her arms above her head, she said, “My first concert was Maroon 5.” A ghost of a smile played on her lips. “My mom was going to take us, and then she had a terrible RA flare.”

“RA?”

“Rheumatoid Arthritis. It’s an autoimmune disease. People hear arthritis and think it's a little ache in your joints.” Isla shook her head. “I’ve seen my mom in so much pain she’d be writhing on the bed.”

I grimaced. “Jaysus, I’m sorry for her and for you.”

“Thanks.” Waving her hand as if to dismiss the painful memory, she said, “Anyway, since my mom couldn’t go, my dad took Brooke and me.”

“Your father the Episcopal priest?”

Isla giggled. “Yes. By the end of the night, he was dancing along with us. He even got a T-shirt.” Slowly, the amusement drained from her face. “I found it when we were cleaning out his side of the closet.”

Even though I was completely and totally out of my fucking emotional element, I desperately wanted to do something to take away Isla’s sadness. Against my better judgment, I followed the beat of the music and started swaying my body.

At the sight of me, Isla’s eyes popped wide. “Quinn Kavanaugh, you’ve been holding out on me.”

I froze. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t stop! You’re good.”

“You’re taking the piss.”

She laughed. “I’m what?”

“It’s Irish for mocking me.”

“No. I’m serious.” She waggled her brows. “You have great rhythm. But I already knew that after seeing you in the bedroom.”

“Is that right?”

“Mm, hmm.” Apparently the glass of whiskey was fueling her moves because Isla danced in front of me before bending over and twerking her ass against my crotch. I couldn’t stop myself from smacking one of the firm globes. At Isla’s moan of pleasure, my dick slammed against my zipper.

After she righted herself, she plastered her back against my front. She threw her arm around my neck, drawing my head down. Lifting her chin, she met my lips with hers. Immediately, she thrust her tongue in my mouth.

When she jerked away, breathless and panting, she stared up at me through hooded eyes. “Do something spontaneous now, Quinn.”

“Like what?”

“Fuck me on the stage.”

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