Page 3 of Marrying the Enemy

Far be it from Eve to block anyone’s good time. They’d already lost Hailey to a German fellow wearing skinny jeans and a tongue pierce. All her friends seemed to be finding a romantic partner except her.

Literally everyone was, Eve thought with amusement, as she left the washroom and passed an alcove where a couple was doing their best to have sex against a wall.

She was about to enter the club again when a drunken man lurched toward her.

She dodged him, thinking he was merely staggering, but he caught her around the waist from behind and tried to pull her into him. He slurred something in a language she didn’t catch.

Reacting purely on instinct, Eve shifted her hips to the side so she could give his crotch a hard slap. As he choked out a pained, “Oof!” and released her, she spun to clip him on the ear.

She left him slumping to the floor against the wall and practically walked into another man. She pulled back her arm, ready to deliver a solid punch.

Dom closed his hand over her fist and leaned in. “Nice work.”

Her adrenaline spiked anew, flooding her with the thrill of his touch and the proximity of his lips to her jaw.

“I have brothers.” Just because her mother had discouraged her from wrestling with them didn’t mean they hadn’t taught her to “go for the groin” and protect herself.

“Come dance with me.” Dom brought her hand down and slid his fingers between hers, leading her onto the dance floor.

She had already surreptitiously watched him move, mesmerized by the way he rolled his hips and rocked his wide shoulders. He had the grace of an athlete, every move smooth and perfectly timed.

For a moment, she felt off-beat and self-conscious, then his gaze slithered down her like a spell. Her body began to match him move for move, even though they weren’t touching. He seemed completely focused on her, but she realized after a few moments that he was putting himself between her and other men, subtly turning her away from them or inserting himself, forcing them to keep their distance.

It was possessive and weirdly exciting, feeding the sizzle in her belly. She felt free to be as sexy as she wanted and looked him right in the eye as she set her foot between his and brushed up against him, then turned so her backside was nearly in his lap.

She barely touched him, but the hum inside her was a scream of anticipation. His wide palms held her hips as they began to grind together. His chest was against her back, his body caging hers.

This was how he would make love to her. Like an animal.

Arousal exploded through her at the thought. She saw, for the first time in her life, the raw appeal of sex. She wanted to be covered and held safe while he filled her and made her his. She wanted that so badly, she thrust her buttocks deeper into his fly, rubbing against the hardness there. Inviting more.

His touch firmed on her hips, pressing her to his erection before he released her and spun her to face him, then clasped her close. The sudden impact with his chest punched her breath from her lungs. His thighs were hard against hers, the ridge of his erection against her stomach, filling her mind with crude fantasies. She could feel those muscled legs pushing hers open. His weight would crush her pelvis while his mouth came down on hers—

He spun her away, catching her hand and twirling her.

She stood in flames, licked and lashed by the heat of his lust-filled gaze.

He brought her back against him, bending his knees so they were pelvis to pelvis. She had never been so aware of her own sex. Had never felt such an ache there, like a signal pulsing between her thighs, yearning for that thick shape that rubbed with such promise.

Connect. Join. Mate.

His teeth caught her earlobe, scraping lightly before he growled, “I have to keep my cousin’s groom from drinking himself to death. Be good.”

His mouth dipped into her neck and his arms tightened to hold her still while he marked her with a small hickey. He left her swaying in the crowd of strangers.

Be good? Shut up. She was tired of being good.

She was gone.

Domenico Blackwood took it like a chest punch when he could no longer see the midnight hair that picked up the purple hues of the flashing lights. The clock and his inner radar told him she was gone, likely with someone who would exploit the blatant sexuality she had pushed so tantalizingly into his lap.

He cursed, still aroused from the feel of her, and now he had a pool of tarlike anger in his belly.

She was too young for him, he reminded himself. She was a doe-eyed twenty-one to his jaded twenty-nine and he was a man with “a cold, empty heart.” According to his ex-fiancée, at least. And popular opinion, no doubt.

At first glance, Eve and her squad had reminded him of the woman who’d broken off his engagement a few months ago. They might be party girls slumming with backpackers for a night of dancing, but their rich girl roots were as clear as the daddy-bought diamond studs in their ears.

Dom was more than ready for a rebound affair, but cold heart or not, he had promised his aunt on his mother’s side that he’d ensure her soon-to-be son-in-law didn’t do anything to ruin the extravagant wedding she’d spent a year planning.

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