Page 190 of The Billionaires

Champ leers at me, unleashing more of the breath. “Would the magic lady like to dance?”

I breathe through my mouth. “No. Thank you.”

He frowns. “Why not?”

“She only dances with me,” Bruce growls threateningly from behind me, startling both me and Champ.

Champ raises his hands. “It’s just a dance. Sheesh.”

“We’re very dedicated to the theme,” I say. “And his character would only dance with mine, and vice versa.”

Rolling his eyes in a girly fashion, Champ turns on his heel and strides away.

“Thanks,” I mouth to Bruce.

“You can thank me with a dance,” Bruce replies and extends his hands to me, just like earlier.

Here we go. My panties are in trouble again.

I accept his hands, and he pulls me near him expertly, enveloping me in his body heat.

The music is a little faster this time, but it’s nothing compared to my frantic heartbeat.

His arm cradles my back, gently guiding me to the rhythm.

Did whoever invent dancing realize how sex-like it is?

I gasp with every step, my pushed-up breasts heaving. Then Bruce’s eyes meet mine, and there’s not a hint of the usual ice in their blue depths. Instead, they remind me of the Caribbean Sea, where I’d gladly skinny dip.

The music turns, and Bruce gives me a gentle dip to the beat. I nearly swoon.

“You’re a very good dancer,” Bruce murmurs into my ear when the song stops.

“Me? You’re the one who did all the work.”

He smiles. “You underestimate your sense of rhythm.”

Do I, or do I have other, more primal things on my mind?

“I want to thank you again,” he says. “When it comes to birthday presents, I’m hard to satisfy, but you did so today.”

I blame the words “hard” and “satisfy” for what I blurt out next, which is, “This party isn’t my gift.”

His eyes gleam. “It’s not?”

Blushing, I say, “What do you think of spending the night with Yennefer of Vengerberg?”

Gah. How much have I drunk? I’m not usually so brave.

He shakes his head, and my heart nearly stops. “I don’t want Yennefer of Vengerberg,” he murmurs. “Not when I can have Lilly Johnson.”

The breath I didn’t realize I was holding whooshes out of my lungs. I open my mouth to talk logistics, but Bruce’s expression turns pained.

I spin around.

Champ is behind me, chewing a mutton slider with his mouth open, like a fucking caveman.

“What the hell?” I say sternly. “You’re supposed to eat in the designated area.”

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