Page 22 of Faking It at Sea

There was no way it was one-sided.

Was there?

The sounds she made echoed through me. The delicious press of her soft body against mine was seared into my flesh. But the look on her face was projecting a very different message.

Had I read her that wrong?

I leaned against the railing for support, gripping the smooth wood so hard my knuckles throbbed. The heat that had been threatening to consume me bled away, leaving a hollow coolness stirring inside me. “Yeah,” I managed to grind out. “I guess it is.”

A flicker of uncertainty shadowed her expression, there and gone so fast I couldn’t even be sure it was real. For all I knew, it might have just been my idiot mind playing tricks on me.

I tipped my face to the sky, scowling up at the stars as they mocked me with their cheery twinkle. A smart man would turn in for the night. He would politely bow out, keep his distance for the rest of the trip, and disappear back into the safety of his familiar life.

He definitely wouldn’t be considering telling the woman in front of him that he didn’t want to pretend.

“Do you want to dance?” Her voice was like silk, smoothing over my jagged edges.

If I wasn’t careful, being around June was bound to give me a serious case of whiplash.

Going back to my cabin and sitting out on the tiny balcony by myself with a cold drink in my hand was tempting, not going to lie, but not nearly as enticing as the prospect of moving to the beat of the music with June.

Why?

Because I’m a glutton for punishment, apparently.

But the dancing didn’t have to mean anything. It was just for fun. For show. And all I had to do was not let her get to me.

I held out my hand and she took it without hesitation.

“Are you any good?” she asked, as I guided her out into the crowd.

“It’s been a few years.”

“A little rusty then?”

“Maybe,” I hedged. It depended on the music.

When the song playing over the speakers morphed and blended into the familiar bumping bass of Ginuwine’s “Pony,” the crowd cheered.

“You sure about this?” I asked, settling a hand on June’s hip. “You might not be able to resist me after this song.”

Her teasing smile was all the encouragement I needed.

I leaned in, pulling in her sweet scent before I whispered, “Hold on tight, babygirl.”

My hips found the beat like I was twenty-one again, and June’s surprised laugh faded into a heated look that damn near knocked the air from my lungs. Then she found her rhythm, matching every dip and roll like she was made for me.

We didn’t devolve into college party level grinding. I refused to let my hands wander too far, no matter how badly they itched to explore every inch of her, but it was still easily the hottest dance I’d ever shared with a woman.

And when the next song came on, we moved to the new beat. And the next. And the one after.

If someone asked me how many songs played as we danced without saying a single word to each other, I wouldn’t have had an answer. Sometimes we shared looks filled with fire. A few times we both started laughing and dancing like idiots. But words? They weren’t needed.

I told her everything I wanted to say with my body, and the way she responded almost had me convinced that this thing between us could be real.

Fuck, I wanted it to be real.

When she grabbed my hand and led me away from the dance floor, I followed. Wherever she wanted to go, I would go. Whatever she wanted to do, I was there for it.

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