Page 67 of Play With Me

“So am I.” He straightens, pressing against me and shifting his leg between mine as his hand cradles my jaw, forcing me to look at him. “For some reason, you’ve picked a fight nearly every moment we’ve been alone on this trip. I don’t know why you’re trying to push me away, Cara, but let me remind you that our relationship started with chemistry and the ability to rile each other up. So, baby girl, all yourfeistiness is doing, is making me hard.” He takes his free hand and grabs mine, placing it over his straining erection. “So you can shut your mouth and let me take you out on a date. Or you can get on your knees, and I’ll shut that pretty mouth for you. Then afterward, I’m still going to take you out.”

Any other time in the past few weeks, I’d sink to my knees and gladly suck his cock. But tonight, Iamfeeling feisty, as he not so eloquently put it. I jerk my head out of his grip and push him away with the hand over his dick. Without a word, I go back to curling my hair.

Anders’ chuckles fill the air. “Can’t say I’m not disappointed.” He leans in until his lips brush my ear. “That’s okay, baby girl. The night is still young.”

By the time we finish dinner, I’m in a better mood. Anders takes me to a cute spot on the water known for its seafood. I’ll choose New York pizza over grilled salmon any day, but the food is good, and the wine is better.

“Are you ready for your surprise?” Anders grins at me once we’re back in the Jeep.

The brat in me is subdued, resting beneath the surface, waiting until I need to pull her out again. I don’t know how to explain why I’m pushing himaway, as he pointed out earlier. Everything is starting to feel so convoluted that I honestly think it’s just my body’s knee-jerk reaction. It’s like I’m subconsciously trying to keep myself from getting majorly hurt again.

And Anders definitely has the power to hurt me the way Mick did.

“Yes! I’m dying from anticipation over here,” I joke. Laying my head back on the seat, I watch him drive as his sexy smirk pulls his lips up at the corner.

“Well,” he starts, grinning at me momentarily before returning his eyes to the road. “I know how much you love to dance.”

My heart skips a beat. Dancing was my biggest passion once upon a time. I used to dream about becoming a famous dancer and was on the right track—until Mick dropped the bombshell about Kate.

“And as much as I love seeing you work the pole at Désirer, I thought it might be nice to dance at a different kind of club.” We pull into the parking lot of a building that looks more like a hole-in-the-wall bar than a club. But there’s a large crowd standing around outside, and I can hear the loud beat of the music drifting from inside.

I swallow a flippant comment about how this is definitely not a club, along with the thick pressure that’s trying to settle in my sinuses. This is probably the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me.

As he helps me out of the vehicle, I press up on my toes and pull him down for a kiss. “Thank you,” I whisper against his lips. I don’t trust myself to speak any louder, lest my voice crack, and the waterworks start.

“You’re welcome, Cara. Now get on in there and show me your moves.”

Anders informs me that The Crazy Cove is most definitely not known for the greasy burgers listed on the table tents, or the half-priced margaritas during happy hour, but the selection of 80s, 90s, and early 2000s music on the jukebox. The men all wear jeans with flip flops and button downs while the women are dressed to the nines in glitter-glad miniskirts and tight bodycon dresses.

It’s a far cry from New York fashion, but you make due with what you have in the neighborhood I guess.

We order a beer for him and I take my chance on a fruity cocktail made of vodka, X-RATED, and thehouse juicethat ends up tasting like a mix of passionfruit and mango. “Be My Lover” sounds over the speakers and Anders starts swaying to the beat, overexaggerating his chest and arm pumps as he swaggers into my personal space.

“This is my jam!” he yells over the music.

Laughing, I turn and let him dance with his chest against my back. I move my hips in time with the beat, sucking on my straw as I lose myself in therhythm. The heat of him surrounding me makes me feel safe in the sea of bodies that occupy the bar.

“Done with that?” His arms encircle me, taking my empty glass and setting it on a hightop table along with his bottle.

“Can I buy you a drink?” a chipper, bubblegum young voice rings out.

I turn to see a bright-eyed blonde staring adoringly up at Anders like he just single-handedly saved her kitten from a tree while simultaneously curing cancer.

He smiles at her, his smirk hot enough to melt the panties right off the living Skipper doll. A green-eyed monster curls around my limbs, surging me forward to step between them and snap a sharp, “He’s taken.”

She looks like I kicked a puppy and pouts as she walks away to find her next victim.

Warm hands settle on my waist and Anders’ breath ghosts over my ear. “I love watching you get jealous, baby girl. You wear it so fucking well. I think it’s my new favorite outfit of yours.”

“Don’t get used to it, smooth guy. A good man never makes his woman think she has anything to be jealous about,” I snip back.

Anders’ laugh rises over “Livin’ La Vida Loca” as he pulls me into the throng of dancers. “Touché.” He begins to salsa, feet moving quickly, arms and hips turning vibrantly. “Dance with me, Cara.”

He’s actually really good. I take his hand,matching his movements with a smile. “How did you learn to salsa?”

“I was raised by women.” Is all he says, like that explains why he moves like Ricky Martin himself.

It’s exhilarating, dancing with him. We move together like two people who have danced together all our lives. And when another couple aggressively enters the circle that people have made around us, we glance at each other and grin, not needing to say a word to understand we’ve just invited a competition.

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