Page 91 of Holiday Hire

Their eyes light up. The man states, "Where've you been hiding out?"

Alexander replies, "Work's been crazy. Katie, good to see you."

"You too!" She beams.

"Katie, Dean, this is Phoebe," Alexander says. His fingers stroke my back.

Katie puts her hand on my arm. "Nice to meet you."

"You too."

"Phoebe." Dean nods.

I smile at him and take a sip of beer.

Alexander takes a mouthful of his own beer, then tells me, "The three of us went to school together."

Katie leans close to me. Her brown eyes twinkle, and she teases, "Yep. I know everything about Alexander—all the dirty gossip."

I laugh. "Well, do tell!"

"And on that note, I think we'll rest our drinks for a minute," Alexander states, takes another large mouthful, then grabs my hand. He maneuvers us through the crowd until we're on the dance floor.

The band switches to a well-known classic 70s rock song, and the bar erupts in cheers and singing.

Alexander swings me around the dance floor, surprising me further.

He's not a good dancer—he's a great dancer. He guides me through several songs, leading me so well that I don't even feel like my usual clumsy self. I usually avoid dance floors at all costs, but we dance to several songs, and I don't feel any self-consciousness.

The band's lead singer declares, "We're going to slow it down now."

Alexander doesn't skip a beat, pulling me close to him. The atmosphere turns quieter, and the lights darken. My body molds into his, and I lean my cheek on his chest. His heart thumps against my ear, and butterflies fill my stomach.

The aphrodisiac scent of musk, sweat, and everything Alexander, flares around us, mixing with the smell of beer and thickening from the heat. I dive deeper into it, closing my eyes, melting into the opposite of everything I've ever experienced.

Another song comes on, and Alexander keeps me in his arms, swaying in time with the music. When the music turns fast again, he asks, "Should we get a cold one?"

I nod, and before I know it, we have two cold drinks in our hands. He steers me through the bar, out the back door, and into a tiny patio area.

String lights glow above us, and heated lamps flicker in the corners. There are only two tables—one with seats and one for standing. Three people are in the chairs, chatting.

We set our beers down on the other table.

Alexander states, "It feels good out here."

"Agreed." I take a big sip.

The wind picks up, and my hair flies over my face.

"Whoa!" He steps on my other side, shielding me from the gust.

"Thanks! That wind is fierce!"

"You're welcome," he replies, then slides his finger over my cheek, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear. He pins his blues on mine before dropping them to my lips.

My heart thumps harder. I'm pretty sure there's a pool soaking my panties.

"Excuse me," a man says.

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