Page 44 of Betting on the Brainiac

I turn and now her mouth is only inches from mine, but it’s a reminder, not an invitation.I’m here. I’m considering you as a possibility.

I keep my eyes on her mouth, and in the same low tone I say only, “Later.”

There will be no later. I’ve pushed this as far as I can without telling her it’s me. We’re at the point where she should get todecide for herself if she wants to keep the flirting up, knowing I’m behind the mask. I reach to slide it up, but she disappears.

I catch a glimpse of her heading toward the bar.

I press a kiss to the hand of the women on either side of me, who coo but pout at me for leaving, but I need to catch Madison before I leave. She disappears as a group of five or six people break off from the bar crowd and move between us, and by the time I get around them, she’s nowhere in sight. It’s not like she could have gotten far, and I’m guessing she went to the service elevator instead of navigating the congested stairs.

It’s on the other side of the bar, opposite from the restrooms and stairs to avoid bottlenecks. It’s cordoned off with a “staff only” sign to keep drunk dummies from joyriding in it.

I weave my way over as the deejay transitions into “Taki Taki,” and a cry goes up from the dance floor. The people around me keeping the beat with their heads or feet switch to their hips. I doubt most of them even realize they’ve done it, but it’s the only thing you can do when you hear a salsa beat.

The elevator is in a shadowy alcove, the lack of light giving strong “not a public space” vibes, but I catch a glint of white fringe past the velvet rope.

My mouth goes dry, and the hot buzzing sound fills my head as I get closer and watch Madison hit the salsa beats while she waits for the elevator. She’s giving herself fully to the rhythm, her hips roll with the salsa steps, looking even sharper now that she’s in heels with the fringe of her skirt emphasizing every thrust and twitch.

Like before, I’ve caught her in a moment purely for herself, but this time when she spins my way and pauses, I step over the rope, my hand extended. I’m done watching Madison dance by herself.

She dances a club salsa, which is good, because that’s how I’d learned it from a Miami girl during my study abroad semesterin Spain. Miami Mila built on the country swing skills my sister made me and all my male cousins learn so we could dance with her friends at her sweet sixteen party.

We’d complained about it then, but we all owed her a big thank you, because girls love a guy who can lead.

Madison lifts her chin, her eyebrows rising above her mask, but she takes my hand like she’s ready to see if I can back up the invitation. As soon as her fingers curl over mine, I whip her into two fast spins before meeting her other hand and doing an eight count of salsa steps, smooth like I learned it. Madison relaxes into my lead.

It’s electric. Every touch, every glance, and I can’t believe she still hasn’t figured out it’s me. I give her another fast spin-and-a-half, this time ending it with her back against my front, my hand on the right side of her tight abdomen, her hand resting on top of mine as we move through the steps together. Her hair brushes against my nose and I’ve found her caramel smell.

She spins away from me again, dancing backward but drawing me toward her.

She stops when her back touches the wall beside the elevator. She’s taken us beyond the reach of the dance floor light spillover, and it’s too dim to make out her features as she angles her face up to mine. Her body still moves in a soft whisper of the salsa steps, all her attention on me. There is no mistaking her challenge as she leans against the wall.

There is me and there is Madison. There is the rise and fall of her chest after the intensity of our short salsa. There is the sound of my heartbeat, louder than the bass thumping the floor from below. This is the pause before the storm breaks, before the roller coaster swoops, before the bubble pops and breaks the spell. It is the moment before everything changes, but only if I close that gap.

I reach up to push back my mask, to let her make her choice fully, but with a barely perceptibledingthe elevator arrives. Her small smile fades as reality intrudes. Her shoulders lift from the wall—hardly a hairsbreadth—and I’m moving toward her. Toward her before my brain can convince me not to, before common sense can intrude. I take the invitation Madison is offering to do what I’ve been dying to do since those lips first corrected my pronunciation of an Icelandic volcano.

I lean forward and press my hands to the wall on either side of her head, giving her plenty of room to escape as I lower my mouth to hers, but she doesn’t flinch, instead leaning back and tilting her chin up.

“Madison.” It’s a breath against her mouth, but I try.

Then she tugs on my lapels, and I give in.

It isn’t a sweet kiss, and I don’t want it to be. It’s hungry like I’ve been for weeks. It’s payback for every time her laugh has feathered down my spine like velvet, every time I’ve had the scent of caramel in my nose even when she’s back in her office, every time she’s held a kitten against her chest when I wanted to gently pull the floof away to press my hand against her heartbeat instead.

This is reckless. It’s the last thing I need, but now that her mouth is soft and pliant beneath mine, it’s the only thing that’s true. How good her lips feel, how good she feels even if only our mouths are touching.

She changes that, sliding her hand from my jacket to curl it around the back of my neck, pulling me closer as she parts those soft lips, and this time I don’t hesitate. I dip in and explore her, and she tastes like—

Madison.

She tastes like Madison.

But I don’t know if Madison wants Oliver to know that exact flavor, and I drag my mouth away, something she makes almost impossible with a throaty sound of protest.

I made her do that, and I smile.

“Cocky,” she says. “Can’t have that.” She goes up on her toes, her hand pressing against my nape for a kiss that takes me under even faster than the first, and I’m lost in the heat and velvet of her mouth. Too soon, she pulls away while pushing gently against my chest. “I’ve got work to do, but find me before you leave.”

She steps into the elevator and presses a button, smiling at me as the doors close, and I stand there, staring after her, motionless. Because she has blown my mind, and right now, I can’t even remember my own name.

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