Page 50 of Whirlwind

“Joey is right; you’re a good dancer.” His husky voice wraps around me, and I swallow the lump that’s built in my throat.

“Thanks,” I say, avoiding his eyes. Ryker’s been leading me around the dance floor for the last couple of minutes with ease. He’s not a bad dancer himself, though I guess I should have known that would be the case. Ryker is good at everything he does except communicating with me in the last twenty-four hours.

“Do you go out dancing a lot?” he asks right before he spins me out.

The action takes me by surprise, but I’m quick to regain my bearings. When I come back into his chest, he’s smiling softly, and the hand that’s back on my waist is heavier than before. I should push it off or leave the dance floor, but I can’t bring myself to. It feels too good to be held by him.

I shake my head. “Not much anymore. I did a lot when I was younger since I spent my summers with my cousin, Jake, andhis Pops at their bar in Texas. They’re big into line dancing and two-stepping there.”

He hums and continues to move us across the floor, leading me as if we’ve danced together a hundred times before. My body starts to relax naturally in his hold, feeling safe in his arms. When I meet his eyes, the intensity and longing in them makes my heart ache and my body stiffen again. I told him one dance, I can’t let myself get this comfortable again when I know it will lead nowhere.

Crap. I really should have said no. He’s lucky I’m even allowing him this dance, especially after the way he ripped that guy off me. Even if I’m secretly glad he did. Not that there was anything wrong with the man, but I could tell he wanted more from me than just a dance, something I wasn’t going to give. Ryker saved me from having to awkwardly slink away after the song finished.

Ryker leads me into another spin, and when he pulls me back in, our bodies collide. A small breath puffs from my lips, and before I can move away, Ryker presses his hand on my low back to keep us together. The heat of him seeps through my clothes, adding warmth to my already flushed skin.

“Ryker,” I say softly enough that only he can hear.

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he lets go of my hand, our dancing now more of a slow sway, and lifts his fingers to brush a loose strand of hair behind my ear. The touch sends a shiver down my spine.

“Are you alright?” He pulls me tighter to him as if he thinks I shivered from the cold. My mouth goes dry, but I manage a nod, his pale green eyes sucking me into his vortex. Our dancing slows further, my breath ceasing in my lungs as he brushes the rough pad of his pointer finger along the shell of my ear then down my cheekbone. I should stop him or push him away, tell him this isn’t what we agreed upon and that Hawk or Joey will see. Not to mention, we said we’d be friends.

Friends.

I want to laugh. Who am I kidding? Ryker and I can’t be friends. It’s why I’ve already started to think of ways I can complete my last year of school from home, or if nothing else, spend lectures in his class then avoid him as much as possible otherwise, even if the idea makes my stomach hurt. Because despite everything that’s happened, I don’t want to avoid him.

“Finley.” His pained voice breaks through my spiral. “You’re so beautiful.”

My heart hits the pause button, and I briefly wonder if this place has a defibrillator in case I collapse.

I stare wide-eyed at Ryker. My skin is prickling from where his hands are touching me, and my vision starts spotting as I stare at his pink lips, lips that twenty-four hours ago were touching and teasing mine.

Another dancer bumps into me, and my body pushes further into his. His hard chest is now pressing against my breasts, making my nipples pebble beneath my shirt. The sensation does the opposite of what I’d think it would, though, bringing my brain back online to reality instead of sending me further into his thrall.

Ryker’s finger traces my cheekbone again, and the sounds of the bar filter back into my awareness. It’s only then I notice the song has shifted from a slow one to something upbeat. We’re not moving anymore, both of us caught in the other’s gaze.

“Ryker, what are we doing?” My voice sounds foreign and far away as his thumb brushes against the lower pad of my lip.

“I think I’ve been an idiot, Finley.”

A part of me wants to reply with a smart-mouthed answer, but I don’t need to reiterate how true his statement is. I want to ask him why he thinks that, though, have him confess whatever is on his mind. His thumb traces my lip again, and I open my mouth to ask him, but then I’m bumped into once more.

“If you’re going to stare at each other, do it somewhere else,” the woman who ran into me says as she and her dance partner move past us.

Her words feel like freezing water has been dumped on my head, and if Ryker was the type of man to blush, I think he’d be doing so right now. I pull away from his warmth, but his hand tugs on mine.

“I said one dance,” I remind him.

Ryker runs his free hand through his feathered dark hair, hair that’s wavy and free instead of under his usual hat. He looks more like the man I see on a daily basis, dressed casually in jeans and a black T-shirt instead of slacks and a button-up.

“Can we talk somewhere private?” he asks.

“We’ve already talked, remember?”

“Please, Finley? I—”

“Move already.” The same grumpy woman from before snaps as she makes another round past us. I glare at her, but all she does is glare back. Maybe she’s a sign that I should talk to Ryker.

I stare up into his hopeful eyes and nod. “Alright. We can talk.”

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