Page 47 of Win Big

God, he’s a good kisser. I could make out with him for hours.

Ihavemade out with him for hours.

Gah.

“You’re beautiful,” he says hoarsely, touching his fingertips to my cheek.

“Thank you. So are you.” His eyebrows fly up. “Okay, handsome. Never mind. I take that back. Your ego is big enough.” I pull away from him, the spell broken by my lighthearted words.

We continue walking down the street. “Your car is the other way.”

“We can’t go home already. The night is young. And so are we.”

I snort. “I think that’s a song.”

“Really? Whatever. I’m on holidays.”

“Oh right. You are. ButIhave to work tomorrow.”

“What are you, forty? Come on.” He grabs my hand and pulls me toward a club. It’s a dance club I may have been to years ago. So not my thing anymore.

“I’m a mature, responsible adult who has to get up early in the morning.”

“That’s boring.”

There’s a line to get in, but Wyatt flashes some cash at the bouncer and has a few words with him and we’re inside, surrounded by pulsing music, flashing lights, and writhing bodies.

The DJ is spinning a Tiësto song. The electronic beat vibrates inside me.

“Oh my God, I haven’t been to a place like this in years,” I shout into Wyatt’s ears.

He grins. “Can you handle it?” He tugs me to the dance floor and sets his hands on my hips. The rhythm is strong and throbbing, and I can’t help but get into it. A little.

Wyatt’s a good dancer. Not flashy, but comfortable, with a good sense of rhythm. His smile tells me he’s having fun as we move to the music. The song slides into another sexy, pulsing tune, and Wyatt turns me so my ass is pressed to him. Deliberately, I grind against him. We dance like that, moving against each other. I’m exquisitely aware of his big, hard body, his hands on my waist, my hips. Somehow we know how to move together, and I’m buzzing and so turned on by the sultry music and his touch, I can hardly stand it.

After a few songs, we’re both damp and out of breath. He leads me off the dance floor with a hand on the small of my back. “Let’s get a drink.”

We head to the bar, lined with more bodies, including a lot of women barely old enough to drink, in sexy short dresses and high heels. I feel old.

I take off my jacket and drape it over one arm, and Wyatt’s eyes move over me in my short leopard-print dress. I’m not oblivious to the attention Wyatt is attracting from the other women, with his good looks and athletic body.He’s mine, girls, back off.

Whoa. Where’d that come from?

Wyatt orders me a glass of champagne (how does he know I love champagne?) and a beer for himself, receiving immediate service from a pretty, young bartender. Then he turns my back to the bar and steps in front of me, setting one arm on a pillar next to us, effectively creating a little privacy for us in the crowd.

I gulp down some wine. The bubbles sting my nose and throat.

“Admit it, you’re having fun,” he says near my ear.

“Okay, okay, I like dancing. I haven’t done it for a while.”

“Is that because you’ve been dating guys old enough to be your father?”

I snort. “No.”Maybe. It’s true that most of my recent dates have been dinner dates or charity events or dinner and a movie. Definitely not sex shops and dance clubs.

“You have to live a little,” he says. “Life is short.”

He’s smiling, but the words sound intense.

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