Page 131 of Dial B for Billionaire

Never with us.

BENNETT

The moment her hand slides into mine, hunger slams through me like a freight train. Almost a week without her touch has left me hollow, and now every nerve ending screams to life.

My tie might as well be a noose. The Bennett Mercer who never loses control? He died the moment she entered my world.

We start to move, and when my hand finds her waist, I have to close my eyes. Just for a second. The fabric of her dress is warm from her body, and beneath it I can feel her breathing, feel her trembling. Christ, she's trembling. Because of me. Because of us.

When I open my eyes, she's watching me with that mix of defiance and vulnerability that's haunted every sleepless night since she asked for space. That look—it's everything. My destruction and my salvation all at once.

“Bennett.” My name breaks on her lips.

“Don't,” I murmur, pulling her closer because I'll die ifI don't. “Just let me hold you. I've been drowning without you.”

The admission rips from somewhere deep, somewhere I didn't know existed until she carved it open. We're barely dancing now, just clinging to each other while Chicago's elite pretend not to stare. Someone crashes into a waiter. I don't care. The whole room could burn down and I wouldn't notice.

I guide her into a turn but can't let go. Instead, I pull her back against my chest, her spine to my sternum, and wrap my arms around her like I can keep her through sheer force of will. She gasps, stiffens, then melts into me with a sound that nearly brings me to my knees.

My mouth finds her neck, grazing soft skin and her pulse jumps against my lips.

“We're in public,” she breathes, but her head falls back against my shoulder.

“Let them watch.” The words come out raw, desperate. “Let the whole world see what you've done to me.”

Her hands cover mine at her waist, fingers interlacing with mine. When I press my lips to that spot below her ear, she doesn't just wobble, she nearly collapses. I catch her weight, hold her up, hold her close. Her fingers dig into my hands like she's anchoring herself to me.

Everything else disappears. The champagne, the perfume, the music. It’s all gone. There's only her vanilla and jasmine scent that I've been chasing on my pillows. Only the heat of her under my palms. Only the woman who owns my heart, my body, my soul.

The music swells around us as I turn her to face me. Now we're chest to chest, her breasts pressed against me, my thigh positioned between hers. We're not even dancinganymore, just holding each other, swaying to a rhythm of our own making.

Her hand slides to the nape of my neck, fingers threading through my hair in that gesture that always brings me to my knees.

“I've dreamed of you every night,” I confess, voice rough. “Woken up reaching for you.”

A shudder runs through her body. I can feel her heart racing against my chest, her breathing shallow. My hand at her back slides lower, fingers splayed possessively over the curve where her spine meets her ass.

She doesn't pull away. Instead, her fingers tighten in my hair, tugging the way she knows drives me wild.

I respond by pressing my thigh more firmly between hers. The movement is hidden by her flowing dress but unmistakable in intent. Her breath hitches, her body unconsciously grinding against me before she catches herself.

“This is madness,” she whispers.

“This is us,” I counter. “This has always been us.”

I'm shaking now too. Actually shaking. Me. The man who's negotiated billion-dollar deals without breaking a sweat is coming apart on a dance floor.

I lower my head, drawn to her mouth like a dying man to water. Her eyes flutter closed. We're so close I can taste the champagne on her breath, feel the heat of her lips.

She turns her face at the last second, and I press my forehead to her temple instead, breathing hard.

“Not here,” she whispers, and her voice is wrecked too.

“Then where?” The question tears from my chest.

“Bennett—”

“Come home with me, Layla. Let me show you what you mean to me.”

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