Page 50 of Secrets & Lies

“What are you doing here?” she whisper-shrieked.

“Dancing,” I answered, moving toward her.

“Not with me, you’re not.” She gracefully twirled away and grabbed the hand of the lanky boy with roaming eyes and led him out on the dance floor.

He wasn’t much older than her and looked at her with the biggest puppy-dog eyes. Before the instructor got the music started, I marched over to them.

“I suggest you find someone else to dance with. This is my girl.”

The boy’s face blanched at my words.

“I didn’t say I wanted to partner with you, Aleksandr. And I’m notyourgirl.” She glared at me.

“Let’s see about that, shall we?” I grabbed her and spun her around.

Music filled the room, and I pulled her into my arms, flush against my front. God, she fit perfectly. Her reaction to being so close was comical. She was indignation on fire, her eyes speaking louder than any words could.

I hooked her hands around my neck and thrust my thigh between her mouthwatering legs. Pushing every inch of myself into her. The thin material of her leggings didn’t provide much of a barrier. I swayed ever so slightly as the chorus of “Señorita” played.

My thumb and forefinger pressed to her side and back, guiding her in a slow, torturous rocking motion as I ground my hips into hers. I had to adjust my pants, pulling my jeans up my thigh with my hand. Jolts of electricity ran through me when her eyes widened. I was rock hard, and there was no way she couldn’t feel it.

As I grabbed Kinsley’s hand, my touch firm yet gentle, I guided her into frame position. I’d most definitely have to give my mother a hug and thank her for the years of dance she forced me and my brothers to attend.

With a subtle push, I positioned her body in alignment with mine, leaving just enough space between us to allow for graceful movement. The spark between our hands was electric, and my fingers intertwined with hers with a sense of purpose.

As her left hand rested on my right upper arm, I could feel the subtle warmth of her touch seeping through the fabric of my T-shirt. My body towered over hers, yet she inclined hers toward mine. The other dancers faded as we were once more drawn together by an invisible force.

Our gazes locked, and I sucked in a breath and knew with everything in me that something beautiful and intimate was about to take place on this dance floor. She and I were about to tell a goddam story.

We swayed in perfect synchrony, our hips moving to match the sensual music.Fuck, she was graceful. I guided her into a subtle turn, our bodies seamlessly rotating as if carried by the melody.

Our eyes met once more, this time speaking a language only the two of us could understand. Our connection grew stronger with each step, the movements growing more and more intimate. It was as if we were making love on the dance floor.

I wrapped my arms around her waist, drawing her closer. Our bodies merged, moving as one. Every touch, every connection, was electrifying. The chorus hit, and that intoxicating surge of energy coursed through me.

In one swift move, I trapped her once more, drawing her tight little body closer to mine. My fingertips danced along her back, and my resulting reward was her exquisite shiver. With my forehead pressed against hers, sweet surrender filled her eyes.

Regardless of what was going on inside her mind, she was committed to this dance, and she countered my every move with a sensuality that left me wanting more of her. And then, with the barest of flicks, I expertly positioned her into frame position once again, spinning her. The song was ending, much to my disappointment. I could dance with her all day.

But as the final notes faded and we came to a graceful stop pressed against each other in the final move, she jerked away. Her anger flared as her nostrils did, causing me to grin. Her eyes blazed with fury, churning like a raging storm.

“Told you I was good,” I taunted her.

“I’ve had better,” she replied coolly, but her heart was racing, and her eyes betrayed her arousal.

“Pavel Lenkov?”

“Fuck you,” she hissed.

Interesting.So Mr. Lenkov’s a sensitive subject.Her reaction was telling.She absolutely knew him, the little liar.

“Let’s go. We need to talk.” I grabbed her arm, dragging her off the dance floor.

The crowd of dancers parted, making a path for us. A hushed silence had enveloped the room in the wake of our captivating performance. It seemed as though everyone could sense the longing that hung in the air between us. I was tempted to put her on the spot with a kiss to confirm that she’d been affected by the dance, too, but refrained.

“Tell Sarah bye.” I winked at her friend, who looked like she didn’t know what to do.

“You’re hurting me,” she whispered.

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