Page 15 of Rematch
Preston had thought that over-the-top and crazy a few hours earlier, but now he was glad Gianna had gone to the effort. Especially when the two of them fought their way through the crowd bumping and grinding on the dining room dance floor and claimed their own bit of space. There wasn’t a lot of room, which was fine with him, because it meant he could pull her close. The upbeat number had a thumping rhythm, and they moved together. He wrapped his arms around her waist, his hands stroking up and down her sides.
While her sweater was cute and funny as shit, it was too bulky for him right now. What would he give to slip his hands underneath the thick material to feel her curves? Or better yet, to take her up on that offer to “feel the joy.”
She was a great dancer, moving in time to the song, her legs split by one of his so that when he tugged her even closer, it felt as if she was riding his thigh.
Too much more of this and he’d never be able to keep his erection at bay. He’d been sporting a half-chub ever since dragging her to the back porch and claiming a spot next to her on the couch.
Her hands slid along his thighs, moving upward until she fisted his sweater near his waist. She looked up at the same time he glanced down, their faces inches from each other.
He closed the distance, giving her a quick kiss. Chelsea returned it, then pressed the side of her face to his shoulder as he raised one hand, cupping the back of her neck, holding her there, against him.
God, she smelled good. Like cinnamon and apples. He bent his head, his cheek resting against the top of her head. She raised her hands to his back, caressing up and down—at least as much as the stupid Christmas lights he’d wrapped around the sweater would allow. He was ripping them off the second they took a break from dancing so he could feel more of her hands on him.
Unable to resist, he placed a knuckle under her chin, lifting it so that he could place a kiss on her cheek, then another. Chelsea nuzzled closer, like a kitten, purring, begging for more.
They’d spent the last couple of hours talking, getting to know one another, yet it felt as if they were saying more here…now…with this dance and these kisses.
He was thrilled this attraction wasn’t one-sided, but there was something else more shocking than his sudden, intense sexual desire. It was the realization that if Chelsea didn’t want to take things to the next level, he’d be just as happy to sit next to her for the rest of the night, merely talking.
Preston wasn’t one of those love-at-first-sight guys, a firm believer that love took time. But damn if he didn’t think this woman and tonight might convince him otherwise. The second she ran into him, he’d felt a connection—literally and figuratively. She was easy to talk to, smart, pretty, and funny. She ticked every single one of his boxes.
“Chels!” A woman next to them danced closer, her eyes widening as she looked at him. “I wondered where you’d disappeared to.”
Preston assumed this was the friend Allyson, given the fact she was wearing the exact same sweater as Chelsea. He laughed when she gave him a once-over, then a twice-over, before fist-bumping Chelsea.
“Damn, girl. Good job!”
A guy came up behind Allyson, wrapping his hand around her waist and drawing her into a bump and grind. “Thought I lost you, babe.”
Allyson shimmied against her dance partner. “Best. Night. Ever. You two don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” she joked. Then added, “Which leaves your night wide open!”
Allyson disappeared back into the throng of dancers with her guy as Chelsea laughed. “She’s kind of a lot, but I love her.”
“She’s cool. I’m glad she dragged you out tonight.”
“Me too. Lucky she scored those tickets at the last minute.”
“I was a late addition as well. Didn’t plan to come until yesterday morning, when my buddy called to invite me.”
“Incredible. It’s like fate was drawing us here together.” She blushed when she realized what she’d said. “God. Now you’ve got me delivering cheesy lines.”
“There wasn’t a damn thing cheesy about that. I think you’re right. Us meeting. It was fate. Serendipity.”
The song ended, a slow one starting. Chelsea shifted slightly, their bodies connecting in a different, more intimate way as she placed her head against his chest again. He tightened his grip, the two of them swaying in time.
Preston had danced with countless women in his life, but it felt different with Chelsea, and he wondered why.
Not that he’d have too long to ponder it. She was leaving for Paris in a week.
When he was younger, he wouldn’t have had a problem initiating a no-strings-attached one-night stand with Chelsea.
But he hated the idea of it tonight. Because she was a woman he wanted to spend more time with, wanted to get to know on a much more personal level.
In truth, she was exactly his type. Which was funny, because before Chelsea, he didn’t realize he had a type.
She lifted her head, looking up at him. “I haven’t slow danced with anyone in ages. Most of my dancing lately has been shaking my ass with Ethan and Allyson in nightclubs. This is nice.”
“It’s very nice.” He hated the idea of someone as sweet as Chelsea reeling for so long from a broken heart. He had the uncharacteristic desire to find her ex and punch the guy’s lights out.
