Page 6 of The Grumpy Billionaire
Though my brain knew better, apparently my body had declared mutiny, because I found myself getting to my feet and moving toward her.
The persuasive smile turned into one of satisfaction. She stepped up to me and put one palm on my shoulder. The other she held out for my hand.
Licking my lips and willing my breathing to remain at a normal pace, I took her offered hand and began an awkward side-to-side shuffle, trying to please her.
She smiled up at me as if I was Derek Hough and about to win the Dancing with the Stars trophy.
“See? You can dance,” she purred. And then she took another step closer.
The hand that had been on my shoulder moved up to my nape. Slipping her fingers from my other hand, she clasped both her hands behind my neck.
The maneuver caused the front of her body to press against the front of mine.
At the feel of her curves and softness, all of my self-talk was rendered worthless. The physical evidence of my raging attraction to her was straining the front of my shorts and demanding to be noticed.
Mara didn't say anything about it, but shedidrespond, tucking her hips and pressing her lower half more tightly to mine.
A pleasurable jolt of electricity rolled through my abdomen, and I got even harder. Suddenly I wanted nothing more in the world than to drag Mara down to the blanket and pin her beneath me, tug the strap of her sundress down and kiss the slope of her neck and shoulder, slide the hem of the dress up and feel the silky skin of her thighs, her—
No. Stop. Just stop before you get carried away and ruin everything.
I glared down at her, speaking through clenched teeth. “Whatare you doing?”
Mara gazed up at me with an expression of mock innocence. “I'm dancing with you, obviously.”
And then she moved against me in a deliberate, slow rub that caused me to go hard as a rock.
I went still. Gripping my hands on either side of her hips, I shifted her back a step. “I think that's enough dancing for now.”
Her pleased grin turned into a pout. “Why?”
“You know why.”
Flopping down to the blanket again, I stared out at the rolling waves and dug my fist into the sand at my side, squeezing it with almost enough pressure to produce glass.
Mara came and sat beside me. Far too close.
“No. I don’t.” she insisted. “There's nothing wrong with us dancing together.”
“I doubt your father would agree with that,” I said. “He’s made it pretty clear that he doesn't want our friendship to turn into anything more.”
Her pout was accompanied by a head toss. “Who cares what he wants? It’s none of his business who I dance with.”
We both knew we were talking about something far beyond dancing at this point. Though if asked, no doubt Pearson Neely would not have wanted his daughter to dance with me either.
“I thought we were friends,” Mara said.
“Of course we're friends. You’re my best friend. Nothing will ever change that.”
“If nothing will ever change that, then why are you so afraid to dance with me?” she challenged. “Friends dance with each other all the time.”
“I’m not afraid,” I insisted, but we both knew it was a lie.
I was absolutely terrified of what would happen if I ever owned up to my true feelings for Mara, if I ever allowed myself tokeepdancing with her and to give her the kind of attention she seemed to want from me.
“Well, Harry McAllen isn't afraid to dance with me.” The look on her face was the visual equivalent of a dare.
Although I knew she was trying to bait me, I couldn’t seem to stop myself from rising to it.
