Page 49 of Tangled Kisses
“Right,” I mutter. “That’s why you sounded so damn good.”
He shrugs, setting his beer on the scarred wood. “Stayed up the last few nights learning them. Getting the chords right. Still rough, but I’ll get better. You’ll see.”
And yet the words escape before I can stop them. “Why would you do that?”
“To see you smile.”
Don’t read into it, Reese. Don’t you dare.
He clicks his tongue, slips his phone from his back pocket, scrolling for a beat before tucking it away again. Then he steps closer, voice dipping low as heat curls in my belly.
“I don’t want to talk.” He holds out his hand, his intense stare daring me to object. “I want to dance with you. It’s my damn turn.”
The strains ofNeon Moondrift from the speakers just as Griffin steps in front of me.
Dancing with Jimmy had been easy. Comfortable.
Dancing with Griffin is something else entirely. His palm settles low on my back, warmth seeping through the fabric, and suddenly I can’t remember how to breathe.
He feels rigid at first, every line of him tight. I force a shaky laugh. “You could at least pretend you like dancing with me.”
That earns me his genuine smile—the slow, unguarded one that makes my knees weak. “Trust me, I do.”
His grip tightens, pulling me flush against him. He spins me out, reels me back, and my laugh escapes before I can stop it. For a moment, it’s effortless, like we’ve been doing this forever.
Then, as the song fades, he dips me low, his arm strong around me.
“Whoops,” he murmurs.
My gaze follows his and—fantastic—two buttons gape wide on my dress. A nervous chuckle bubbles up.
Smooth, Reese. Nailed it.
“See? This is why I stick to sweats,” I grumble, my fingers fumbling to fix the damage.
The damn buttons won’t cooperate—of course they won’t, not when my hands are shaking like a teenager’s.
“Allow me.” His voice is quiet, steady, as his hands close over mine. Heat sears straight through me at the contact.
I freeze, breath caught in my throat. He nudges my hands down to my sides, taking over like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“Maybe it’ll work better from my angle.”
My angle. My pulse skitters.
He’s just helping, Reese. Relax.
Except his fingers linger too long as he fastens the buttons. Knuckles graze my breast, and the world tilts.
“There.” But he doesn’t move on. His hand drifts upward, tracing the line of my dress, over the curve of my breast, sliding along the strap. Fingers skim my collarbone, light but sure, until I can’t remember my own name.
And just like that, I’m back in the woods, drunk on the sight of him shirtless and sweat-slick. Only now he’s closer. Too close.
“Just so you know,” he murmurs, “you’re stunning. Even if that button’s been hanging on for dear life all night.”
Color floods my cheeks. I tuck my hair behind my ear, fumbling for casual. “I didn’t realize it was that obvious.”
“It was to me.” His touch lingers, deliberate. “Then again, I’m on a mission to memorize every inch of you.”
