Page 50 of Never Date A Player
It’s totally weird to see Tyler flirt. This must be what it’s like to catch a sibling flirting with someone of the opposite sex. No wonder Tyler wanted out of the house with Cali and Jaeger building their love nest.
Lewis saunters closer, his jacket pushed to the side, one hand in his pants pocket, the other holding a drink. I don’t know how he goes from mountain god to city sleek with a change of clothes, but that’s Lewis. “Does that bother you?” he says.
“What? Tyler talking to Nessa? Why would it?”
He shrugs lightly. “You’re here with him…”
“Tyler is Cali’s brother. He’s my friend.”
Lewis’s inscrutable expression doesn’t change.
Does he seriously think there’s something going on between us? Tyler is all but nibbling Nessa’s earlobe. “He lives with me and Cali.” Wait—that doesn’t help. “He steals the remote control and picks on me.” And that sounds like foreplay. Crap.
Tyler is handsome—really handsome. If he didn’t treat me like a sister, and if I had any spark with him whatsoever, I might be interested. “He doesn’t like me like that,” I finally say.
A knowing smile curls Lewis’s lips. “Any guy would like you like that.”
I stare, transfixed by his grin, until what he says registers. “I don’t feel that way about Tyler. And he’s not interested, he’s protective.” Which could be construed as a sign of attraction… I’m not helping to prove my point.
The truth is, there’s only one guy I’m interested in. Everyone else fades into the background, so even if someone were attracted to me, I wouldn’t know it.
Lewis studies my face. He sets the clear plastic cup he’s holding on the table behind us and reaches for my hand. “Dance?”
The look in his eye is dark, intent, and it sends a flurry of sparks through my center. Lewis is difficult to read, except when he isn’t, which sounds confusing, but there it is. His actions say more than his words, and sometimes even those conflict.
I slip my wrap off my shoulders and place it beside my purse on the table our friends commandeered. My black dress is simple, but fitted and short. Over six feet in four-inch heels is a lot of girl, and I didn’t hold back tonight. I’m wearing the ruby chandelier earrings my mom bought me for Christmas and black strappy heels trimmed in gold metal to match the thick bangle on my arm.
Lewis’s gaze drinks me in. After an unnatural pause, he reaches around the small of my back without saying a word and leads me to the dance floor. He guides me to the side, where fewer couples gather, and pulls me close. A woman croons in an eerie minor register about summer and saying goodbye to her love, and couples sway to the slow song.
Despite my height in heels, Lewis has a few inches on me. Clean linen, sweet pine, and his amazing scent fill my senses. His jaw grazes my forehead, sending goose bumps over my arms. He tucks me in closer, his large, warm body moving in a slow, sensual rhythm.
My breathing is too fast, but it’s really not something I can control with the object of my desire wrapped around me. I’m in stimulation overload. And because I can’t control myself, I shift until my cheek and the side of my mouth press against his jaw. It seems the logical thing to do.
His breath catches.
He started this close-dancing business. I can’t help it if my overactive hormones want more.
Lewis glides his chin along my skin—a slightly stubbled chin that looked smooth from a distance. If I turn a fraction more, my lips would touch the edge of his mouth.
A strong temptation.
We stay like this, swaying to the music, holding each other, my mouth close, but not close enough, until I can’t take it anymore. I have to know what he’s thinking, and since his gaze has always told me more than his words, I dip my head back to look in his eyes.
They’re dark and focused on my mouth.
His fingers run down my back, grazing my ass as he reaches around for my hand. I feel that unintentional ass caress in the pit of my belly. His hand tangles with mine, which I realize dropped at some point to palm the side of his thigh.
Without a word, he walks me to the rear of the room and out two giant doors that open onto the beach. A small group of people gather around a keg, making the atmosphere out here less formal. The rest of the beach is deserted in both directions.
Lewis begins a determined pace south, our hands linked. I gently draw back. “My shoes,” I say, and glance down.
He kneels at my feet, head bent, and deftly unclasps the delicate buckle at each ankle as I balance with the help of his shoulders. He slides my heels off and stuffs them in his coat pockets. “Better?”
No. That was incredibly sexy. Is he trying to kill me? “Where are we going?”
He takes my hand again. “Walking.”
“Just walking?” Where did that come from? Why is my head constantly in the gutter around him?
