Page 52 of Beneath Scarred Vows
"Busy?" she asks.
"Sure, chasing the little ones around the house."
It's the first time I've brought up children.
"Mmm," she says and walks over to the built-in shelves, spotting a remote.
"What's this for?" she asks, picking it up, turning it over in her palm.
"The entertainment system."
"You have an entertainment system in here? Ares, I thought this was the boring room."
She points it toward the wall panel and presses the power button. The large screen embedded in the wall flickers to life, displaying a news channel.
"Katerina," I say, a warning in my tone. I don't like distractions when I'm working.
"How do I turn on music?" she asks, ignoring my implied protest.
I stand, moving toward her. "Music?"
"Yes." She's already pressing buttons, cycling through menus.
"Press the blue button, it'll take you to—" Before I can finish, jazz pours from the hidden speakers, a saxophone filling the room.
She wrinkles her nose. "Oh no, we're not trying to sleep here."
Her fingers move across the remote again, and suddenly an upbeat pop song replaces the jazz, the tempo quickening, the bassline vibrating through the floorboards.
She turns to me, her hips already swaying slightly. "Dance with me."
I blink at her. "Excuse me?"
"Come on," she urges, moving closer. "You need a breather, Mr. Stares-at-screens-all-day, and I'm trying to help. You can spare five minutes to dance with me." Her lips curve into a teasing smile as she grabs her hair and runs her hands down her face and body. "I'm a pretty good dancer. Are you?"
"I don't dance," I say, but I'm already walking closer to her, drawn to her like a magnet.
"Everyone dances," she counters, reaching for my hand. "Some just need more convincing than others."
She pulls me to the center of the room, away from my desk, away from my worries. Her body moves with the music—uninhibited, carefree. She raises her arms above her head, and the T-shirt rides up, exposing more of her thighs. My mouth goes dry.
I stand intently, watching her. She's transformed—light and playful—a complete shift from the woman I married who seemed empty, hollow.
"You call that dancing?" she teases, taking my hands in hers and pulling them to her waist. "Move your hips, Ares. Feel the music."
I let her guide me, my hands settling on her waist, feeling the warmth of her skin through the thin cotton. Gradually, I begin to move with her, our bodies finding a rhythm together.
She laughs. "There you go! See? Not so terrible."
The song changes, the tempo slowing, the beat becoming heavier, more sensual. Katerina's movements change with it, her body pressing closer to mine. Without thinking, I grab her and pull her flush against me, my hands sliding down to her hips, guiding her movements against mine.
Her breath catches, and she looks up at me, her eyes widening with surprise and something darker—desire. I move my hips against hers, slow and deliberate, watching her reaction.
Her hands slide up my chest to rest on my shoulders, her fingers playing with the hair at the nape of my neck. The sensation sends electricity through me. We're barely dancing now—just swaying together, bodies pressed close.
I can't take it anymore. I capture her mouth with mine, kissing her deeply, hungrily. She responds immediately, her lips parting, inviting me in. Her taste is intoxicating—sweet and warm. I back her toward the desk, lifting her onto its edge without breaking the kiss.
Her legs wrap around my waist, pulling me closer. I groan into her mouth, my hands sliding up her thighs, under her shirt. She's not wearing a bra, and I cup her breasts. The discovery sends a surge of primal possessiveness through me.
