Page 26 of How to Win the Wild Billionaire

Kwezi left his seat and walked around the table. He gave Bay a brief hug and a wide grin. His dark eyes twinkled with mischief. “Digby dances nearly as well as he plays rugby,” he pulled a face and shuddered theatrically, “so if you need someone to show you some moves, I’ll be around.”

Digby’s shoulder bumped Kwezi’s in retaliation and Bay couldn’t help laughing when Digby failed to move him at all.

Bay led Digby to the crowded dance floor, enjoying the rhythmic beat of Kwaito music pumping at full blast from the massive speakers on either side of the makeshift space. She felt the beat in her feet, in her heart, deep in her soul. Hitting the dance floor, she turned to face Digby, noticing that they’d been separated by a couple getting down and a little dirty. Not waiting for Digby to join her, she lifted her hands and instinctively started to move with the beat, shimmying her hips and rolling her shoulders, turning on the spot, her hair flying.

Dancing made her feel sexy and sensual and hot, and the African rhythm connected her to her country and its people. As she waited for Digby to join her, Bay wondered whether he could really dance. Like all women, she found men with rhythm incredibly sexy.

But even if Digby couldn’t dance, his willingness to dance with her without caring what anyone thought was pretty damn cool. She liked guys who were carefree enough, confident enough to look let go, have some fun, not caring whether they appeared silly or not.

And Digby had confidence in spades.

As it turned out, Digby was a very good dancer and came off as anything but silly.

On reaching her spot in the middle of the floor, he placed a hand on her hip, his thigh between hers, and immediately started to move in time to the beat. His eyes slammed into hers and in all that blue she saw desire and need.

Bay, conscious that she held all his attention—such a turn on!—caught his small grin before he was gripping her hand, spinning her out, to pull her back into his chest, then leading her into an empty space with a quick, confident shuffle.

He spun her out again and let her go and Bay instinctively realized that, while he was an excellent dancer, he wanted to spotlight her, that this was her moment, her chance to let loose and fly. Shaking off the last of her inhibitions, Bay fell into the music, allowing instinct to take over. She shimmied and shook, twisted and turned, knowing that whatever she did, wherever she was, Digby was there, urging her on, to let go, to dip and swirl, to allow the music to carry her away. Sometimes he held her, most times he allowed her space to move on her own but he was there...

Always there.

She was the picture; he was the frame. Dance was emotion in motion and she reveled in every note, every beat, understanding the lyrics even though she didn’t understand the language. As she moved, she flirted with Digby, with herself, with life in general and God...

She felt so very alive.

After three fast songs, the track switched to a song that was slow and sensual and, without hesitation, Bay moved into Digby’s arms, looping one arm around his neck and placing her other hand above his heart, enjoying the steady thump-bump under her fingers. His hands rested low on her back, just above the curve of her ass, keeping her anchored to him, his hard erection pushing into her hip. They swayed in place, still flirting without words, seducing in silence.

Dancing was, as someone far cleverer than she once noted, “the vertical expression of a horizontal urge.”

Indeed...

CHAPTER SIX

THENEXTMORNING, a few minutes after she left Olivia with Roisin—the two were off to the beach today—Bay followed Digby’s directions to his house. She ambled to the back of the property, through the impressive flower and vegetable garden, another rose garden and across a swath of lawn, to a double-story structure right at the back of the parcel, as far away from the guests as she could possibly be on the huge acreage. Feeling the sun on her bare shoulders, she stopped at the end of the path and looked up, sighing at the incredible view of Table Mountain. Today the mountain loomed over the tract, so close she felt like she could reach out and touch its crags and slopes.

She had, she admitted, a bit of a hangover, not helped by too little sleep and a few beers. She’d had so much fun with Digby last night.

But, admittedly, she’d been very disappointed when, somewhere around three in the morning, Digby dropped her off at her cottage. He’d kept his distance and when she tried to kiss him, he told her she was a little drunk, tired and that she needed sleep more than she needed sex.

He’d been wrong there and she’d been prepared to argue but Digby told her that, while he wanted her more than he wanted his heart to keep beating, it wasn’t the right moment.

He didn’t want her to have any regrets, to be able to say that alcohol lowered her inhibitions, that her ability to make good decisions was affected. If she wanted to sleep with him, she could just say the word, but preferably when she was completely sober.

Digby was, despite his reputation, a gentleman. Damn him.

Bay slipped her sunglasses onto her face, passed through a small grove of trees and lifted her eyebrows as she approached a large stone building. Digby had informed her that he’d only recently moved into this converted stone barn; up until a few months back he’d been using one of the larger of the hotel suites as his primary residence.

She couldn’t pretend; Bay was eager to see his home.

Bay touched the wall of the barn, admiring the work of the stonemasons. Needing to see more, she hurried around the side and placed her hand on her heart when she noticed the monochromatic glass windows rising from the floor to the pitch of the roof, opening up the entire house to the view.

Fabulous.Good job, architects.

Seeing that one of the sliding doors was open, Bay rapped on the frame and stepped inside, straight into the huge open floor space. A freestanding fireplace stood in the center of the room, with a spacious lounge on one side and a dining area on the other. Beyond the eight-seater table with dining chairs upholstered in rich jewel colors was a sleek, gourmet kitchen.

Entranced, Bay looked up. A set of spiral stairs on each side of the barn provided access to what she presumed to be the master bedroom and a guest bedroom on the mezzanine level, with a thin walkway against the back wall joining the two rooms. The ancient beams of the structure were exposed, and light poured in from skylights above.

“I’m in love,” she murmured.

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