Page 15 of The Tryst

I take a step to leave.

“Whoa,” Nick says and grabs my wrist, stopping me. He looks me in the eyes, intense, powerful. “I had a great time. I’mstill havinga great time. But if you’re ready for this night to be over, I’ll walk you back to the hotel. I’ll say goodnight in the lobby like a gentleman after I make sure you get safely in the elevator. But if you want to dance, then I want to take you to that club,” he says.

I’m thrilled and relieved at the same time. It’s not the end—it’s the start of the rest of the night. “I do want to go with you.”

He takes myyes—rightly—as permission to hold my wrist tighter. “I asked your age because, one, I’m curious. Doesn’t take a genius to work out that there’s more than a decade between us. But I also asked because I’m thirty-eight, and I don’t usually go to clubs. I will take you wherever you want to go, but I’m not going to thrust my arms in the air and toss back shots and jump up and down.”

I laugh at those images. “I don’t want you to dance like that.”

“Good.” He inches closer, crowding me here on the sidewalk, the beach to one side, the South Beach scene to the other. He drops my wrist, his hand snaking around my waist instead. With him this close, I catch a hint of his cologne—he smells like fresh-cut wood and snow. Intoxicating. “If we go dancing, I’m going to dance like a man who wants a woman. Close to you,” he adds, letting those words linger in the air between us like sweet smoke. “My hands on your soft arms, my chest pressed to your lovely back, my nose in your beautiful fucking hair that I’ve been dying to inhale all night long.” His fingers travel lower, curving over the fabric of my dress covering my ass. “Is that how you’d like to dance with me?”

I can’t speak.

I have no words. I simplyache.

“Yes,” I whisper.

“Good. Then let’s go. But first…”

He reaches into his back pocket and takes out his phone. He slides open the screen, clicks on it, then shows it to me. It’s a text message to him from his mother.

I hope you’re remembering to wear sunscreen, Nick.

I laugh, all the tension defused. My wariness vanished into the night. “Well, did you, Nick? Remember to wear sunscreen?”

With a twinkle in his eyes, the gorgeous man shakes his head as if he’s relishing his naughtiness. “I don’t always do the right thing.”

“But you said you’d walk me back to the hotel. That seems like the right thing,” I say, back to teasing.

“I’m not sure dancing with you like I want to fuck you is the right thing. But I’m going to do it anyway.”

I blink.

This is true speechlessness.

Then he brushes his lips against the shell of my ear, whispering, “Be a good girl, Lola. Write back to her and tell her you’ll see her Sunday. Because later, you’re going to be very,verybusy.”

Desire swoops down my body, pulses hot between my thighs.

I can’t wait to beverybusy.

He steps back as I click open the message from my mother and tell her I can’t wait for lunch.

Then I stuff my phone in my clutch, shut the purse with a decisive snap, and take his offered hand. He leads me into the club, paying the cover charge. Under the deafening beat, he guides me to the dance floor, weaving between hot, sweaty bodies as we go. We pick a spot, and he moves behind me. Yanks my body against his. My back to his chest. My ass to his erection.

As promised, he buries his face in my hair and draws a long, lingering scent.

Goose bumps flare all over my body from his possessive, carnal move.

He can’t seem to stop playing with the loose strands of my hair falling from my clip, catching hits of me as his hands slide down my arms then wrap around my waist.

I lift mine above my head, dancing the way I like. Free and easy. Living in my body. Embracing the night, grooving to the music, letting go.

But I’m dancing a whole new way too.

Close to him. My body melting against his.

As we move and grind, I have so many answers about this man—answers I didn’t know I was seeking. Nick Adams likes foreplay. Nick Adams likes to take his sweet time. Nick Adams likes…me.

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