Catching Hell: A Hot Contemporary Romance (8 page)

The last time she’d waltzed, she’d been at a cousin’s wedding. Her date had been her junior-year boyfriend, a gawky chemistry major who had danced as if he were reciting the Periodic Table. She’d been afraid to talk to him, for fear she’d knock him off his count.

Zach, though, was an entirely different type of partner. With him leading, she felt as if she were floating, as if she did not need to think at all. He pulled her closer and whispered so that only she could hear. “I think I owe a thank you to whoever chose the theme for this year’s gala.”

“Oh?” She shivered at the suggestiveness of his tone.

“I’ve always wondered. What
is
the age of innocence?” The glint in his eyes was wicked, and it melted something deep inside her.
 

At the same time, though, she heard something beyond the simple flirtation of his question. He was reminding her that he was fifteen years older than she was. He was pulling them both back to the way they had met—when she had been indisputably a child, when he had been a man. He was warning her off.
 

“I’m not sure,” she answered seriously. “But I know I’m past it.” And to prove her point, she shifted her hand from his shoulder to the back of his neck. She let the edge of one crimson-painted fingernail trail against his flesh, awakening a slow shudder that she felt through the entire line of the body that pressed against her. Widening her eyes in mock innocence, she asked, “Where
did
you learn to dance so well?”

“When you have four younger sisters and the world’s strictest parents, you get dragged out on a lot of dance floors.” He pulled her closer as another couple swirled nearby. “I have to say, though. You surprise me.”

“That I know how to waltz?”

“That you don’t try to lead.”

* * *

Even as he said the words, he shifted his arms, pulling her closer to his body. He felt her stiffen, knew she was considering resistance. But he’d been careful to time his comment. If she pushed back now, she’d essentially be confirming that she
did
lead on the dance floor. And something told him Anna Benson was just traditional enough to want him to guide them through the next few steps.

Sure enough, she relaxed again, her body more gracefully pliant than ever. As his hips met hers, he had to consciously resist the temptation to tear those diamond-tipped pins out of her hair, to grab hold of those waves of shiny black and tilt her head back, exposing the pulse point in her throat…

His cock twitched violently, and he braced himself for her inevitable response. He couldn’t tell if she was somehow blessedly unaware of his arousal or if she was being coy when she asked, “What brings you to the RADD gala? I haven’t seen you here before.”

“The last three years, I was on the road.”

Of course, she understood
that
immediately. “But your suspension freed you up to attend this year.” Her voice turned arch. “Foolish me. I should have understood right from the start. You dropped your appeal so we could
waltz
together. It had nothing to do with the team going to New York. With the team facing the division leader.”

“I’m not afraid of playing in New York.” He responded to her taunt automatically.

“As near as I can tell,” she said evenly, “you’re not afraid of anything.”
 

Damn. She had to feel the effect her words had on him. Her words, and the soft heat of her flesh beneath his hands, the sweet apple scent he barely caught on her hair. If he had any doubt, it evaporated when she leaned back against the spread fingers of his right hand. The motion ground her hips against his, simultaneously treating him to a glimpse of the tight buds that stood out against the scarlet bodice of her dress.

There were about a hundred things he wanted to do with Anna Benson, right then, right there, in the middle of that dance floor. And Raleigh’s society matrons would be one hundred percent appalled by every single one of them. It was time to ground this conversation. Time to remind both of them they’d be goddamn fools to take things further. Goddamn fools to follow up on even one of the thoughts that tightened his balls even as he led her smoothly across the floor.

“I wanted to get the suspension behind me,” he said as lightly as he could. “Get back to work without it hanging over my head. Over the team’s head.”

“You wanted the team to know exactly how much we need you behind the plate.”
 

I’ll see you and raise you.
That’s what she meant. He shrugged and lowered his voice to a deliberately provocative growl. “I
wanted
to see you in something other than blue jeans and a team T-shirt. I’d have made the effort sooner, if I’d known what I was missing.”

That
caught her by surprise. Her eyes widened, and she almost missed a step. He did the only gentlemanly thing he could, pulling her closer to make sure she didn’t lose her balance. She shuddered a little, and it seemed to take a conscious effort for her to meet his eyes. Good.

“But why RADD?” she persevered, just a little breathlessly. “Isn’t it a little much to come to a gala for some charity you’d never heard of? What if my dance card had been full?”

It was his turn to reply with something flirtatious, something about taking her outside, where her dance card wouldn’t matter. But he had to be truthful. He had to be honest—for himself. For Anna. For a man who could never be honest again. “My brother-in-law was killed by a drunk driver five years ago. Supporting RADD is the least I can do to help my sister, Rachel.”

“I’m so sorry,” she said. The words were automatic. He’d heard them from hundreds of people over the years; he’d even said them himself, knowing they could never make a difference. He watched her wince at the platitude as soon as the words were out of her mouth, and she caught her lower lip between her teeth.
 

The orchestra conspired to stop then, prohibiting him from distracting her, from smoothing over the awkward moment, from making it all okay. He barely resisted the urge to swear, supplanting a few choice curse words with the long-practiced politeness of gliding to a stop, of releasing his dance partner, of turning toward the conductor and applauding like he was standing in a goddamn golf gallery.
 

What he really wanted to do was kiss that frown off her face. To let his tongue brush against the shallow marks left by her teeth. To tilt her head to a proper angle and pull her body against his in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with the tortured formality of a waltz. To see what she really felt like beneath those folds of Rockets-red cloth.
 

Before he could move, he felt a sharp tap on his shoulder.

* * *

“May I?” Anna heard the question before she’d fully registered the intruder, before she remembered she was standing in the Grand Ballroom, in the very center of the dance floor, surrounded by everyone who was anyone in the Raleigh social scene.

Zach’s face darkened, and she thought he was going to deny the man the next dance. He was going to cause a most inappropriate commotion. She
wanted
him to say something, even when she realized the newcomer was Austin Pendleton, one of Raleigh’s greatest benefactors, and a man whom Gramps would surely demand she entertain civilly.

But Zach brought his heels together with the slightest hint of a bow. “Of course,” he said. But before he stepped away, he brought Anna’s hand to his lips.

Under any other circumstances, she would have rolled her eyes at the gesture. It was corny. Possessive. Old-fashioned, in the worst possible way.

But when he turned her hand to settle the lightest of kisses against the pulse point in her wrist, she knew Zach Ormond meant nothing
traditional
with the gesture. The touch of his lips was more suggestive than anything he could have said, more telling even than the fire that sparked behind his gaze.

“Many thanks for the dance, Miss Benson,” he said.

“My pleasure, Mr. Ormond,” she managed, striking the perfect tone of mockery and politeness. And then Zach disappeared in the pool of black tuxes, only the set of his shoulders setting him apart from every other man in the room. Those shoulders, and his mahogany curls, and the confident way he walked across the dance floor, never looking back. He somehow conveyed that he knew she was following him with her eyes, and she felt faint against the sudden rush of heat that swept from her kissed wrist to her belly, passing straight through her heart.

“I’m sorry,” she said, turning back to Austin Pendleton, suddenly aware that she had missed his opening polite conversation. She forced herself to focus on inane gala chatter as the orchestra swept them into a new dance.

It wasn’t Pendleton’s fault that the violins sounded screechy throughout the next number. And his mechanical waltz was
technically
correct. Anyone’s hands might have been cold as ice after an evening in the over-air-conditioned hotel ballroom.

At least Anna kept a smile on her face as she listened to the elderly lawyer drone on and on about some major litigation matter his firm had recently won. They’d been paid on
contingency,
he emphasized, at least three times. Anna finally shook her mind back to the matter at hand and prompted, “With a windfall payment like that, you should be
more
than happy to write a check to RADD this year. You know my grandfather would truly adore listing you as one of the Angels for this year’s campaign.”

She extracted the attorney’s promise, and then she waited out the orchestra, pleading thirst the instant they played the last note of the waltz. She snatched up the first glass she could from a passing waiter, only to discover it was an overheated chardonnay.

Forcing herself to ignore the oaky taste at the back of her throat, she returned her concentration to the true business of the night—securing the last of the donors her grandfather had targeted. There was one, by the Viennese table, piling a tiny glass plate high with desserts. Anna pasted on a smile and went to confront the woman, already pulling together a compliment about the combination of feathers and sequins that sprouted across her ample bosom.

Submerging herself in business mode, she continued to work the room. Her feet were killing her and the stitching in the seams of her borrowed dress was starting to itch, but she was determined to cement every last commitment for RADD.
 

Her final prey was Gwendolyn Chalmers. She actually found the woman in the ladies’ lounge, carefully dabbing at her lipstick before she returned to one final battle on the dance floor. They exchanged air kisses, and Anna exclaimed over that enticing shade of…chartreuse. Where
had
Gwendolyn found that dress? Without mercy, Anna mentioned how happy Gramps had been to get the newsletter from the home for retired racehorses that was Gwendolyn’s pet cause. She secured a promise of a check with five zeros—one more, she knew, than even Gramps had hoped for.

As Gwendolyn navigated out of the lounge, Anna resisted the urge to slip into one of the upholstered chairs. If she sat down now, she’d never get home. Squaring her shoulders, she checked her teeth for lipstick, and then she dived back into the fray.

Returning to the ballroom, though, she found the party was finally over. The musicians were packing up their instruments, moving with the brisk efficiency of grocery store clerks bent over busy cash registers. The lights jolted up from “Seduction” level to “Service,” and Anna blinked as her pupils adjusted.
 

Women were collecting their purses. Men stood nearby, pulling out valet claim checks. A few guests clutched the flower arrangements that had graced each table.
 

A handful of people made a point of saying goodbye to Anna. There was Austin Pendleton again, this time with his helmet-haired wife standing guard. Gwendolyn Chalmers executed another air kiss and repeated her promise to send along a check. The actual officers of RADD—not the women who held the title of honorary anything—came over to shake Anna’s hand, to thank her for her hard work, to send their best wishes to her grandfather as if they’d had no chance to see the man before his early bedtime.

Anna finally eased her way out the doors. The hotel was quiet; it was well after midnight. She took an escalator down to the ground floor, and she walked past the solitary night clerk who was staring at his computer.
 

Stepping into the warm summer night, Anna realized the hotel driveway was deserted. A couple stood by the valet stand, obviously waiting for the return of their car. There was no cab in sight.

Anna sighed. She’d have to go back to the front desk and ask them to call a taxi for her. Maybe she could slip off her shoes while she waited. There was hardly anyone left to notice.

Before she could re-enter the hotel, though, a shadow detached itself from the wall. No. Not a shadow. A man. The only man she’d been interested in seeing that entire night.

Zach’s grin was nearly as blinding as his shirt when he asked, “Looking for a ride? I think we’re headed in the same direction.”

Anna sank gratefully into the luxury of the BMW’s leather seats. The vehicle still had that new-car smell, and she cast an admiring eye over the sleek hardware on the dashboard. After closing her door, Zach walked to his own side before slipping behind the wheel and pressing the button that woke the purring engine. He checked his mirrors before he glided into the deserted nighttime streets of Raleigh.

She couldn’t stop watching his hand on the gear-shift. She could still feel the imprint of his fingertips on her bare back, the confident pressure that he’d used to guide her on the dance floor. He shifted from fourth to fifth gear, and she told herself not to look at his legs, not to think about the muscular thighs she’d felt beneath his tuxedo trousers.

Not to think about the frank arousal she’d felt when his hips had pressed against hers.

She cleared her throat even as she studied the line of his jaw. “I guess this is my lucky night. If you were heading out to the farm, I’d still be waiting for a cab.”