Filthy English (14 page)

Closing my eyes, I reached above my head and moved my arms to the beat, easing my hands down my neck and chest, touching my curves.

I imagined it was a slow and sexy striptease . . .

From behind me, steel hands settled on my hips as a male body pressed against mine and settled into sync with me.

I froze.

“Don’t stop now,” he whispered in my ear. “You’re bloody beautiful, and I want to dance with you.”

A heartbeat later, I lifted my arms again and swayed, and his fingers followed, tracing the length of my hand, my arms. Leaning my head back against his shoulder, I took note of the hard chest. His intoxicating scent.

His nose grazed my bare shoulder, and I reached behind me, my hand threading through his hair and tugging. He groaned.

The song ended, a faster one taking its place, but we ignored the beat, swaying softly against each other.

He lifted my hair and his lips touched my nape, his tongue licking the sweat from my skin.

Desire rippled over me and I shivered.

“Are you hot for me?” he asked, his voice low and intimate. As if we’d done this a million times.

“Yes,” I moaned as his teeth lightly nipped at my shoulder.

His right hand left my hip so he could run his hand down my back.

He unzipped my dress inch by inch.

The music was suddenly louder, harmonizing with my thudding heartbeat.

A part of me was yelling for him to stop, while the other side was remembering how good it felt to have a man touch me. I went with it, ignoring the other voice in my head.

From behind me, he slipped one hand inside my bodice and palmed my breast, massaging, fingers plucking at my nipple.

I groaned at the heat throbbing in my body.

“Hold your dress up so it doesn’t fall. Dance for me,” he ordered, and I did what he said, rotating my body against his as I held on to the dress. He slipped the other hand inside my dress, both hands caressing me.

Everywhere around us people danced, caught up in the loud music. Strobe lights highlighted random faces and then jumped away. No one even glanced at us. They didn’t notice us, and I felt alone with him even though I clearly wasn’t. It was surreal.

It was
him
.

“You want more?” a dark voice asked. Raspy. Thick with lust.

My breath hitched. “Yes.”

His hand slipped lower and teased the band on my underwear, dipping in to graze my center. Once. Twice. Then moving away. I felt the loss like a pang.

“More,” I begged. “Touch me.”

He cupped me firmly then, the possessiveness of his hand seeming to claim ownership. A finger slipped inside me as his voice whispered in my ear. “Do you like this?”

“Yes.” I whispered, my voice shaky.

He groaned, his lips against my neck as he teased me. “Would you let me fuck you here?”

I paused, my hips freezing against him.

“Don’t hesitate,” he said, a dangerous edge in his voice.

I shivered, wanting more of his fingers. More of his mouth. More everything. “Yes, yes.”

Then everything stopped.

He zipped my dress and twirled me around to face him.

Anger rode his face, confusing me, but I couldn’t stop my eyes from taking him all in: the taut jawline like a movie star, broad shoulders big enough for me to lean on, biceps that would protect me, and that fascinating dragonfly tattoo I wanted to lick.

I sighed.

Hello, Mr. Beautiful.

Acting on pure instinct and clearly not common sense,
I traced my free hand down his chest to the V at his hips. I ran my hand over his hard crotch. “Hi there, Sex Lord.”

He stared at me, his eyes dark with some unreadable emotion. “Stop.”

“You started this.” I snaked my arms around him and sucked his neck the way he’d done my shoulder. He tasted of sweat and man, and I wanted to inhale all of him. I was flirting with danger, and this time I couldn’t blame it on tequila or adrenaline or exhaustion.

I wanted to climb him like a tree.

His jaw clenched as he pulled away from me. “First off, I came out here because . . . dammit . . . you and that short-as-fuck dress, and second—
I could have been anyone behind you.
Even Chad.
What were you thinking?”

“That I was going to get lucky?”

My answer didn’t make him happy. He laced his fingers with mine and pulled, forcing me to follow him as he barreled his way through the throng of people on the dance floor. Well, if he’d come out here to
protect
me, then that had certainly taken a left turn.

Obviously he was ticked about something, but he’d never hurt me. Even as he pulled me through the crowd, he kept glancing back to make sure I wasn’t getting dragged down.

He stopped briefly at the bar where Spider and Lulu sat deep in conversation. They glanced up when we stopped, their eyes big as Dax didn’t speak to either of them but grabbed what I assumed was his Newcastle with his free hand and then headed to the back of the club.

“Just so you know, I’m only letting you yank on me like a caveman because I’m curious about what’s got you in such a tizzy. Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” he growled.

Okay then.

He headed down the hall toward the restrooms.

Crap.
Not the stifling room with all the drunken girls.

I slowed down. “Thank you, but my bladder is fine. Plus, it’s hot in there and the last time I went in, I really wanted to puke . . .”

He burst through the ladies’ room door.

Three women swiveled to face us, their eyes lighting up appreciatively as they took in the handsome male at the door. He straightened athletic shoulders and grinned charmingly—although I could see it was forced.

“Ladies, sorry to bust up in here, but if you’d excuse us, I’d like to have a few moments alone with . . .” He sent me a narrowed look.“ . . . this girl.”

They blinked. Looked around at each other.

“Uh, this is the ladies’. Why don’t you take it outside?” one of them snarked as she leaned over the sink to apply more lipstick.

Dax cleared his throat. Smiled. Again. “The lead guitarist for Vital Rejects is at the bar. He has blue hair and I’ve told him to buy you as many drinks as you want.”

“For real?” squealed Lipstick Girl. Her hands fluttered around her blonde hair. “Oh my God. I love him. He’s so hot when he plays and when he got in that fight in Vegas—”

“Yes, he’s the ultimate bad boy. We all know.” Dax added, “By the way, that free alcohol offer ends in five seconds. Five, four, three, two . . .”

They sent us one final look and all three scurried out of the room.

As soon as the door was shut, he let my hand go, threw the deadbolt, and paced around the small room, his demeanor a little possessive and a whole lot sexy. He was like an angry lion, ready to tear into someone. I watched him, frankly fascinated by his emotional response. Why was he upset? What was going on with him?

He came to a stop, as if he’d made a decision, and stalked toward me. I backed up until I was pressed against the sinks that lined the concrete wall. Glittering eyes raked over me, and quivers of heat danced up my spine at the lingering desire I read on his face.

God. I wanted him and his domineering attitude. But it was crazy. Insane.
Hadn’t I learned my lesson with him already?

He slapped his palm against the wall, his face leaning down to mine. “Tell me you knew it was me out there.”

I exhaled. So
that’s
what this was about.

“As soon as you put your hands on me, I knew it was you.”
Only you.
“I’d never do that with a random person, Dax. That’s not me, and you should know it.”

He’d been the only crazy thing I’d ever done.

Relief flickered over his face and he let out a pent-up breath.

I scowled. “You’re acting like you’re some kind of—I don’t know—pissed-off alpha male who’s marking his territory. You don’t own me. We’re friends—”

“Who got to second base in front of the whole damn club,” he snapped.

“I was willing to give you a homerun.” I bit my lip.
What about your contract, Remi? Oh, how fast you broke.

He inhaled sharply, his eyes landing on the bodice of my dress then darting away. He took a step back from me and crossed his arms.

“What? You—you don’t like my dress? Look,” I said, holding up one of my feet to show him my shoes. “I wore sensible shoes so I wouldn’t fall.”

“Your dress is too short.”

“I happen to have really long legs.”

“
I know.
They’ve been wrapped around me several times.”

Oh, he went there.
I crossed my arms. Two could play at this game. “What do you want me to wear? A nun’s habit?”

Something—a memory—passed over his face, and his gaze softened. “I don’t know—just dress like you do at Whitman.”

I gaped.
“Since when do you pay attention to what I wear?”

He raked his eyes over me. “More than I should. Those tight pants you wear that hug your arse, the little white sweater you like when it’s cool outside . . . and your pearls. I’ve thought about those pearls . . . what I’d like to do with them.”

My stomach fluttered.
My pearls?
“And my hair? You don’t like it either?”

He closed his eyes briefly. Swallowed. “I love your wild hair, but now I can’t . . .
dammit
. . . this is all wrong. It’s—it’s been a totally weird day. As soon as Spider cooked breakfast, I should have known it was wonky. Hell, as soon as I saw you here that night, I should have known fate was screwing with me.” He raked a hand through his hair, frustration evident.

“What else happened today?” I put my hand on his shoulder, leftover anger vanishing.

He leaned into me.

“It’s a long story, but Declan mentioned a house for sale in Raleigh. I thought about it and spent most of the day on the phone talking with Father and Declan to work out details. I may buy it. It’s impulsive as hell, but it’s such a good deal that I’m afraid to wait until I get home, plus school will have started by then.”

“I hope it works out for you.” I squeezed his bicep.

He flicked his eyes over me. “Then, Spider told me you guys were coming here tonight, and all I could think about was Chad, and what if
he
was here too. I had to come. Shit.” He exhaled. “Every guy out there was eye-fucking you, and I was just as bad. Dammit, I didn’t mean to go that far when we were dancing . . .”

Our dancing had gone too far. As soon as he’d touched me, I’d been ready to throw caution to the wind.

I sighed. “It takes two to tango. It’s my fault too. Let’s blame the sexy dancing on the dress or the music or martinis or whatever.” I sucked in a breath. “But we
can
be friends. We have our contract. I want to be close to you like that.”

He lifted his face, soft gray eyes searching mine. “Christ, me too.”

I smiled tentatively, and he cupped my face and ran his thumb across my bottom lip.

“Friends,” I said with a slight shake in my voice.

He nodded and let his hand fall to his side.

AFTER THE DANCE-FLOOR
fiasco, the four of us spent the rest of our time at Masquerade upstairs in the booths. The air had been cleared between Remi and me, and I felt okay about it.
Somewhat.

I felt much better when Spider handed over his leather jacket and she wrapped it around her waist. Good thing the rocker wore leather in the summer.

She and Lulu sat across from us, giggling and telling stories about Remi’s propensity for accidents and Lulu growing up in the music industry in Nashville. I asked questions, storing away nuggets of information about Remi. Spider sat back and watched, more interested in slinging back vodka than chatting. Knowing him, he was concocting some sort of bet in his head.

“When I first met Remi in the dorm room, she tripped over a stack of books and landed face first in the trashcan,” Lulu said, laughing.

Remi grinned and rolled her eyes. “Please. I’ve been accident-free for at least a day.”

I smiled, studying her over the top of my beer bottle. My hand curled in my seat, imagining wrapping my fingers around that copper hair, tugging her hair back, and kissing her until she begged me to . . .