Bonita warned, an instant before her lips settled firmly over Crystal’s mouth again. This time, although Bonita’s tongue was in her mouth and her hands were on her ass, Crystal felt no disturbing echo of emotion.
“Loosen up, sweetie,” Bonita whispered. “You’re stiff as a board.”
Crystal tried, but Bonita’s soft body against hers felt strange. She groaned through gritted teeth. So far today Ryan had ruined her work with a client and made kissing a girl feel wrong.
A deep voice rose from the shadows below them. “Mind if I cut in?”
The evening breeze lifted goosebumps on her bare arms, and she shivered. Like champagne bubbles, the desire to feel his body pressed up against hers rose from her center. She clutched Bonita. “No, thanks—”
“You promised to save me a dance.” His voice brooked no argument.
Bonita shook her off gently. “As a matter of fact, I was just thinking about hitting the buffet.” A swift arrow of emotion encouraged her, even as Bonita kissed her cheek and whispered, “Three’s a crowd, sweetie. You’ll thank me some day. Don’t forget your baseball bat, just in case.” The sound of her high heels was loud on the stamped concrete as she left the patio.
Crystal eyed her back, already thinking about retribution.
“I can’t fault your taste in women. She’s lovely.” Ryan led her across the patio and into the ballroom. The dance floor was crowded, and Crystal was buffeted with wild thrusts of elated energy from the dancers. He pulled her stiff body into his arms. “Relax. It’s just a dance.”
Just a kiss. Just a dance. Just her sanity.
In spite of the music’s fast rhythm, he held her close. Every beat of his heart under her cheek put a dent in her shield, hitting her with hard-core, gut-shot lust. Champagne fizzed insistently through her veins.
The band introduced a familiar song. Ryan chuckled, remembering, as she did. Crystal felt eighteen again, drunk on freedom and tequila, pressed up against a stranger in the middle of a dance floor. A light sweat broke out all over her body.
Ryan’s voice hummed under her ear, but she had no idea what he was saying. Her brain couldn’t process his words, but she hoped he would keep talking. Then he might not notice that she was falling apart under his hands like an overcooked roast, shredding to the bone. He throbbed against her, and she closed her eyes.
Pure. Raw. Returned.
It wasn’t just him—it was her too.
On the surface this was innocent—just a dance. Dig deeper and the embers were burning red-hot, banked below the soft, gray ashes of ten years. All it would take was one stiff breeze and they would both go up in flames, right in the middle of the dance floor.
It didn’t matter what was good for her. She wanted him, and she needed to figure out what to do about it before they drifted any closer to the point of no return. Denial was as dangerous as ignorance.
Crystal snapped to attention in time to hear him say, “I did call, you know.”
She stopped moving, stunned into immobility.
“I lost my cell phone on the plane back to school, but I called the frat house as soon as I got home. You were…very busy.” A flash, an image. She buried her face in his chest, filled with horror. His arms tightened around her. “Goddamn it, I still want you, Crystal.”
She wanted to apologize, but pride kept her silent. She felt his pain, but it was nothing compared to what she had felt. It had taken her a long time to stop feeling ashamed, even longer to stop blaming herself. The frat house fiasco wasn’t her fault. She had been vulnerable, torn wide open, exposed and unable to protect herself. Since then, she had learned to build walls to keep her safe from emotion. No one got to her without her permission. No one, it seemed, except him.
Ryan slid right in through her cracks, maybe because he’d been there the night it all started. She didn’t really blame him for making her psychic—that would be silly.
“Loosen up, sweetie,” Bonita whispered. “You’re stiff as a board.”
Crystal tried, but Bonita’s soft body against hers felt strange. She groaned through gritted teeth. So far today Ryan had ruined her work with a client and made kissing a girl feel wrong.
A deep voice rose from the shadows below them. “Mind if I cut in?”
The evening breeze lifted goosebumps on her bare arms, and she shivered. Like champagne bubbles, the desire to feel his body pressed up against hers rose from her center. She clutched Bonita. “No, thanks—”
“You promised to save me a dance.” His voice brooked no argument.
Bonita shook her off gently. “As a matter of fact, I was just thinking about hitting the buffet.” A swift arrow of emotion encouraged her, even as Bonita kissed her cheek and whispered, “Three’s a crowd, sweetie. You’ll thank me some day. Don’t forget your baseball bat, just in case.” The sound of her high heels was loud on the stamped concrete as she left the patio.
Crystal eyed her back, already thinking about retribution.
“I can’t fault your taste in women. She’s lovely.” Ryan led her across the patio and into the ballroom. The dance floor was crowded, and Crystal was buffeted with wild thrusts of elated energy from the dancers. He pulled her stiff body into his arms. “Relax. It’s just a dance.”
Just a kiss. Just a dance. Just her sanity.
In spite of the music’s fast rhythm, he held her close. Every beat of his heart under her cheek put a dent in her shield, hitting her with hard-core, gut-shot lust. Champagne fizzed insistently through her veins.
The band introduced a familiar song. Ryan chuckled, remembering, as she did. Crystal felt eighteen again, drunk on freedom and tequila, pressed up against a stranger in the middle of a dance floor. A light sweat broke out all over her body.
Ryan’s voice hummed under her ear, but she had no idea what he was saying. Her brain couldn’t process his words, but she hoped he would keep talking. Then he might not notice that she was falling apart under his hands like an overcooked roast, shredding to the bone. He throbbed against her, and she closed her eyes.
Pure. Raw. Returned.
It wasn’t just him—it was her too.
On the surface this was innocent—just a dance. Dig deeper and the embers were burning red-hot, banked below the soft, gray ashes of ten years. All it would take was one stiff breeze and they would both go up in flames, right in the middle of the dance floor.
It didn’t matter what was good for her. She wanted him, and she needed to figure out what to do about it before they drifted any closer to the point of no return. Denial was as dangerous as ignorance.
Crystal snapped to attention in time to hear him say, “I did call, you know.”
She stopped moving, stunned into immobility.
“I lost my cell phone on the plane back to school, but I called the frat house as soon as I got home. You were…very busy.” A flash, an image. She buried her face in his chest, filled with horror. His arms tightened around her. “Goddamn it, I still want you, Crystal.”
She wanted to apologize, but pride kept her silent. She felt his pain, but it was nothing compared to what she had felt. It had taken her a long time to stop feeling ashamed, even longer to stop blaming herself. The frat house fiasco wasn’t her fault. She had been vulnerable, torn wide open, exposed and unable to protect herself. Since then, she had learned to build walls to keep her safe from emotion. No one got to her without her permission. No one, it seemed, except him.
Ryan slid right in through her cracks, maybe because he’d been there the night it all started. She didn’t really blame him for making her psychic—that would be silly.
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