the action didn’t accentuate his broad chest.
‘You’re late,’ she said, her brusqueness not fooling him for a second, considering she had a hard time dragging her gaze away from his chest to focus on his face.
‘Only five minutes.’ He gestured at his outfit. ‘It takes a while to look this good.’
‘You’re also out by a few years. Wasn’t Grease released late seventies?’
‘‘Seventy-eight to be precise but this kind of outfit?’ He gestured towards the leather pants. ‘Deserved an outing.’
She rolled her eyes and struggled not to laugh. ‘Come on, the cameras will start filming in ten minutes.’
He grimaced. ‘Don’t remind me.’
She couldn’t agree more. ‘We don’t have to win the thing, remember? Let’s have a few dances then get the hell out of here.’
‘Agreed.’ He placed a hand in the small of her back, sending a ripple of heat through her. ‘Want a drink?’
Lucy didn’t drink much alcohol and the last thing she needed was to have a drink go straight to her head.
‘No thanks.’
‘Then I guess we dance?’
He didn’t give her time to agree, snagging her hand and tugging her towards the dance floor. While Lucy would never admit it to anyone, she liked the handholding. In fact, she liked being part of a couple, even a fake one.
Adrian might have been a selfish a-hole but in the early days, when she was blissfully unaware of his philandering? She’d loved the togetherness. Being part of a couple had made her feel secure in a way she’d never experienced.
While Gram and Pops had showered her with love and doted on her, she wondered if being an only child and without parents had inadvertently taken its toll. Maybe that had been the reason she’d lost her mind over her first steady boyfriend, married him and divorced him all within two years?
She’d examined that excuse at length when she’d first split from Adrian and summarily dismissed it. Because she knew why she’d married Adrian so quickly. She’d loved him. Had been head over heels. And she missed the closeness they’d once had more than anything.
She missed the banter of being with a guy. Missed the teasing and the laughter and the quick-firing barbs.
Cash was an expert at it and she knew that was what made her like him more than was good for her. Along with his sense of humour. His dedication to his business. His body...
That body.
She snuck a sideways glance, the coloured light reflected from a spinning silver disco ball smattering his skin like a kaleidoscope. It didn’t detract from his distinguished features. In fact, as they edged onto the dance floor and a flash of gold highlighted the breadth of his shoulders, he looked like a god.
Then he stepped in close, slid an arm around her waist, hauled her against his body, and she was a goner.
The guy could move .
As Robbie Nevil belted out his hit song C’est La Vie Cash moulded his body to hers and danced as if he’d been born to do it.
She had no option but to loop her arms around his neck and go with it. Matching him step for step. Their bodies swaying and dipping. Creating a delicious friction that had every nerve ending in her body on high alert.
When one of his hands slid lower to cup her butt, she almost groaned. And when he applied pressure, bringing her pelvis in contact with his to show exactly how the heat they were creating affected him, she strained towards him.
That was when things got really interesting.
Dirty Dancing might have launched in the eighties but the version Lucy and Cash were producing was definitely an Oscar-winning sequel.
She writhed against him, shameless and wanton and hot. So hot.
The desire between them was palpable. Her skin burned with it. As the music blared and the bass beat pounded through her body Lucy gave herself over to the heady sensation of having vertical sex with her clothes on.
Because that was what they were doing.
Raunchy, debased, bold moves that made her cling to him or fall down in a
‘You’re late,’ she said, her brusqueness not fooling him for a second, considering she had a hard time dragging her gaze away from his chest to focus on his face.
‘Only five minutes.’ He gestured at his outfit. ‘It takes a while to look this good.’
‘You’re also out by a few years. Wasn’t Grease released late seventies?’
‘‘Seventy-eight to be precise but this kind of outfit?’ He gestured towards the leather pants. ‘Deserved an outing.’
She rolled her eyes and struggled not to laugh. ‘Come on, the cameras will start filming in ten minutes.’
He grimaced. ‘Don’t remind me.’
She couldn’t agree more. ‘We don’t have to win the thing, remember? Let’s have a few dances then get the hell out of here.’
‘Agreed.’ He placed a hand in the small of her back, sending a ripple of heat through her. ‘Want a drink?’
Lucy didn’t drink much alcohol and the last thing she needed was to have a drink go straight to her head.
‘No thanks.’
‘Then I guess we dance?’
He didn’t give her time to agree, snagging her hand and tugging her towards the dance floor. While Lucy would never admit it to anyone, she liked the handholding. In fact, she liked being part of a couple, even a fake one.
Adrian might have been a selfish a-hole but in the early days, when she was blissfully unaware of his philandering? She’d loved the togetherness. Being part of a couple had made her feel secure in a way she’d never experienced.
While Gram and Pops had showered her with love and doted on her, she wondered if being an only child and without parents had inadvertently taken its toll. Maybe that had been the reason she’d lost her mind over her first steady boyfriend, married him and divorced him all within two years?
She’d examined that excuse at length when she’d first split from Adrian and summarily dismissed it. Because she knew why she’d married Adrian so quickly. She’d loved him. Had been head over heels. And she missed the closeness they’d once had more than anything.
She missed the banter of being with a guy. Missed the teasing and the laughter and the quick-firing barbs.
Cash was an expert at it and she knew that was what made her like him more than was good for her. Along with his sense of humour. His dedication to his business. His body...
That body.
She snuck a sideways glance, the coloured light reflected from a spinning silver disco ball smattering his skin like a kaleidoscope. It didn’t detract from his distinguished features. In fact, as they edged onto the dance floor and a flash of gold highlighted the breadth of his shoulders, he looked like a god.
Then he stepped in close, slid an arm around her waist, hauled her against his body, and she was a goner.
The guy could move .
As Robbie Nevil belted out his hit song C’est La Vie Cash moulded his body to hers and danced as if he’d been born to do it.
She had no option but to loop her arms around his neck and go with it. Matching him step for step. Their bodies swaying and dipping. Creating a delicious friction that had every nerve ending in her body on high alert.
When one of his hands slid lower to cup her butt, she almost groaned. And when he applied pressure, bringing her pelvis in contact with his to show exactly how the heat they were creating affected him, she strained towards him.
That was when things got really interesting.
Dirty Dancing might have launched in the eighties but the version Lucy and Cash were producing was definitely an Oscar-winning sequel.
She writhed against him, shameless and wanton and hot. So hot.
The desire between them was palpable. Her skin burned with it. As the music blared and the bass beat pounded through her body Lucy gave herself over to the heady sensation of having vertical sex with her clothes on.
Because that was what they were doing.
Raunchy, debased, bold moves that made her cling to him or fall down in a
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