Ever.
“Everybody dances,” she said, dragging him into the lounge.
The band was a Latin combo with drums of some kind, a few stringed instruments including at least one guitar, and a trumpet.
“I need a drink if you’re going to force me to dance.”
They found seats at the bar and ordered drinks—guaro sours recommended by the bartender.
He sipped his drink and she danced in her seat until she couldn’t stand it anymore.
“Sorry. Can’t wait for your liquid courage to kick in.”
She took another sip of her drink, gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, then bounced off the barstool and onto the dance floor. Hunter watched, hypnotized by her fluid, sensual movement. If someone had asked him last week if he’d thought Allison McDowell was a dancer, he would have laughed. Buttoned up, tight-assed, all-business Allison? No way. But there she was on the dance floor, those fucking sexy legs, her ass rolling to the music, her graceful arms over her head.
His body craved her. Yeah, his cock throbbed for her, but he wanted to touch her, kiss her, taste her, explore her. He wanted those legs spread for him. He wanted her to roll her hips like that on top of him.
When she pulled the tie out of her hair and shook it out around her shoulders, he noticed she caught the attention of several other guys. One of them left his seat at the other end of the bar and wandered over to the dance floor, taking up a position right in front of Allison. She didn’t notice him at first, but then he started dancing with her and she looked up and smiled at him.
Enough of that. Hunter may have actually growled. He took a swig of his drink, then marched to the dance floor.
From behind, he put his hands on Allison’s waist and pulled her back against him. There was no way she could miss his erection.
She spun, the look on her face fuming angry—until she saw him, then her face melted into the kind of look every man wants to see on the woman he wants—pure fucking desire.
“Hey, I was dancing with her,” the other guy said.
Hunter looked over Allison’s shoulder and said, “She’s mine. Get lost.”
“I was here first.”
Allison gave Hunter a sly, sexy smile, then turned to the other guy and said, “Sorry. I’m his.”
The other guy huffed off back to the bar. Hunter rested his hands at Allison’s low back and moved to the music. She draped her arms over his shoulders and moved against him.
“You might want to see someone about this condition. It seems to be a persistent problem,” she said, referring to his cock.
“I am seeing someone for it, she’s just damn stubborn.”
She shook her head and tsked. “Maybe you should do something about that.”
Her pupils had dilated, and she lifted her brows in a question, as if daring him. To drive her point home, she danced her way all the way around him, touching, pressing, brushing herself against him. The world around them dropped away, and Hunter’s focus narrowed to Allison—her rhythm, her smell, her touch. There would be no waiting for tomorrow. He wouldn’t last that long.
Once she’d made it full circle, she twined her hand around his neck, digging her nails into his hair. The bite of her nails was his last straw.
“That’s it. We’re leaving.”
He reached up and grabbed her hand, pulling her off the dance floor. He hauled her through the bar and out into the lobby.
“My shoes.”
“Fuck your shoes. You owe me and I’m collecting. Now.”
Allison had to admit, she’d pushed him pretty hard. She’d made up her mind earlier in the day she’d agree to his proposal. She really had intended to sleep on it, but damn the man was sexy, and after dinner and the walk on the beach, she was feeling romantic and relaxed and magnanimous. The Latin music and dancing, though, had her turned on all over again, and when he snuck up behind her and pressed his erection into her back, she knew she couldn’t wait.
He stabbed the button for the elevator.
“Took
“Everybody dances,” she said, dragging him into the lounge.
The band was a Latin combo with drums of some kind, a few stringed instruments including at least one guitar, and a trumpet.
“I need a drink if you’re going to force me to dance.”
They found seats at the bar and ordered drinks—guaro sours recommended by the bartender.
He sipped his drink and she danced in her seat until she couldn’t stand it anymore.
“Sorry. Can’t wait for your liquid courage to kick in.”
She took another sip of her drink, gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, then bounced off the barstool and onto the dance floor. Hunter watched, hypnotized by her fluid, sensual movement. If someone had asked him last week if he’d thought Allison McDowell was a dancer, he would have laughed. Buttoned up, tight-assed, all-business Allison? No way. But there she was on the dance floor, those fucking sexy legs, her ass rolling to the music, her graceful arms over her head.
His body craved her. Yeah, his cock throbbed for her, but he wanted to touch her, kiss her, taste her, explore her. He wanted those legs spread for him. He wanted her to roll her hips like that on top of him.
When she pulled the tie out of her hair and shook it out around her shoulders, he noticed she caught the attention of several other guys. One of them left his seat at the other end of the bar and wandered over to the dance floor, taking up a position right in front of Allison. She didn’t notice him at first, but then he started dancing with her and she looked up and smiled at him.
Enough of that. Hunter may have actually growled. He took a swig of his drink, then marched to the dance floor.
From behind, he put his hands on Allison’s waist and pulled her back against him. There was no way she could miss his erection.
She spun, the look on her face fuming angry—until she saw him, then her face melted into the kind of look every man wants to see on the woman he wants—pure fucking desire.
“Hey, I was dancing with her,” the other guy said.
Hunter looked over Allison’s shoulder and said, “She’s mine. Get lost.”
“I was here first.”
Allison gave Hunter a sly, sexy smile, then turned to the other guy and said, “Sorry. I’m his.”
The other guy huffed off back to the bar. Hunter rested his hands at Allison’s low back and moved to the music. She draped her arms over his shoulders and moved against him.
“You might want to see someone about this condition. It seems to be a persistent problem,” she said, referring to his cock.
“I am seeing someone for it, she’s just damn stubborn.”
She shook her head and tsked. “Maybe you should do something about that.”
Her pupils had dilated, and she lifted her brows in a question, as if daring him. To drive her point home, she danced her way all the way around him, touching, pressing, brushing herself against him. The world around them dropped away, and Hunter’s focus narrowed to Allison—her rhythm, her smell, her touch. There would be no waiting for tomorrow. He wouldn’t last that long.
Once she’d made it full circle, she twined her hand around his neck, digging her nails into his hair. The bite of her nails was his last straw.
“That’s it. We’re leaving.”
He reached up and grabbed her hand, pulling her off the dance floor. He hauled her through the bar and out into the lobby.
“My shoes.”
“Fuck your shoes. You owe me and I’m collecting. Now.”
Allison had to admit, she’d pushed him pretty hard. She’d made up her mind earlier in the day she’d agree to his proposal. She really had intended to sleep on it, but damn the man was sexy, and after dinner and the walk on the beach, she was feeling romantic and relaxed and magnanimous. The Latin music and dancing, though, had her turned on all over again, and when he snuck up behind her and pressed his erection into her back, she knew she couldn’t wait.
He stabbed the button for the elevator.
“Took
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