Stripped by Edie Harris Page B

she said, pitching her voice over the noise. “ Can you salsa?”
    Leaning down, he placed his lips next to her ear. Heat . Pure heat, hurtling through her veins like a rollercoaster on acid. “I can, but not as well as you.” He paused, and his lower lip brushed her earlobe.  
    She shivered. “You’ve been watching me?”
    He nodded, the tip of his nose grazing the sensitive shell of her ear.
    More heat, consuming her bared skin in waves. Her fingers curled, digging into him before she could tell herself that no , she didn’t like being near him, or breathing in his scent. She didn’t like touching him every day, morning and night, just as she didn’t like the soft silk of his curly hair or the rough stubble she shaved away.
    Fiona certainly didn’t like how his hand had just found the small of her back, or how his other picked up one of hers from his chest. Her hand felt weightless cupped in his palm, at odds with the heaviness of her body as he drew her closer. When her breasts brushed against him, she had to swallow a gasp. It had been so long since she’d held her body against the body of a man she desired, not only for the lustful thoughts he inspired, but for how he looked at her all of those mornings and nights. He looked at her the same way she’d looked at another tall, handsome man, once upon a time, and she knew how well that had ended.
    Not well at all, that’s how.
    There was nothing good about this situation, nothing at all, but she’d had just enough to drink that recklessness felt so freakin’ right at that moment. Which meant the dance floor and Declan Murphy were hers until common sense came crawling back. “All right, then. Let’s dance.”
    Ready to guide him into the first steps— she had been the one to ask him to dance, which made it her responsibility to see if he really could dance in the first place—she was surprised when he unerringly moved forward. Quick, quick, slow. Quick, quick, slow . The hand on her spine lifted as they caught the rhythm together, falling easily into the fast-paced fluidity of the mambo.  
    Quick, quick, slow .  
    She spun on the axis of his fingers, holding their joined hands overhead.  
    Quick, quick, slow .  
    Light pressure on her shoulder blade, and they switched places, so that she now faced the band.
    Quick, quick, slow .  
    He turned on the third beat, hand finding her hip for purchase, rising again to spin her.  
    Quick, quick, slow .  
    Her short skirt shifted over her thighs, floating scandalously high with every twist.
    Quick, quick, slow .  
    He gripped her wrist, fingers so strong, so sure. He held her body apart from his for one beat, then two, but it was too long to stand in place awaiting his direction, so her hips moved. Her hips moved, and moved, and moved, forward and back, until he turned her, putting her back to his front but still apart. No touching, just his fingers around her wrist, lifting her arm away from her body. The scant touch shot pure adrenaline into her veins. I want to misbehave , he’d told her, right before he’d nearly kissed her. Well, tonight, she wanted to misbehave.
    Her hips writhed.  
    His hold on her wrist tightened.
    Sensuality was a key component of the mambo, an introduction of lower bodies that never touched, only teased. With every passing second, the exaggeration of the steps grew. Spins were faster, arms longer, hips wilder. The band ran away with the music, and it was up to the dancers to keep up or give up.  
    Declan and Fiona kept up. Spin and touch and twist and spin again. Each caress of his hand on her back, her hip, her shoulder electrified her, a jolt to her heart that couldn’t be denied.  
    Attraction. That goddamn attraction that had nearly strangled her the first day she’d met him. It put her on edge. It made her scowl and stiffen and generally behave like a frozen bitch at work, because she didn’t know how to handle it. Fiona wasn’t merely out of practice—she was out of