Kristin Hardy - Bad Behaviour

Places she could go with him now.

“Yes. Well.” Desperately, she groped for something to say. Behind her, Eric was telling the others a tale of fighting off a fearsome barracuda armed only with an ill-fated crab.

“…two inch teeth, I’m telling you.”

Up at the gazebo, the band was doing a spirited rendition of “Livin’ La Vida Loca.” “Let’s dance.” Delaney rose abruptly, looking not for escape but time. No more of those quick, brushing kisses from him to scramble her mind, not until she was ready for it. Although, from the look in his eyes, he’d given up the idea of brushing kisses for something more…ambitious.

And she had no objection, at least in theory. Getting naked with him would be all well and good—more like excellent, probably—but only as long as she was driving things. After all, she needed to torment him at least a little for his sins. She couldn’t have him thinking that it was fine to waltz back up with a glance and a smile after dropping her sixteen years before. He needed to work for it, first.

Or she needed to work him.

So she headed for the floor without checking to see if he followed.

The song had her snapping her fingers, nodding her head even before they stepped onto the painted concrete in front of the band. It was crowded enough to force them to dance close, Delaney saw in satisfaction, with enough room to let her move. And move she could. She wasn’t Thea, with years of training, but when the beat got into her, it was the next best thing to sex.

IT WASN’T THE FLAILING they’d done as kids to Depeche Mode and Jane’s Addiction, Dom thought. Delaney wasn’t a kid anymore and she didn’t dance like one. Hips swinging to the rhythm of the music, counterpointed by her shoulders, she danced like a woman.

Her arms and hands wove teasing patterns through the air and all he could think of was how she’d look undressing for him, pulling that stretchy green dress up bit by bit, over her hips to her waist to reveal smooth, golden skin. Sliding it up to her breasts and over her head, tossing it aside to come to him, soft and warm and naked. All that, somehow, was suggested by her movements: the abandon, the arousal, the demand.

The desire.

He didn’t hear the beat so much as feel it, thumping out of the speakers, pulsing up through the floor, vibrating off her. And then she reached out to put her hands on his shoulders, never missing a step but swaying her own shoulders back and forth so that they were now moving in sync, moving as one.

Moving with the rhythm of sex.

Her eyes seemed bigger, darker, filled with adventure. She slid her hands up to run her fingers through his hair so that all his nerve endings came to the alert. And always to the beat, always the sinuous movements of her body that made him think now of how she’d move on top of him, against him. Slowly, eyes wide and staring into his, she let her hands slide down his neck, moving in closer now, hips bumping him, mouth tempting. He felt her fingers trail teasingly over his chest, dipping into the open collar of his shirt then going lower.

He could feel himself starting to get hard, watching her, feeling her, inhaling the scent of her that rose all around him. He reached for her hips without conscious volition, knowing only that he had to touch her or go crazy. It was all too much, the beat, the motion, the gleam of arousal in her eyes. And he was so absorbed in trying to tame his hard-on that he almost didn’t notice when she slipped her hands up to his shirt buttons, unfastening first one, then the next.

“Getting a little warm in here, isn’t it?” she said into his ear.

When she slid her hands inside the fabric, he jolted. A hot flash of triumph flared in her eyes. And he could only stare in that first stunned second as she traced her fingers over his bare skin, over his chest, over the tightening muscles of his belly. He ached to be away from all these people, to have her against him naked, ached to bury himself in her.

Her fingers dropped to the next button.

In self-defense, he clamped a hand around her wrist. “That’s good for now,” he rasped, as the song stopped.

Her laugh was quick and sultry. “Oh, I don’t think so. I’m just getting started here.”

“Outside, then.”

“What, no bad behavior for a nice private-school boy like you? Come on, Jake, you’ll like it. Stay here and dance with me.” She slid her free hand inside his shirt, her gaze full of temptation, and leaned in until her mouth was right over his. “I dare you.”

I dare you .

It had been a staple of their time together, the two of them egging one another on to discover the new, the forbidden, the outrageous.

I dare you .

“Outside.” And he turned and led her off the floor, still holding her wrist.

TIKI TORCHES LIT THE patio outside beach bar, their shadows flickering in the sand. From here, the music and buzz of conversation inside was muted. Palm fronds rattled overhead. Beyond, the waves whispered, lit by the moon that hung above. It was quiet, nearly deserted, the handful of couples populating the patio more interested in each other than anyone else.

“What’s up?” Delaney asked as Dom released her near a cluster of palm trees on the beach. She’d had to hurry along next to him, rushing out without a word to her friends. She hadn’t protested, though. Instead, irritated with him, she’d gone along for the moment. Irritated at him and irritated at herself.

Because underneath the irritation was a sneaky flush of arousal.

“I wasn’t through dancing,” she informed him.

“You weren’t dancing anymore.”

“No? What was I doing?”

“You know what you were doing.” He eyed her. “I’d rather not make a fool of myself on the dance floor.”

“Now why would you say that, sugar? You dance fine,” she purred, coming closer to him.

“I’m not talking about dancing and you know it. Whatever happens between us, happens between us ,” he said softly. “Not in a crowd of people. I want to be able to concentrate.”

The mix of heat and arousal in his eyes started tension coiling in her belly. And a sudden, surprising flash of nerves. “What makes you think anything’s going to happen? Maybe you’re assuming a little too much, Mr. Cave Man.” She started to walk past him back into the bar.

Before she could react, he’d caught her, spun her around to press her back against the trunk of one of the palm trees. “Oh, you think so?” he asked softly, his breath feathering over her lips. He leaned in, his body brushing lightly against hers.

And she felt the answering tug deep inside her. She could feel the heat of him, human and real and there. His shirt still hung open from where she’d unbuttoned it; in the torchlight, his skin gleamed copper. With his shadowed jaw and unruly hair and black eyes, he looked determined, focused and maybe a little dangerous.

She moistened her lips. “Let me go.”

The flames of the torches were reflected in his eyes. “Is that honestly what you want?” He traced the line of her collarbone with his fingertips. “It didn’t seem that way on the dance floor.”

Delaney shivered. From the first, she’d watched his mouth, fantasizing how it would feel. How would it have changed over the years? How would he have changed? She’d watched him and wondered.

And wanted.

Dom stared down at her now, his gaze never wavering, his black eyes deep, dark pools she could drown in. Her heart thudded in her chest as though she’d been sprinting, as though her rib cage had suddenly grown too small to contain it. Abruptly she couldn’t find any air. Everything else receded and all she could see was him, the mesmerizing glint in his eyes as he shifted toward her, the intensity as her lips shuddered apart.