smoky-like. A live band took up a space on a far, center wall, and most of the light and noise came from there and the crowded dance floor. Looking around the hazy space, he saw mostly tourists, probably from the nearby hotels.
Their scent gave them away--they were missing that certain spice that only natives had to them, not like his Jessica though. She was a force unto herself.
Gabriel sidled up to the bar, got a beer, and turned around, propping his elbows on the bar as he scanned the crowd for her. He spotted her at a table, nursing a drink and giving a brush off to a man hitting on her. His ears prickled to hear her soft rebuttal, barely audible, even to his own keen ears.
Doesn’t like to dance?
A challenge, and she didn’t even realize it. She was damn well in the wrong place, not to be a dancer. Music was a part of life here, dancing in the blood, necessary as air or water to live. He was going to introduce her to one of the finer points of Louisiana living.
Jessica just wanted to watch. She liked watching people dancing, drinking, talking ...
flirting. Interaction had always fascinated her for some reason, even after she’d become disillusioned with society. She just liked the atmosphere, especially down here. Of course, just because she liked to watch didn’t mean she wanted to do it herself--especially not with some slush who could barely stand and reeked of stale beer.
A chair scraped behind her. Jessica mentally rolled her eyes and shuddered. She sensed more than saw someone come up behind her elbow.
Much as the guy deserved a hit to the gut, she wasn’t going to get physical.
Dammit! She’d tried to be nice. Repeatedly. There was just no way to be nice to people any more. Courtesy had disappeared fifty years ago, along with manners. She hated being mean--it always made her feel like a dog when she got through.
Jessica swiveled in her chair, her stomach clenched with the rebuttal she was going to have to deliver.
She stopped, stunned to look up and see Gabriel Benoit standing before her.
Her brain only took a few seconds to jump-start this time. She was getting better at recovering. A few more times seeing him and she might even act normal. Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. Before she could demand to know what he wanted, he surprised her by speaking first.
“You followin’ me, cherie? Dere’s laws against stalkin’, you know,” he said with that husky, lilting tone that made her want to melt to the floor in an orgasmic puddle.
She recovered as the words sank in. Jessica sputtered at his audacity. “Me? Are you serious? You’re the one following me!”
He shrugged. “Don’ matter. Law’s the law. What you gonna do about it?” He looked down her blouse with a mischievous gleam in his eyes.
Jessica slowly followed his line of vision, saw her neckline gaped, and put a hand to her chest, gasping in outrage. She managed to find her voice and said, “What makes you think I’m following you? Who approached who’s table here?”
He looked disappointed that she’d covered her chest, but only briefly. Really, as little as she had up top, she didn’t know why he acted so interested.
“I only came ta save you some time, cherie. You don’ gotta go through all dis subterfuge to get me.” He held his arms up and open, like he was there for the taking. “I’m all yours if you wan’ me.”
Jessica grinned despite herself. The man really had some balls. She gave him a once over. “Thanks, but I have toys at home.”
“I guarantee, no’ like dis toy.”
Jessica laughed. “But mine come with an independent power supply. Can you keep going and going and going...?”
One thick, black brow arched. A dimple appeared on the side of his mouth. He crossed his arms over his chest, looking smug in a supreme male sort of way. “I can give you more’n you can handle, petite.”
Jessica snorted very unladly-like, secretly excited--not that she would ever admit it.
“I somehow doubt that.”
His voice dropped an octave, and all amusement left his face. “Don’ make me prove it.”
Hot shivers stroked up her spine. The room suddenly felt too small, too private.
She was insanely aware of how fast her heart beat, how rapid her breath came, and how damn good he smelled. It was a struggle to remember how to use her voice. All the moisture had fled her body and pooled in one central location. “I don’t think so,” she said inanely.
He smiled crookedly, baring a dimple. “All mouth and no action. You don’ know what dose lips are for.”
She didn’t want to think about her lips. All she could do was stare at his and wonder about what tricks he could perform. The kiss he stole in the alley came back full force--all the heat, the uncertainty, the rough force of his body pressing her into the wall. She wasn’t acting like herself. She should’ve been scared or nervous, but the only things her nerves were doing were coming to life in anticipation.
Jessica swallowed with effort. Her face flushed with heat. She stood up abruptly, not liking his height advantage over her. She could tell he wasn’t nearly as affected as she was. She also couldn’t think of a thing to say to him, nothing challenging or witty. He had to think she was a moron, some dumb little thing ripe for the taking.
The blonde curse was striking, leaving her open and vulnerable.
“You know I’m right, don’ you? Would you like me to show you what lips can do?” He grabbed her arms suddenly.
She looked down at the manacles of his hands one stunned moment, marveling at the contrast of bronze against her pale skin. Erotic images flashed in her mind, of cream and golden bodies entwined, rough and soft. The contrast of his flesh against hers seared her mind’s eye. She looked back up at his face, wondering frantically if he could read her mind, wondering a breathless moment if he was going to kiss her like she wanted to be kissed.
What the hell. She didn’t care what anyone in the bar thought. For once, she just wanted to give in and enjoy herself. She shrugged mentally, closed her eyes, and leaned in.
His arms closed around her, and suddenly he was moving her backward. She stepped back, instinctively keeping her balance.
Coming out of the fog, Jessica opened her eyes and blinked up at him in confusion.
She was still a little dazed when he took her hands and began guiding her on the dance floor. She stiffened instantly when she realized his intent.
“I don’t dance,” she gritted out and tried to pull away. She felt like everyone was watching her and her two huge left feet. They knew she couldn’t dance. They were just waiting for her to fall on her face.
His hands tightened at her waist, his fingers locked on her hand. “It’s jus’ like makin
’ love.” He moved his hips against hers, making her feel weak. “You rock with it.”
“That’s original. I must be really bad in bed then.” She felt like a robot, all stiff and cumbersome and obvious.
Gabriel melded her to his body, his heat melting her resistance until she felt mellow and relaxed in his arms. If dancing was an indicator of love making, Gabriel had to be an exquisite lover. Just feeling his body move against hers made her weak in all the right places. She could barely keep her feet under her. All she wanted to do was lay her face against his chest and feel his arms around her.
“It jus’ takes d’right partner,” he murmured huskily against her hair, his breath sparking a chain reaction of pleasurable responses.
He swayed and took her around the dance floor, keeping her distracted from her flighty nervousness with subtle strokes from his fingers at her waist, on her wrist, his lips at her temple, his breath at her ear. Every pore of her body sighed with pleasure.
The dance felt too intimate for public, but wasn’t that part of the appeal?
He’d managed to do what no man had ever done before--got her to enjoy a dance.
She could get used to this kind of treatment.
The thought was like an ice bucket dumped on her head.
