Logan blinked. His palms began to sweat as he imagined the feel of her tiny waist in his hands. No, surely she didn’t mean, surely— “Dance with you?”
She shook her head. “Nevermind. I’m sorry.” She started to move her hips again, running her hands over her body in a way that would have turned him on, if he couldn’t smell how utterly un-aroused she was.
He finished the bottle of bourbon. “I’d like to. Dance with you. If you want to.”
“It’s up to you,” she said, still swaying absently to the music. She gestured over herself. “This is all for you.”
A soft growl came up in his throat before he could stop it. Oh. Oh hell. He knew she didn’t mean that the way he wanted her to mean it, but some parts of his body were responding very well to that statement.
“All for me,” he repeated her words, trying to keep the growl out of his voice. “Wanna dance with you.” He stood and approached her.
She started to press her back against him and settle his hands on her hips while she danced, but he turned her around, pulled her into an embrace and buried his nose in her hair, holding her as he swayed them both in time with the music. She was stiff for a few moments.
But soon, silk-clad arms inched up to encircle his neck, and her scent changed, softened, mellowed.
Logan tightened his arms around her waist, holding her body flush against his as he began to move his feet, just back and forth, doing what came naturally. He didn’t really know how to dance, but this felt good, so very good. She could probably feel his erection bumping into her lower belly.
He just hoped it would distract her from the soft rumbles of pleasure rising up in his chest.
The song ended, and a new one came on, but he just kept dancing.
“This is . . . nice,” she whispered sleepily, and he wondered how long it had been since she’d had a decent night’s rest. “No one’s ever danced with me like this.”
“Just me,” he replied. “Only me.”
She nodded against his chest. “I . . . don’t want you to pay me, Mr. Logan. I want this to be . . . don’t pay me, okay?”
“Okay,” he agreed, not sure if he should feel guilty for talking her into this, then telling her not to strip and agreeing not to pay her. But he didn’t want to give her money for this. He didn’t want it to be like that.
He just wanted to hold her and pretend like she was all his and pretend like he knew how to dance. “It’s just Logan, not Mr. Logan,” he murmured, nuzzling deeper into her hair. “What’s your name, honey? Tell me your name.”
“Marie.”
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