I exhale long and slow, then I let my head fall back against his shoulder. His right hand slides up until it’s splayed over my belly.

“Is this okay?” he asks in my ear. His tone is gruff. Strained.

I just nod, swallowing hard.

He makes an appreciative little growl, then pulls me tighter into him. I thought he’d looked strong and built before, but now that I’m touching him, I realize I didn’t know the half of it. His body is like some kind of miracle. Before I can stop myself, I reach back behind me and tuck my hand between us until my palm is pressed against his abdomen.

Immediately, I can feel the muscles beneath my fingers tighten as I explore them. This dance has evolved from hot to scorching—all the more so when his pinkie slides under the waistband of my jeans. And the waistband of my panties.

I can vaguely remember this as the moment when two things happened—first, the alcohol from my drinks hits me hard, forcing my thoughts to swim through a strange alternate universe that can only picture sex and dancing; and, second, my body took over where my mind fell short.

In a matter of seconds, I reach up with both arms and lock my hands at the back of Smith’s neck. My breasts lift and he pulls me even closer, so my ass is tucked up against his groin. I can feel his erection, hot and hard, against my lower back and, thrilled by it, I begin to grind back against him as we dance.

He hisses a breath out through his teeth and lets both hands travel up to my rib cage. His thumbs rest just below my bra. Then, almost imperceptibly, he strokes my skin.

“I can’t imagine why you think you aren’t good at this,” he says, his lips pressed against my earlobe. “Because, trust me when I say, you are very fucking good at this.”

Then he skates his lips from my ear to my neck. I can’t hold in the moan rising in my throat. His thumbs inch up, ever so slightly, and graze the very bottom curve of both my breasts. And he does this just as his tongue flickers out against the sensitive skin below my ear.

That’s it.

I turn my face to look up at him.

“I want you to come home with me.”

For a second, Smith freezes—then he slowly turns me to face him fully. With his chin tilted down, he meets my gaze.

“Are you drunk?”

I narrow my eyes. “No, I’m not drunk.”

He grins at my indignation.

“I just don’t think you’re the kind of girl who usually asks a man you just met to come home with you when you’re sober.”

“Shows what you know,” I scoff. “I don’t ask men to come home with me at all.”

Wow. That sounded a lot less pathetic in my head.

Smith chuckles a little and crosses his arms over his chest. I want to reach out and stop him—it’s a crime to cover up that amazing body. And, since apparently I have no filter after a few drinks, I tell him so.

“It’s a crime to cover up that amazing body.”

Chuckling, he unfolds his arms and reaches for me. He rests his hands on my shoulders, then squeezes gently.

“Let’s go find your friends.”

Great. He’s done with me already—and we didn’t even make it back to my apartment. How bad do things have to be that a man would turn a woman down for a one-night stand?

I can feel the heat rising up my neck and over my chest as I shake off his hands.

“Forget it, I’ll find them myself.”

Smith blinks and steps closer. “Are you mad?”

“No, it’s fine—you don’t want to come home with me and you apparently think I need a babysitter. I’ll find my friends on my own. Thanks for the dance.”

I spin around on one heel and start stomping off the dance floor. I make it only about five feet before I feel a firm hand curl around my upper arm. I set my jaw, ready to lay into him, but that conviction evaporates when he turns me back around to face him.

“Listen,” he says, pulling me close. He smooths a hand down my back to my waist and lets it rest there. “There is nothing, nothing I would rather do than go home with you right now. You have no idea how badly I want to do that. But, come on, Hyacinth—do you really want that?”

I don’t even hesitate when I say, “That is exactly what I want. I want you to come home with me. I want you to find me irresistible. I want to make you feel . . .”—I stumble for a second—“I want to make you feel fucking amazing.” Smith sort of groans and his forehead rests against mine. His eyes close, then open again. Now, the deep blue irises have gone almost liquid with something I can’t quite define. He moves his gaze from my lips to my eyes and back again.

“All I can think about is how much I want to kiss you,” he mutters, so quietly I can barely hear it over the music. “Actually, I want to do a whole lot more than kiss you.”

“Like what?” I say, my voice equally soft.

He moves a hand to my face, then lets his fingers migrate slowly from my jaw to my neck to my bra strap. He grazes it with his thumb as he says, “I want us to get the hell out of here. I want to take you back to your place. Or my place. Or any fucking place you want me to take you.”

I hold my breath as his thumb moves to trace the cups of my bra and the swells of my breasts above them.

“I’d like to be alone with you,” he continues, “so I can convince you to let me kiss you here”—he lets his knuckle dip into my cleavage. “And here”—he trails a finger down my sternum to my navel, then stops just above my jeans. “And any other place you’ll let me kiss you.”

Oh, holy hell.

“Please,” I choke out. It’s a whimper. It’s a plea. I don’t even know what I’m asking for.

I reach out and place my hand over the painted emblem on his chest, then move it down and over his abdomen. He stiffens, his expression looking almost pained, and I can’t help but notice how impressive his arousal is. It’s sort of a relief to see he’s feeling this as much as I am.

“So,” I say slowly, “how about we just start with kissing. We can worry about the other stuff later.”

Smith cocks a brow at me and moves both his hands to my shoulders.

“Something tells me a kiss from you will only leave me wanting more.”

I shrug. “You’ll never know if you don’t try.”

He lets one of his hands slide from my shoulder to the nape of my neck. Automatically, my head tips up and our eyes meet. The feverish burn in his feels like a mirror—I’m positive the lustful intensity in my eyes looks exactly the same. Nervously, I lick my bottom lip.

Then he mumbles something like “fuck it” and dips his head toward me. When his lips capture mine, I’m lost.

Smith is delicious—that’s the only way I can describe him. When his tongue flicks out and grazes my bottom lip, I can taste the tang of the beer he was drinking and the slight hint of something minty, like he’d brushed his teeth or chewed Altoids before coming out for the night. He deepens the kiss, hooking his fingers into the belt loops of my jeans and pulling me even closer. His torso is pressing against me, and I let my fingers graze over his shoulders and down his back. One of us groans, but I’m so preoccupied, I couldn’t tell you if it was me or him.

“Hyacinth,” he murmurs against my mouth.

Gently, I capture his bottom lip with my teeth, and this time I know it’s him making a low growl of satisfaction.

“Come home with me,” I whisper, shifting to let my mouth press against his neck, then his ear.

Around us, the strobe lights pulse and the music swells, and Smith’s eyes are trained on mine in a way that leaves me both breathless and energized. I’ve never wanted anyone or anything as much as I want this man right now. I let my thumb stroke along his jaw, the stubble feeling both soft and rough and completely irresistible.

Smith takes a step back to look at me, then grins.

“I’ve got a better idea.”