Page 38

Not only by her standards.

Other women had been eyeing him all night, but why wouldn’t they? That face. That body. That everything, and why was she thinking about his looks again? What did his looks matter? Nothing about him mattered, except getting through the rest of the evening.

And yet—and yet, it felt right, being in his arms. She couldn’t understand it. Well, she could. There were times things physical got in the way of things intellectual. It had never happened to her before, but she knew it was possible.

Okay. It had happened to her before. With him. That kiss at the wedding…

Not that it meant anything. It was like—like having a hot dream about sex with a man you’d met.

Just because you had the dream didn’t mean you wanted the reality.

The lights dimmed. Changed color, anyway. Blue lights to match blue music. A singer trying hard to sound like Adele.

Chay held Bianca closer.

She sighed. Let her head droop against his shoulder…and jerked back. “We should sit down,” she said quickly.

“We should do exactly what we’re doing,” he said softly.

But that was the problem. Exactly what were they doing?

And then she stopped fighting and let him take over.

• • •

Eventually, the music stopped.

The lights came up. The dance floor emptied. And as Chay took her hand and led her across it, Bianca realized that the entire place had emptied.

Or damn near emptied.

Including their booth.

Tanner had left a note scrawled on a paper napkin.

Hey, dude. Got late. Didn’t want to interrupt you guys. Dinner’s on us. Will give you a call tomorrow.

Bianca stared at the note, then at Chay. “Did we miss dinner?”

He nodded. “Yeah. So it seems.”

“But—how long were we on the dance floor?”

“Long enough,” he said, trying to sound casual while he wondered how the time could have passed so quickly.

“What must they think?”

Chay didn’t give a damn what Tanner and his wife thought. The real question was, what had he been thinking? When had dancing as a way of killing time become dancing to keep Bianca in his arms?

He could feel his head buzzing. With anger. With irritation. At himself. At whatever in hell he’d walked into tonight. His little dance partner liked to be in control of her life? Well, dammit, so did he. It was what he was all about. It was the trait that had gotten him off the reservation, into college, into the SEALs and then into STUD.

He knew who he was and what he was, and somehow tonight had turned all that on its head and he didn’t like it, didn’t like the woman who’d done it to him.

He dug bills out of his pocket and left them for the waiter as an additional tip, then grabbed his jacket.

“Let’s go,” he said, his tone brusque.

Bianca’s purse had been lying under his jacket. She barely had time to snatch it before he locked his fingers around her wrist. It was not a gentle gesture; it was a commanding one.