Page 64 of Daddies on Ice

“In a moment,” Ash replies.

The crowd swallows them. The photographer near the bar pretends interest in hanging plants and fails miserably. Ash’s attention sharpens in a way that makes my spine prickle.

“Need something?” Jake’s tone stays polite, but his jaw muscle tightens.

Ash’s gaze shifts to me. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” I say, my words emerging steadier than my pulse feels.

Ash nods at me with something resembling respect, gives Jake a look that’s neither friendly nor unfriendly, then tells me, “Text if you need anything,” before vanishing into the crowd.

“Finally alone.”

My eyes snap to Jake’s face, catching his smile. “You don’t need to perform for the audience,” I say, gesturing around the club. “They can’t hear us.”

“Maybe I want to be alone with you.” When I raise my eyebrows, he chuckles and shakes his head. “Nobody will believe we’re together if you don’t relax and smile occasionally. This should be enjoyable, but you look like you’ve swallowed something sour.”

He reaches across the table for my hand, pulling it toward the center.

It becomes a brief tug-of-war because this entire setup makes me uncomfortable, but I let him draw my hand closer and don’t resist when he holds it.

Minutes later, his thumb begins tracing idle circles on my wrist.

Jake might consider this innocent, but his warm thumb on my sensitive skin builds heat throughout my body.

“Dance with me.”

My gaze snaps back to his face, eyes widening. He chuckles, shaking his head.

“One dance, then we leave,” Jake promises. When I look suspicious, he grins. “That way, we came, had drinks, danced, then left to be alone. At least that’s how it’ll appear.”

He’s right, but I still hesitate. My reluctance stems from fear of getting too close to him, fear of how my body will respond. Especially when it’s already going haywire over just his thumb stroking my wrist.

Jake stands and extends his hand. I place mine in his, noticing how much smaller mine is. Countless eyes follow us to the dance floor, making me feel exposed and scrutinized.

If I want to succeed in PR, I need to get comfortable with audiences.

As we reach the dance floor, the music shifts to something slow with a pulsing bass line. Couples sway with drinks in hand.

Perfect timing.

Jake’s grin turns wolfish as he takes me in his arms, palm pressed hot against my lower back.

I wrap my arms around his neck, trying not to melt at the sensation of his hard body pressed close to mine.

He moves with the same confidence he shows in games, sure and graceful, like dancing is instinctive.

“You’re enjoying this too much,” I grumble half-heartedly.

His smile brushes my temple. We sway together.

The edge of his thigh finds mine, fabric sliding against fabric, sending heat up my spine.

His hand climbs slightly higher, steady and possessive.

Just as I begin relaxing, camera flashes assault my eyes. I blink rapidly, taking in the crowd of people capturing photos and videos with their phones.

This was the entire point, right?