Page 7 of My Horrible Arranged Marriage (Bancroft Billionaire Brothers #20)

MINA

I hadn’t seen it coming—how fun Isaac Bancroft actually was.

How much fun I was having. I had mentally prepared for an insufferable night of gritting my teeth through small talk with a spoiled, self-absorbed Bancroft prince.

But after ten minutes of sitting with him, I realized Isaac didn’t take himself half as seriously as I’d assumed.

And, God help me, he was ridiculously good-looking.

We were dancing, bodies swaying with the heavy thump of bass. He spun me out, then tugged me back in with a mischievous glint in his eye that made my stomach dip in the most delicious way. Our laughter mixed with the crowd’s energy, the alcohol buzzing warmly through my veins.

I was doing my best to remind myself I had to limit the tequila. There was a song my friend sent me a while ago. Something about tequila makes her clothes fall off. Tequila didn’t always make my clothes fall off, but it did lead to shenanigans that ended up in the society pages.

“Want another shot?” he asked.

I grimaced. “I do.”

“Okay.” He took my hand and pulled me off the dance floor.

“But I can’t,” I said and pulled back.

He arched an eyebrow. “You can’t.”

“Tequila makes me do things I typically regret,” I said.

He flashed a grin. “I like regrets.”

“No one likes regrets.”

“How about a basic cocktail?” he asked.

“I can do that.” I nodded, letting him guide me toward the bar.

The bartender seemed to know who Isaac was. He took our orders ahead of the other people at the bar, earning us even more side eyes. The bartender slid our drinks over with a wink. Isaac handed me something fruity and delicious that didn’t taste nearly as strong as it probably was.

“Cheers,” he said, clinking his glass against mine. “To new friends and old money.”

I laughed despite myself. “That’s terrible.”

“But accurate.” His eyes lingered on mine a moment too long before he took a sip.

The music changed to something slower, more seductive. Isaac looked at me, silently asking if I wanted to get back out there.

I did.

I downed my drink, making him laugh. “That wasn’t a tequila shot,” he said.

I shrugged. “Tasted like fruit juice.”

He grinned and downed his drink before taking my hand.

Bodies around us pressed closer together, the energy shifting.

I felt suddenly self-conscious, aware of every inch between us.

The couple next to us was making out. Another couple looked like they were actually fucking with clothes on. It heightened the experience.

The music wrapped around us. I felt my body responding to the rhythm, to his presence just inches away. Isaac’s eyes locked with mine, dark and intent, as he stepped impossibly closer.

The touch was electric, even through the fabric of my dress.

His hand slid to my hip, fingers splaying possessively against the curve.

I turned my back to his chest and felt his breath hot against my neck.

We moved together, my hips swaying against his, our bodies finding a synchronized rhythm that had nothing to do with the music and everything to do with something more primal.

His hands guided my movements, one at my waist, the other trailing daringly up my side, stopping just below the curve of my breast. My breath caught.

There was a delicious heat building between us.

I couldn’t explain it. My body responded to him in a way I wasn’t used to.

I had danced with a lot of guys just like this but it was all about the music.

If I wasn’t careful, I was going to rub myself against him in a way that communicated exactly what I wanted to do.

Despite the loud music, I could hear him breathing. Or maybe I felt it. My breasts were pushed against his chest. My legs were parted slightly so his thigh was dangerously close to moving between my legs.

His hand slid from my waist to my hip. I tipped my chin up and our eyes locked, the air shifted. More like it matched the energy surrounding us. His fingers tightened just slightly. I didn’t think. I just leaned up and kissed him.

It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t careful.

It was hungry—the way I’d been hungry for something reckless and real for so damn long.

His mouth met mine eagerly, his hand sliding up my back to cradle the base of my skull.

We were surrounded by people all turned on.

It was like we were all feeding off the same energy.

Isaac’s mouth was hot, tasting like the punch drink we’d both downed.

His kiss was deeper than I’d expected from someone who played everything like a joke.

His lips claimed mine with a ravenous nature that matched the pulsing beat around us.

I didn’t stop dancing—couldn’t stop —as his mouth moved against mine.

His hands gripped my hips, holding me against his body and the erection I could feel growing harder.

The music vibrated through us, a living thing that made me feel like a puppet with strings attached.

The beat of the music was the puppet master.

I’d kissed plenty of men before, but never like this.

Never while surrounded by strangers, never with the bass thumping through my bones, never with my inhibitions so completely abandoned.

His tongue slid against mine. I tasted desire.

My fingers tangled in his hair, holding him to me as I arched closer.

We barely broke apart to breathe. He spun me around so my back pressed against his chest, his arm wrapping possessively around my waist as he trailed hot kisses down my neck. I tilted my head, giving him better access, my eyes fluttering closed as the sensations overwhelmed me.

“You taste amazing,” he murmured against my skin.

I turned in his arms again, desperate to reconnect our mouths. His hands slid lower, dangerously low, pulling me flush against him. I could feel how much he wanted me, hard against my hip. The realization sent a thrill through me, knowing I affected him like this.

I pressed my mouth to his ear, breathless. “Private rooms upstairs.”

His sharp inhale was all the confirmation I needed. He grabbed my hand and led the way.

The bouncer at the velvet rope barely glanced at us before ushering us upstairs.

One look at Isaac Bancroft and Mina Duvall?

Yeah, we had reputations. No one was going to give it a second thought if they happened to see us disappear into the privacy of rooms that everyone knew what happened in them.

The VIP room was sleek, modern, and empty except for a plush couch that looked far too inviting. As soon as the door clicked shut behind us, I shoved him against it.

“Mina.” He laughed, voice a little strained as I kissed him again, harder this time. His hands skimmed my hips, dragging me flush against him.

“Shut up,” I muttered against his mouth.

His hands moved greedily, tugging my dress higher up my thighs. I made quick work of his shirt, fingers fumbling at the buttons before just giving up and yanking it over his head. Isaac’s skin was hot under my palms, his muscles tightening when I kissed my way along the line of his throat.

“Shit, Mina,” he hissed when I scraped my teeth gently along his collarbone. His hands lifted me, spinning us so my back hit the door. I wrapped my legs around his waist instinctively, the thick, hard press of him between my thighs making my head swim.

For a few minutes, it was just frantic hands and mouths. He kissed me like he’d die if he stopped. Or maybe it was me that would die if he stopped. I dragged my fingers through his dark hair, grinding shamelessly against him until we were both panting.

I arched against him, my body seeking more contact as his hands slid under the hem of my dress, fingers tracing fire along my thighs.

My head fell back against the door with a soft thud, giving him access to the sensitive skin of my neck.

His mouth was hot, trailing kisses from my collarbone to just beneath my ear, where he lingered, his breath sending shivers racing across my skin.

“Isaac,” I gasped as his teeth grazed my earlobe.

He made a sound deep in his throat, something primal and possessive that made my insides clench with wanting. His fingers dug into my hips, holding me steady as he rocked against me, the friction delicious but not nearly enough.

“God, you’re incredible,” he murmured, his voice rough with desire.

I tugged his hair, bringing his mouth back to mine for another desperate kiss. His tongue slid against mine. The music from downstairs pulsed through the floor, through the walls, through us.

My fingers traced over his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath my palm. He was beautiful—all lean muscle and golden skin. I’d known he would be, somehow. I slid my hand over his flat stomach and then around to grab his tight ass.

He carried me to the couch, never breaking our kiss, and lowered me onto the plush surface.

He followed me down onto the couch, his weight pinning me deliciously against the cushions.

I hooked my leg around his waist, pulling him closer as he braced himself above me.

His eyes locked with mine, dark with desire but also questioning.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice husky.

The question surprised me. I hadn’t expected hesitation from Isaac Bancroft—the man with a reputation for bedding half of Manhattan’s eligible socialites.

“Yes,” I breathed, arching up to kiss him again. “Don’t stop.”

His hand slid under my dress, fingers tracing the edge of my underwear. I shivered, anticipation building as he teased me through the thin fabric. My body responded instantly, hips lifting to meet his touch.

“Mina,” he groaned against my neck, “you’re so?—”

Then he stopped.

Breathing hard, Isaac rested his forehead against mine. His hands slid from my thighs as he pulled away.

“What?” I blinked up at him, confused and dazed.

He smiled, but it was tight. A little strained. “Not like this.”

“Not like what?”

He laughed, low and self-deprecating. “Not with you drunk, not after one date, not when…” He exhaled sharply. “When I know I’d want it to happen again.”

I stared at him.

Who the hell was this man?

He tugged his shirt back on. He returned to the couch where I couldn’t seem to sit up.

He gently pulled me to my feet and then smoothed my hair down with a touch that was way too gentle for a guy who’d just been about to rock my world.

I watched as he pulled out his phone, tapping something quickly.

“My driver’s outside,” he said quietly. “I’ll have him take you home.”

My mouth opened, then shut. I didn’t know what to say. I’d come upstairs half expecting him to tear my dress off without a second thought. Instead, he was suddenly being considerate? Respectful?

It was almost more dangerous than if he’d been the reckless player I’d expected.

I sat there in the back seat, my heart racing and my skin still tingling from his touch. I was so confused by how badly I wanted to see Isaac Bancroft again.