Page 174 of Savage Suit

She stepped into my embrace and tilted her head up for my kiss. She hummed low in her throat. “The Watusi was a dance popular in the 1960s,” she said when we came up for air.

“No shit,” I said, taken aback. “The song’s that old?”

“Yeah, it came out in 1962. You don’t know about Sam Cooke?”

“I knowofhim. I just never listenedtohim.”

Ryan walked to the black leather sectional and sat. “Your parents never played him?”

“No.” I sat next to her. “My father preferred jazz and classical, and my mother listened to French songs.”

“Can you sing in French?” she asked, scooting closer to me so I could wrap my arms around her and lean back with her. She rested her head in the crook of my arm.

“I know French songs. But can I sing them? I can’t carry a tune, so that would be a no.”

She looked up at me as I glanced down at her. “Actually, the dance referenced in the song refers to the Tutsi of the African Great Lake region. Burundi, Democratic Republic of Congo, and Rwanda. They speak Bantu and are also known as Abatutsi and Watusi. Spectacular dances are part of their tradition.”

“Your love of facts continues to amaze me.”

“I’m Jill of all trivia, mistress of none,” she teased.

We smiled at each other. Unable to resist, I planted a kiss on her delectable lips.

Our kiss quickly intensified, and I nipped her lip, encouraged by her moan. However, before things escalated, the next song on her playlist,Ponyby Ginuwine, distracted her. Squealing, she jumped from the couch to dance.

My ego might’ve been a little bruised if she didn’t grind to the beat or step between the vee of my legs and gyrate, rewarding me with a lap dance. Even if she sounded fucking awful belting out the song, I smiled at her joy. She sang her heart out, unconcerned I’d told her she sang terribly.

She moved off my lap, pointing her finger at me, still singing and dancing. Smiling, I stood up and planted my hands on her hips, rocking with her. In response, she wrapped her hands around my neck, still fucking singing. I tried to move in sync with her, but she out danced me again.

“I’m hungry,” Ryan announced at the song’s conclusion. She grabbed her phone from the coffee table and plopped on the sectional again. “Do you want a pizza? I’m thinking about ordering one fromMamma Mia’s.”

“Yes. Pepperoni with nothing else on it.”

She nodded, and I returned to my place next to her. Peering at her phone screen, I saw she was checking out our order.

I snatched the device. “I’ll pay.”

“Hey!” She reached for it. “I got it, Noah. It’s fine.”

Holding my phone out of reach, I hurriedly logged into my account at the pizza parlor and quickly paid using my stored information. “Too late. Order’s placed.”

“I’ll Cash app you the money, then.”

“And I’ll reject it,” I replied, wrapping my arms around her and pulling her closer to me, loving the way her body felt against mine. “It should be here in thirty minutes.”

“Whatever.”

She sounded annoyed, and I prepared my counter arguments if she made a big deal out of it. Day before yesterday’s conversation with Quinn remained fresh in my mind, so I was trying my best to step back and not demand everything went my way. Quinn’s insight also gave me another perspective to view Ryan. And myself.

Perhaps Nathaniel only sought me out for help or favors because I’d only made myself available to him that way. Maybe I thought that was the only thing I was good for, or I owed it to him because I felt responsible for our mother’s death.

Yesterday evening, I’d called him for the first time in recent memory just to say ‘hello’ and to check on him. After overcoming his shock, he’d thawed. I’d even spoken briefly to Alessia.

Reid’s revelation had fucked my entire fucking day. My cousin was upset and asked me to undo whatever underhanded machinations had allowed me to move so fast against Megan. He felt it would be easier if she were here. To me, her presence would complicate matters by upsetting Quinn and thus troubling Ryan.

In the car, once Reid and I parted ways, Quinn had been like a block of ice, on her phone calling one man and another and another, lining up dates—and I used the word loosely—with shocking rashness.

“Reid’s not the end of the fucking world,” I’d snapped, so frustrated I’d yanked her phone away. “If you want to fuck your way through Manhattan because you enjoy it, then do it. If you’re punishing yourself for falling for Reid, then stop being a fucking fool. Fuck Reid, Quinn. He’s going to regret his stupidity.”