Page 24

The unmistakable melody of Gerardo Matos Rodriguez’s “La Cumparsita” sweeps into the dance floor, tantalizing all the senses with its sharp pauses and intense sexiness. There’s a reason this piece is nicknamed the anthem of tango. As soon as I heard the first strains of the music, I excused myself from the women to go to the restroom before I get looped into an unwanted dance.

They were all daughters or sisters of financiers and business partners, and I didn’t want to offend them, but to say their advances were not appreciated would be an understatement. My jaw ached from smiling too much. But then, as I left the group, my gaze swept over the dance floor and I saw her.

My minx standing at the edge, fiery in her deep red dress and dark makeup, her arms crossed over her chest again. A temptress staring at the ruins burning at her feet.

But she had that damn look in her eyes again—hollow, like she was marooned on an island somewhere with no hope of rescue.

And obviously, I’m a masochist tonight because I thought it’d be a great idea to burn myself alive.

“Can’t find a partner, minx?” I murmur, striding up to her.

She closes her eyes. Her throat ripples and I see a slight tremor in her body and heat sparks in my gut. She’s not immune to this insanity between us.

“Go away, Charles. Even if I wanted a partner, it wouldn’t be you.” Her eyes are still closed like she’s determined not to give me her full attention.

“I wasn’t aware I was asking. I was just pointing out an observation.”

A frustrated growl tears from her lips and my lips twitch in a smile. Riling her up may be the best part of my night so far.

“Go find someone else to bother—all those women fawning over you, pick any of them.”

“Do I sense jealousy?”

“Please. As if I’d be jealous of women stupid enough to need dance lessons from the likes of you, you uncoordinated buffoon.”

Her face flushes, the pulse on her neck fluttering harder. You little liar, Taylor.

Leaning in, I murmur, “Buffoon, huh? Did you learn that word from school?”

She snorts, finally opening her eyes and the dim glow of the strobe lights catches her gray irises, highlighting the small striations. And for a moment, I forgot what I was going to say, rendered speechless by the pools of quicksilver.

Her eyes darken as she stares at me. I watch her gaze drip over my face, landing on my lips before moving back up, and I find myself doing the same.

Heat curls around my groin, my cock clearly not getting the instruction we’re not supposed to be interested in this madwoman.

Damn weddings—makes even the sanest people go insane.

The sultry strains of the song fan the flames between us, and my eyes snare at the rapid pulse beckoning me on her slender neck and suddenly common sense seems overrated.

“I bet I could out dance you,” I rasp, “this song. The Argentine tango.”

Her eyes widen and those voluptuous dark purple lips part. “ You? Out dance me? A professional dancer?”

I lean in. “Want to bet? Appearances can be deceiving.”

Couples sweep by us, the ladies hooking their legs around their partners’ in a dance resembling passionate sex. My fingers twitch at my sides. I want to touch her—skin to skin—dig my fingers into her smooth flesh, feel her fire straight from the source.

Taylor falters, her mouth now panting quick breaths. Her nostrils flare as she stares at my lips again. My cock jolts in my pants.

Fuck.

I hold out my hand. “Is the badass ballerina scared? I won’t bite. Unless you want me to, little girl.”

“Don’t ‘little girl’ me.” Indignation flashes in her scowl and she jams her hand in mine and pulls me on to the dance floor.

“Do you prefer brat?” My lips cock up in a grin as I snake my other arm around her and pull her flush against me so that every inch of our bodies is pressing against each other—her soft curves against my hard planes. Her breath hitches. I swallow the ball in my throat as awareness throbs between us. She steps away and I pull her back harder.

“I don’t think so, minx. I lead in the tango,” I murmur in her ear, and she fucking shudders, her body becoming pliant. She’d take it all so well, this inner submissive streak of hers. She just needs someone to get her out of her head.

Blood rushes to my stiffening cock. It’s a fucking hopeless cause. I have a beautiful woman in my arms. This is just biology. Yeah, keep telling yourself that.

Sliding my hands to her hips, I guide her into a figure eight position as she steps forward, her movements hitting each beat of the music, but her head is still held too high, arms too graceful.

Too indifferent, much like the makeup she wears to hide herself from the world.

I snap her toward me.

“That’s the ocho . And this is tango, Taylor. Not ballet. Do I need to teach you how to feel the music in your blood?” I smirk before pushing her away and following her retreat.

Her muscles tense and she hurls a seething glare capable of murder my way. This time, when she makes her way toward me, I see the fire in her steps with every stomp on the floor.

Much better.

“Do they teach tango along with acting lessons at the fancy-ass prep schools for billionaires?” she hurls back at me when we come together.

I breathe in her scent—sweet, addictive nectar—and it fans the flames in my chest.

Every part of me awakens as I pause on the dance floor, watching her slowly circle me like she’s a predator and I’m her prey.

A true predator will lull their prey into a false sense of security. “That’s the corte , and much, much better, Taylor,” I rasp.

Playtime is over.

Charging forward, I watch her eyes widen as she is forced to follow my lead and I maneuver her in a new direction. She submits to me…so fucking beautifully; I don’t think she even realizes it. Her body is mirroring every single move from me, like we were made to dance together.

“Sacada . And no, I learned dance because my uncle is a world-renowned choreographer who encouraged my siblings and me to love the art of physical movement.”

The music swells and retreats, much like the changing distance between us. Taylor spins in a series of twists before I pull her back to me. Her eyes widen, her face flushed, her mouth parted as she rakes in breath after breath, exhilaration bathing her features.

A sweltering image enters my mind—her same expression. Us in bed, our bodies entangled. Her shattering around my cock after I rain a few well deserving slaps on her ass. Her eyes glazed over, in complete submission to the beast inside me. My nostrils flare, hot blood flowing straight to the semi in my pants.

I wonder if every interaction between us since that blistering punch has been some sick and twisted foreplay.

But she had to ruin the moment by opening her mouth.

“Something about your uncle rubs me the wrong way. It’s a gut feeling. I don’t know what, but I’m going to find out.” Taylor throws out a seething glare.

Anger churns through me. “What happened to you? Why are you so bitter and furious at the world? My uncle is a good man—one of the best Vaughns in our family. Why are you creating shit out of thin air?”

Her eyes darken at my rebuttal, and she dodges my attempt at pulling her back to my side. She spins around and walks away, not answering my question. Running away again.

I don’t think so.

In a few strides, I catch up to her, grab her wrist, and twirl her around. “Do you just need to blame someone for hurting you in the past? What better person to blame than your new boss, who might not promote you because you’re clearly not ready for it?”

She lets out a growl and hurtles toward me, but I counter her movement with a dramatic sweep of my leg.

“Arrastre and then volcada ,” I heave out the moves as I keep her off balance so she has no choice but to lean on me or else she’d fall flat on her ass. “I looked into my uncle, Taylor. There’s nothing. You’re holding onto something that doesn’t exist.”

Her face turns red, moisture gathering in her gray eyes, and the sight of her tears hurts more than any hit she could’ve inflicted on me. “You don’t know anything about me and what I went through.”

She slams her hands on my chest and pushes me back across the dance floor. “You think I’m just an immature brat who’s making shit up for attention.” I catch her hand on top of my chest as I stomp on the floor, rooting myself in place.

She circles me slowly before stepping into my space and pulling my head down, all to the beat of the music. “You know nothing about me!”

I growl, unable to stop myself as I charge forward and sweep out my leg, forcing her to lean against me once more. “Then tell me. Tell me why you’re hot and cold, angry one minute and vulnerable the next. What are you hiding, Taylor? What happened to you? Tell me so I can fix it! ”

The words tumble out from my mouth with no forethought, but as the blood rushes in my ears and my hands tighten against hers, I realize how true they are.

I want to know what caused her to be like this. I want to find out so I can destroy whoever made her this way.

“You like the idea of fixing me, huh? Fix the poor, traumatized ballerina because Mr. Rich Guy has nothing better to do with his time?”

My hand tightens around her waist, and I pull her toward me. The fucking minx. Maddening. Stubborn. I’m getting through to her, and that’s why she’s fighting back so hard. I want to break down every single one of her walls and find out what she’s hiding. I want to see that sweet smile I saw earlier at the ceremony when she was teaching the little kids.

Taylor gasps, her body surrendering when her mind wouldn’t. Her back dips toward the ground, but I catch her at the last moment. My arm snakes around her waist as her leg bends and lifts. My other hand slides up her slender calf, dragging the soft fabric up her supple thigh before hooking her leg around my waist as we dip together, her warm heat pressing against my hard groin.

“Have you ever considered you’re wrong about me?” I rasp into her ear.

She lets out a moan. So soft I could barely hear above the music, but I feel every vibration, and it sets my body aflame. She dips her head back, her chest arched toward me, hard nipples saluting me through the fabric.

“That some of the wealthy are actually good people—like your brothers and me. That we actually care about you, even though there are days when I wonder why I even bother.” It’s because she’s real, unapologetic. She doesn’t care what others think of her. She’s brave. She’s everything you’re not. “Ask yourself, why do you push us all away?”

I press my lips to the outer edge of her ear and there it is…that alluring tremble again.

She melts in my arms, her body curving backward, and I chase her motion, unable to resist the lure of her pulse fluttering in her neck like a hummingbird’s wings. My nose dips to the crook of her neck and I inhale deeply and close my eyes.

The sweet scent of vanilla and something darker, nuanced and layered like this maddening woman in my arms. My fingers dig into her smooth thigh, kneading the muscles there—so strong yet so feminine—and pull her body up so she grinds on me, every inch of her plastered against my front.

Another moan. This time, louder, her body moving against mine, her leg clamping tightly around my waist, hips arching, gyrating in a sensual rhythm, melting under my dominance.

“I’ll find out…I’ll get it out of you one day, Taylor,” I vow before dragging my nose down her neck. Unable to stop myself, my teeth make an appearance, scraping the throbbing pulse point. She lets out another wispy moan, her fingers digging into my neck.

She thrusts her tits up at me—an action I’m sure is involuntary. My mouth waters. My minx is a sensual goddess hidden under the cold facade.

“W-What are you doing to me?” Confusion laces her voice as I press home my point by sucking the bite marks on her neck. “Oh God,” she whimpers, her hips thrashing, gyrating, rubbing that delectable pussy against my raging, hard cock.

A groan rumbles in my throat at the sharp sensations—the flames licking up my spine.

“No. It’s Charles,” I whisper, my mind clawing with need for this intoxicating woman in my arms. “Call my name when you’re with me. Scream it. Moan it. Just know it’s me making you feel this way, that maybe your body knows something your mind doesn’t.”

My body moves with her, my mind only focused on this vixen and her pleasure. My cock threatens to tunnel itself out of my pants, the throbbing intense as sparks gather along my shaft. I want to touch all parts of her—the soft curves, the enticing divots, every part she wants people to see and all the parts she wants to hide.

Thunderous applause erupts in the room, jolting me back into reality as the sensual haze slowly clears.

My lungs drag in one desperate breath after another and I watch as Taylor slowly comes to her senses. Her chest is heaving, her stormy eyes widening, the pupils bleeding into the irises. She quickly untangles her leg from my waist, but I hold on, kneading, digging tightly, memorizing her curves with my hand. She intakes a sharp breath, her eyes flaring at the pleasurable pain before she grits her jaw and yanks her leg away from me.

“Stop being such a relentless bastard.” She stomps off, strands of her thick black hair tumbling out of her updo, and I can only stare at her retreating, my thoughts in disarray, my nerves ending raw. It felt like the most erotic sex I’ve ever had and my mind doesn’t know what to make of it.

A few wolf whistles pierce the applause, and I whip my head toward the commotion, my hands automatically smoothing out the lapels of my tux. Ethan has his brow hiked up, Rex grinning and mouthing something suspiciously like “I knew it.” Maxwell levels a warning with his glare.

Parker Wellington, who is the best dancer in my friend group in LA, smirks and makes an exaggerated bow at me as Steven’s siblings, Jess and Emily gape at me, their mouths hanging open. Even the cold and sardonic Adrian Scott, Emily’s husband, known to the public as The Shark for his shrewdness in business, shakes his head, his lips twitching in obvious amusement.

Shit—I completely forgot I’m in public. This woman has made me lose all common sense and control.

But I’ve never felt more alive.

Maybe this is why my parents are so wrapped up in each other—this addictive, intoxicating high.

My heart lurches at the thought and for a moment, I think I’m going to be sick.

But now fully aware of the hundreds of eyes trained on me, I force my lips to curve in a grin and sweep my arm out before dropping into an exaggerated bow. The demonstration is met with more raucous laughter.

And I fight every impulse to run after the fiery woman whose imprint I can still feel in my arms.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

What the fuck just happened there?

I stare at my flushed face in the bathroom mirror, my heart racing a mile a minute.

The spot between my leg pulses and for the first time ever, I want to reach down there and touch the tender flesh—not that I’d know what to do—so that I could feel the explosion I’d felt only once before in my life again. Because the pressure bottling up inside me, the tension, the intensity, like I’m on the verge of something and I need…I need…

Swallowing, I grip the sink, desperate for the cold porcelain to shock me back to reality. My mind is a mess, my body is out of control, and my heart is sprinting off to an unknown destination. I feel restless, unsatiated, my mind only filled with images of him—the blond devil, the man I’m supposed to hate.

The man I do hate.

Yes, I hate him.

My pulse ratchets up and my hands tingle with a thousand pinpricks. I stare at my face again, my bright eyes, the healthy glow, my swollen lips. I look ravished, pleasured…and I look like I want a repeat performance.

The heat between my legs pulses and wetness seeps out of my panties.

I hate him. The futile words whisper in my mind, but feel like a sultry caress. I want to say my body betrayed me again, that I didn’t want any of the overpowering physical sensations coursing through me right now.

But that’d be a lie. Because I felt alive in his arms.

His muscular body wrapping around mine, contorting my limbs to his will. I wanted to melt into his arms and be swept up in his strength.

I felt safe, like I’d never felt in a long time.

“Have you ever considered you’re wrong about me?” Have I? A voice deep inside me knows the truth—I just don’t want to admit it, because admitting it would open my heart up to pain.

I want to experience sex and pleasure, the real thing on my terms, but my heart, my emotions, those are out of bounds.

“What are you hiding, Taylor? Tell me so I can fix it!”

For one weak moment, I wanted to tell him what I’d told no one else other than Alexis and Camden. Because I wanted to rest on his sturdy shoulders.

I wanted him to fix me.

It was then I knew this man could break down the walls I’d painstakingly built around me—each brick a testament of survival and strength.

And if he toppled my defenses and ended up hurting my battered heart, I didn’t know if I’d have the strength to stand back up again.