Page 93 of Down and Dirty

“I was just standing still. He did all the moving.”

Zachary made a growling sound low in his throat. “Do the same for me, then.” Without waiting for her response, he led her out onto the dancing arena. He put both arms around her waist, then advised, “Put your arms around my neck, sweetie.”

She did.

He then yanked her hard against his body so they were aligned breast to chest, belly to belly, thigh to thigh, and some interesting places in between. With her high-heeled shoes, she was eye level with the rogue.

“Surely this is not a dancing position for normal folks.”

“It is for lovers.” He put his face against her cheek and began to sway from side to side.

“We are not—” she was about to say.

“Don’t you dare belittle what we have between us.”

“I was about to say, we are not lovers anymore.”

He chuckled softly. “Sweetheart, you are so full of it.”

They remained quiet then, just swaying and occasionally turning. It was like a soft embrace, with the backdrop of music. He smelled good, like mint and his distinctive manscent. She liked the feel of his arms enveloping her possessively, especially since she was enveloping him just as securely. And his ardor, blessed Frigg! His ardor for her was enough to turn a saint lustsome. What woman wouldn’t feel complimented by that?

“I missed you,” she murmured before she had a chance to stop herself.

“I know,” he said, drawing his head back to look at her and smile.

She smacked his arm. “Your ego far exceeds your worth, lout.”

“Ya think?” He leaned forward, a hairsbreadth from her lips, and whispered, “I missed you, too, baby. So much it scares me.”

And then he kissed her.

When smart women turn the tables on clueless men…

Women were right. Slow dancing was foreplay to a guy. Not the best kind, but still, a prelude to sex… or at least a chance for seduction.

The question was: Who was being seduced? Him or her?

There was no explanation for the way he felt about Britta. She had him from the moment she’d called him a lackwit. Didn’t matter that it was two years ago, or that she’d been holding a big-ass broadaxe at the time.

Every time he kissed her, like now, he felt an incredible sense of rightness… that he’d been dog-paddling all his life to reach this woman. He couldn’t — he wouldn’t — let her go.

“Come home with me,” he urged, breaking the kiss but not his hold on her.

She shook her head. “I cannot.”

“Don’t you want to be with me?”

A choked laugh escaped her lips. “I want to. Too much.”

“Then why?”

She sighed. “Zachary, why do you pursue me?”

“I don’t know. I just know I have to.”

“I but wish… ”

When she didn’t immediately continue, he prodded, “You wish what?”