Sweet Cheeks(65)

And away from me.

Sarah’s smile is forced, her gaze unwavering. “Please talk to him. For my sake,” she urges quietly before she hooks her arm in Mitch’s, smile now turning genuine, and heads to the cake table.

“Well, what do you know? Seems Golf Boy married his mother,” Hayes murmurs under his breath. And this time I do snort aloud because he just hit the nail on the head.

And before I can process any of the last five minutes, Hayes casually laces his fingers with mine and tugs on my hand to follow suit with how he has now sat down.

“Can’t say I blame her,” he muses casually as one of our table members stops by to pick up their drink and head over to watch them cut the cake.

“Why?” I ask, even though I already know what he means. I’d want the same undivided attention from my spouse, but I’m not sure I’d go as far as she has to get it.

“You’re a hard one to get over, Saylor Rodgers.”

Hayes’s comment is on constant repeat in my head long after we eat cake. We’re sitting politely at our table, waiting for the proper amount of time before we bail on the rest of the reception. If we leave too soon, guests will assume our exchange with Mitch and Sarah rattled me. And so we’re kind of stuck, with comments becoming a little less obscure the longer the alcohol has flowed.

“C’mon,” Hayes reaches his hand out to me, “if we’re stuck at this damn party, we might as well have some fun.”

I trudge behind him at first as he leads me toward the dance floor but then realize he’s right. We are invited guests who have done nothing wrong. Why not enjoy ourselves instead of simply observing from our chairs? I gain more confidence with each step. Heads turn as we walk by. Drinks stop halfway to mouths. Elbows nudge the person beside them to take note of whatever it is we’re doing.

Watch the bride and groom, people. They are way more interesting. And the reason you’re here in the first place.

The music is slow and classical when we walk onto the sparsely occupied dance floor. I falter momentarily, unsure how to do anything other than bump and grind or the slow-dance-sway from back in high school. I mean, how many times in your adult life does one actually go dancing to learn otherwise?

“Take my lead,” Hayes murmurs when he pulls me into him and begins to move. At first I think he’s just doing his own thing, but soon realize there is a definite pattern to his steps. A defined rhythm and timing.

When I lean back to look in his eyes and question him, I catch the grin on his lips and my heart melts. Right there on the dance floor. With my ex-fiancé and his new wife off to one side of the dance area and a room full of judging eyes directed at us.

“Dylan Jax. Middleman’s Move. I had to learn it for—”

“That one scene where you seduce your enemy’s wife,” I finish for him, remembering the movie quite clearly. Besides its complex plot and shocking twist, there were some pretty steamy scenes that may have had me rewind it once—or a hundred times.

His smile beams bright and eyes light up with pride. “See? You did watch my movies. I knew it.”

I throw my head back and laugh. It’s so easy to do with him. So natural to feel at ease. “Just that one,” I lie.

“Yeah. Uh-huh.” He spins me around before I can respond in any other way but laugh. The music changes to a more current song. It’s sexy. Bluesy. Allows me to relax and not worry about messing up his carefully timed steps. Instead I just move with him. Against him.

He makes it seem effortless. All of this. How he turned on the charm in front of the jerks here. How he’s helped me feel at ease in this awkward situation. How he makes me laugh and feel sexy and appreciated simultaneously.

Old feelings die hard.

But then again, I don’t think mine for him ever really died.

Our bodies move against each other’s. “You know what I keep thinking about?”

He asks it so casually that my response falls just as nonchalant. “Hmm?”

“I think you need to relax.”

“Is that so? How do you propose I do that?” My voice is coy. My body already wanting what the suggestion in his tone implies.

Hayes leans in, mouth against my ear. “I need to get you out of this dress.”

“Really?”

“Mm-hmm. While you look sexy as hell in it, I think it looks a bit stiff. Formal. Uncomfortable.”

He twirls me out. Pulls me back into him. Chest to chest. Our feet move again.

“And how will being out of this dress relax me?” His thigh moves between mine and rubs against the apex of my thighs. A hint of what’s to come.

“Because then I can taste you, Saylor. Run my tongue over your clit. Get you all worked up. Make you beg.”

My chuckle? It’s strained. Desperate. Fraudulent. “I won’t beg.”

He spins me around. I catch a glimpse of his challenging grin, and then I’m back against him.

“Oh, you’ll beg.” He presses a tender kiss to my lips that has my insides screaming when he ends it.

“Sound pretty sure of yourself.”

“It’s amazing the things a woman will say when her man is working his tongue in and out of her *.”

My mouth goes dry. Between my thighs grows wet. The dark promise of his words seduces every part of me. He spins me out again, makes me more than aware of the audience of disapproving eyes watching us.