The Espionage Effect(48)
“Come dance with me.” Alec tossed back his remaining Ronmiel, then slid his glass across the bar top.
I put my glass down, only half finished, then slid my fingers across his callused palm.
My gaze flitted up to his, catching a mischievous spark in his eyes as he tugged me through the room.
I tilted my head. “What?”
“Nothing. Except I’ve” —his husky voice grew in strength as he murmured against the column of my neck with a brush of his lips— “been dying to put my hands on you.”
I shivered from his scorching touch, the weight of his words, as he guided us toward an unoccupied corner, obscured from most of the guests by the fronds of two potted palms. Pulling me into a dancing position, he faced toward the room, then gathered me close, settling his spreading fingers over the bare skin of my lower back with firm pressure. A fingertip slipped under the edge of my plunging gown, dancing along the skin above my left butt cheek.
My breath caught, stuck in my throat. The minute sensation of his fingertip playing against my skin stoked the embers of a fire deep inside as a slow erotic heat unfurled.
I swallowed hard, throat suddenly parched. “What are you doing? I thought anything more between us was off limits.” Even though no part of me wanted it to be.
“You’ve changed the rules. Surprised me,” he murmured.
“Oh?”
His gaze locked on to mine, searching for some answer in the depths. Verifying whether or not he should proceed?
I arched a brow, hardening my expression.
My defiant action was all it took for him to capitulate. “I sense you can handle more,” he said.
“More?” I croaked out. Wonderful. In our sensual cat-and-mouse game, I’d been reduced monosyllabic speech. Without qualm, I blamed Alec.
“More contact.” His hand shifted, breaking the intimate connection of skin to skin, until he floated his entire hand over the silk of my gown…lower. Then he squeezed gently.
I shivered, his action rippling a sizzling heat outward, and deeply inward.
After a slow inhalation, that did nothing to calm the chaotic sensations in my body, I replied, “I’m good if you are.” The sugar-coated lie tasted like sweet perfection.
No part of me cared whether or not I would be able to handle more of the delicious drug Alec Marquez dispensed. Not a single thought lingered in worry that I’d become addicted. No part of it mattered—because he had invaded my monochrome life with bursting vivid color. And nothing in the world would force me to switch it back again. I strongly suspected nothing ever could.
“Just a little longer.” His hand remained in the position where he’d slid it, possessively gripping my ass through my gown, aligning the center of my aching body against his groin.
With purpose, I moved my hand down from his shoulder to his beltline, clutching him back. There would be no doubts about what I wanted.
“Why the wait?” I whispered. “Is there a plan?”
He lowered his head and murmured. “There’s always a plan.” His breath coasted over the skin on my neck in tantalizing tingles. “We can’t talk freely everywhere. The waterfall and music cover us here, but when we leave, you’re a guest, I’m a guest. No further talk unless I initiate.”
“Done.” I gave a barely perceptible nod, causing my cheek to brush against the scruff of stubble on his skin. He hadn’t shaved, and as I pulled back and gazed up at him, I determined that I found him sexier this way. The dark shadows along his jawline accentuated his rugged attractiveness.
Another rule not to speak brought the erotic memory of a night not long ago filled with temptation and promise. And yet, tonight? The anticipation blazed infinitely hotter.
I counseled myself to be patient though, reveling in the knowledge of what we both wanted.
Into the next hour, we danced several more songs, mingled as he introduced me to a few of the guests, then made our way back toward the bar once the crowd around it thinned enough to allow us access.
“Another Ronmiel?” He arched a challenging brow.
I gave a slight headshake. “Still water, please.” On my first mission, I wanted all my faculties to remain razor sharp.
“Wise choice.” He winked at me, then escorted me to the only empty barstool, along the wall. “Be right back.”
As he ducked down, searching below the bar top, my attention drifted across the room once more. Escobar had gathered an attentive crowd around him. I spotted Anna and Miguel at a wall by the front entrance, her leaning against it, him bracing an arm on the granite above her, staring down into her eyes.
A few seconds passed before Anna glanced my way, and the moment she did, her face lit up with a wide smile. Without raising her hand from the relaxed position at her side, she gave me a tiny wave, then pointed toward the open double front doors that led to the precarious catwalk. She wanted to know if it was okay for her to ditch me.
I smiled back and nodded twice. And while my usual MO was to put on an act, feign happiness for the benefit of simplicity, I meant it this time. Although I’d wanted to warn her to be careful, it hadn’t felt possible. All I could do was hope she’d exercise caution.
And really, what difference did it make to any woman if the man she didn’t know well, but planned to sleep with, was a threat to the world at large or only to her, an international villain or an ax murderer, a con-artist player or a Rohypnol-wielding date rapist. We all had to use our common sense, vet the person we allowed into our personal space, and take a calculated risk if we allowed them to remain there, to get closer—to be in a position of power when we let ourselves grow vulnerable.