The Singles Table (Marriage Game #3)(61)

Texans. Bills. Raiders. Bears . . . “Is that it?”

“You’re getting it.” Her furrowed brow belied her encouraging tone.

“I’m just not made to dance.” He released the belt with a defeated sigh. “I should focus on what I’m good at. I can organize one hell of a bachelor party, order the booze, keep people in line . . .”

“Let me.” She took the ends of his belt in her hands and gently tugged his hips back and forth, seemingly oblivious to the torture of her casual closeness and the scent of her floral perfume. “You’re too hard on yourself, Jay. You don’t need to do everything perfectly the first time. You don’t need do it perfectly at all. No one is going to judge you if you’re up there having fun.”

He could feel the music now, flowing as she moved his hips.

“See?” She looked up and smiled, warm brown eyes drawing him in. “When you stop overthinking and just let everything go, you can belt dance with the best of them.”

Jaguars. Giants. ColtsSaintsCardinalsPanthersRavensRams . . . No. Not Rams.

One minute they were dancing. The next, their mouths were crashing together and she was in his arms. He lifted her to his hips and her legs wrapped around his waist. Shudders racked his body. He spotted a giant boulder with a flat surface and carried her across the stage, his mouth fused to hers, tongues tangling, her hands raking through his hair as if she couldn’t get enough. Catapulted by a desire so fierce it clouded his senses, he lay her gently on the surface and pushed up her clothing to bare her beautiful breasts. He sucked and licked, stroked and squeezed until she reached for him, tearing at his jeans with frantic fingers.

Driven by an insatiable hunger, he placed one hand beside her to take his weight so he could free his shaft and ease the tension that had been coiling in his belly since he’d walked out her door.

Except the rock wasn’t a rock. Two people were heavier than one. With a high-pitched groan the rock gave way, and they fell to the ground in a sea of Styrofoam, canvas, and wire.

“What the hell is going on here?” An angry voice echoed through the theater.

Jay’s protective instinct overrode his reserve. Yanking up his clothes with one hand, he hovered over Zara, keeping her covered until she’d straightened her clothing. When she gave him a nod, he pulled her up with him and spun to face the intruder.

“Can I help you?” He kept his voice calm and even despite the wreckage of the stage prop behind them.

“What are you doing to the set? I’m going to call the police.” Tall and slim, with a face made of chiseled marble, the dude had the looks but not the muscle. If it came down to it, Jay could take him with one hand tied behind his back.

“It’s okay. I’m in the show.” Zara stepped out from behind him. “David said we could stay behind and rehearse. I tripped when we were dancing and we fell onto the rock.”

It was a good story. Zara was always quick on her feet. Still, the dude didn’t look convinced.

“I don’t think I should let you go without talking to someone . . .” He pulled out his phone.

“You want me to throw him out?” Jay tipped his neck from side to side, making it crack. He didn’t tolerate threats, especially when they were directed at someone under his protection.

“Um. No.” She gave his forearm a warning squeeze. “But I do think we should go. He’s probably here to rehearse for a different production.”

Jay considered doing it anyway, just to wipe the supercilious sneer off the dude’s face. But Zara was already off the stage and walking to the door. He shoulder-bumped the guy on his way past, just to let him know he’d been in the wrong and because he’d ruined what would have been his first chance to have sex onstage.

“I’ve seen all these musicals.” Zara spun around when they reached the lobby, gesturing at the framed posters on the walls. “My dad always took me to the theater on our weekends together. I even saw a few of them on Broadway when I visited New York.”

“What about your mom? Is she a fan, too?”

Zara rarely talked about her mother and he was curious to know more about her. He wanted to know everything about Zara and what made her tick.

She turned away, stared at the poster in front of her. “She can’t stand musicals and she doesn’t care for the theater. I’m seeing her this week for her birthday dinner and I have to remember not to talk about my extracurricular activities. Her life is all about her work, and she takes a dim view of things she considers frivolous.”

“This isn’t frivolous.” He swept her hair over her shoulder and pressed a kiss to her nape. “Not if so many people enjoy it.”

“Exactly.” She looked over her shoulder, and the smile that spread across her face took his breath away. “Musicals capture emotion and make it bigger than life.” She pointed to each framed poster in turn. “?‘I’ll Cover You’ from Rent? Destroyed me. ‘Memory’ from Cats? Focus on the pain and it will ruin you. ‘Last Night of the World’ from Miss Saigon? It’s a love song, but oh my God . . .”

“So, they’re all sad,” he said. “No wonder your mother doesn’t like them.”

“Are you kidding? That’s only one side of the coin.” She twirled around the lobby. “You can’t get much happier than ‘Singin’ in the Rain’ or ‘I Could Have Danced All Night’ or ‘Ding-Dong! The Witch Is Dead.’?”