Rock Bottom (Tristan & Danika #2)(48)

I had no idea how the thing even stayed on, there was so much material missing. A slit in the flowing skirt reached high up on her thigh. The only part of her that seemed to be fully covered up was her arms, and even those were only covered by see-through red lace.

She was luscious. A Goddess.

Her hair was pulled back into a sleek chignon, leaving her exquisite, delicate features prominent, her rosebud mouth painted red. Her eye makeup was black and dramatic, and even from several feet away, I could see how it made her pale eyes stand out, more striking than ever.

She was so beautiful it made my chest ache.

Her partner was slight but muscular, and almost exactly her same height with the heels she was wearing. He was wearing tight pants and a shirt that was open almost to his naval. His hair was brown, his face nondescript.

I thought he looked like a punk.

They began to dance, and it was instantly captivating.

It was an intense, dramatic dance, full of sharp turns, cutting movements, precise swivels, and sweeping, sensual turns. Danika would lift her leg high in the air, and her dance partner would catch her ankle, and lower it softly back to the floor before they swept off again, into another turning, twisting round across the floor.

Her hand would often hook behind his neck, or he would throw her back over his arm until her body was contorted beautifully into a perfect arch.

It was a passionate dance, full of anger, tension, and desire. At one point in the routine, he grabbed her face rather roughly in both hands, and I’m not sure how that made me react outwardly, because I was so up in my head, but Frankie reached over, gripped my arm, and murmured, “Easy there, tiger.”

Danika was a seductress out there, each twist of her hips, every dramatic thrust of her shoulder sucking us all deeper into her spell. She captured the audience. Enslaved them.

Even I wasn’t immune, though she already owned me. Completely.

Was that sexual tension between them? I knew there was some, at least on his end. With the way that punk looked at her, I was going to be counting to ten a lot tonight.

The lines their bodies made together were dramatic, and undeniably sexual. Was it possible that she wasn’t attracted to that punk, at least a little, considering how much time they must have spent together, practicing this?

The lifts made my fists clench, but I told myself I was being a caveman, as Danika would have said.

She moved with such a bewitching elegance that at times I hardly even noticed she had a partner, but at other times, I could focus only on how close that partner of hers was, on how much he touched her. The way his hands moved over her was very free, very familiar.

There was one long twirl at the end. It went on and on, and Danika’s leg was lifted over that punk’s hip, their bodies flush. She was basically straddling his thigh.

Their bodies made full contact for a complete fifteen seconds.

I counted.

I clapped longer and louder than anyone when it was finished.

They got third, which I thought was complete bullshit. There hadn’t been a woman out there that could hold a candle to Danika, in beauty or in talent.

“That’s bullshit,” I muttered, not quite under my breath.

Frankie heard me, and elbowed me. “Calm down. Third is really good. You will say congratulations, and tell her she did a great job, like a good boyfriend.”

I shot her a disgruntled look. “Of course she did a great job. I’m talking about the judges. Third is bullshit. I don’t have to know a thing about the tango to see who looked the best out there.”

Frankie shrugged. “Third is great. They’ve got to put in their time, and they’re both pretty new at this. Getting third as an intermediate at only their third competition is really good. Subtle imperfections we can’t even see, which our amateur eyes don’t even pick up, are what the judges are trained to spot. So pipe down, and don’t cause a scene.”

“I’m not going to cause a scene. I’d just like to meet the judges, and tell them that they’re full of shit with that third place f**king nonsense. This thing was f**king rigged.”

She patted my arm. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Fucking rigged,” I said again, under my breath, but I did drop it. Even more than I wanted to say my piece, I wanted not to embarrass Danika on her night.

At the after party, I dragged her out into an empty hallway for a moment alone. I was all over her in that sexy f**king dress.

“I’m going to f**k you standing up in this little scrap of nothing you’re wearing. Where’s the closest closet? I swear I’ll be quick.”

She laughed, kissing my cheek. “So you liked it? Thank you for coming out. I know this isn’t really your thing.”

“If it’s your thing, it’s my thing, and you were amazing out there. It’s art, what you do. I loved it.”

She blinked several times, then wiped at her eyes. “Thank you. You’re so sweet. I’m so happy you enjoyed it. Frankly, I thought you might be bored.”

I shook my head emphatically. “Show me where that closet is, and I’ll show you just how bored I wasn’t. I could watch you dance forever. It’s my favorite thing in the world that doesn’t involve touching you. Seriously.”

She kissed me, her smile exuberant. “You can be so sweet,” she said into my lips.

I groaned, dragging her against my erection, grinding it into her stomach, my hands on her ass. She kept calling me sweet, but I wasn’t feeling sweet, I was feeling ravenous, and maybe a bit violent.