Fade Out (The Morganville Vampires #7)(31)

“Other than the possibility you may get tossed into the ocean or your car egged. Or milked.” He makes a face, scrunching his forehead. “Yeah, milked doesn’t really work. We need a proper name for that.”

Glancing down at the table, I try to stifle my laugh. “Well, there is that. I could always spend the rest of the semester in fear…but—” I look up at him quickly, and damn. I do not want to get pulled into his thrall. I’m fighting it hard—but the little bit of champagne I had earlier is making me too easy a target for his charms. “But I feel I’ve leveled the playing field some.”

His mouth tips up into a bright, adorably sexy smile. “You have.”

I shake my head, trying to gain traction with my wandering thoughts. “So, why are you here?”

He looks away and points to a man talking to two of Ryder’s team members. “Coach insists we do some charities a few times a year. Not that we—or I—don’t want to anyway. He just feels it readies some of us for the big leagues.”

I notice it’s only a select number of players; the ones who get the most attention at school. The ones who, obviously, the coach feels are going to go pro after college. Turning my attention back to Ryder, it hits me for the first time that this man will soon be in a whole different league.

“He’s priming you for the big time,” I say, reaching for my sparkling water, needing the moisture for my suddenly dry throat and also to give my hands something to do.

Ryder laughs, a deep sound that resonates in my chest. “I don’t know about that. But I like going to these. They give me an excuse to invite hot chicks out and show off.” He bows out his chest, showing off his tux, and I cannot help but notice that—yes—he looks damn fine in it.

I don’t argue that fact. Instead, I avert my gaze toward the dance floor. Where I watch my father lead Becca across the room toward the refreshment table.

“Dance with me,” Ryder says.

My stomach clenches. The way he says it…it sounds intimate. “I’m only here for the ambiance,” I say, shaking my head.

Rejection just doesn’t compute with this guy. As if my refusal is only a dare to further his advances. He rises from his chair, smoothing out the lapels against his chest, and offers me his hand. “We had a date planned for tonight. I suspect it would’ve included dancing.”

Licking my lips, I search the crowd, to where my father and Becca are enraptured in some conversation with one of my father’s colleagues. He probably won’t even notice…maybe.

Knowing that Ryder won’t stop until he’s effectively made a scene, one in which he’s determined to get his way, I reluctantly accept his hand.

“Over there,” I instruct, nodding to a secluded corner.

“Damn, carrot cake. Leave a guy a little room to be the horn dog.”

My face flames. “Oh, my God. Will you ever stop being so crass?” His hand gently touches the small of my back, and an electric wave of heat ripples over my body.

“I can be any number of things you’d like,” he whispers near my ear. Then he’s pulling me into his strong embrace, leading me effortlessly in a slow dance. My gaze is stuck on his chest, my muscles bunched tightly, as I will my limbs to relax.

I can’t help but to compare him with Lucas. The way Ryder holds me possessively, like he’s daring anyone to take me from his arms. How Lucas domineered the dance, making sure I followed his lead. Ryder leads, but with a give that allows me to change the pace if I deem.

Ryder pulls me closer, which should be the most awkward thing; he’s so much taller than me, just so much more…everything. But my body molds seamlessly against his. My skin tingling with anticipation of his touch.

With a sigh of doomed acceptance, my will being completely obliterated, I look up to find his eyes. Those glacier blues that are staring right into me. “You know this is a bad idea,” I say, surprising myself with my honesty. But I mean it. Nothing good can come of us being together in any form.

Ryder only smiles. “I know any bad idea with you can only be interesting.”

Damn, but he’s going to be trouble.





14





Ryder





I’ve danced with girls before. At formals, and prom. I was duty-bound. Dancing just…I don’t ever consider it, really. I don’t mind it, but I don’t go out of my way to make it happen. Not even at clubs.

If a chick snaps me up to dance at a bar, hell, I’ll go for it. Whatever usually works to make her happy and leads to me getting with her later. That’s how it works.

But right now, this minute, I’m invested. This isn’t a simple dance with a girl at an event. This is the defensive line being tested. The prelude to the after. And what’s strange, I feel no desire to rush it—to skip over quickly to get to the next part.

My hand rests against Ari’s back, hovering between firm and relaxed. I’m conscious of applying just the right amount of pressure. With Ari, if you push too hard, she bolts. If you don’t push at all, she withdraws into herself. For the short time I’ve known her, been paying attention to her, I’ve figured that much out.

Her silky dress feels fragile against my big hand. I’m trying hard to keep my eyes on her face as she looks up at me, but my gaze keeps drifting to her bare shoulders, the creamy skin on display that looks as soft as I imagine it feels. Her dark hair has been swept up into some up-do that leaves a few ringlets tumbling over those sexy shoulders.