Love Beyond Words (City Lights, #1)(49)

She gave him a playful sock in the arm and he laughed and led her inside where Natalie swooned to see Lavay Smith and Her Red Hot Skillet Lickers on the stage, playing before full crowd—even for a Sunday night. Couples danced on an oval-shaped dance floor. Julian bought her a cocktail—a White Russian—and they watched the couples swing and Lindy Hop before them.

“I’m sorry that I don’t know how to swing dance,” Julian said into her ear.

“It’s okay,” Natalie said, concealing the twinge of disappointment. Swing wasn’t the kind of dance that was easy to ad-lib. The man leads and has to know what he’s doing. They watched one couple blaze across the floor, head and shoulders above the rest. The man, with spiky blond hair, a white tank, suspenders, and baggy beige slacks, spun and twirled a woman dressed similar to Natalie, in green and white 1940’s perfection. Natalie watched, awed, and leaned in to Julian. “They look like professionals.”

“Do they?” he wondered, a hint of amusement in his tone.

The song ended, another started up and the dancer in suspenders slid up to Natalie.

“Nattie Hewitt?”

“Um, yes?”

“I’m Johnny.” He took her cocktail out of her hand, handed it to Julian, and tipped her a wink. “Let’s go.”

“Wait, what?” She glanced over her shoulder as Johnny pulled her onto the dance floor. Julian saluted her with her drink, his smile crooked and sly. I don’t believe this, Natalie thought and then there was no time to think; Johnny took her right hand in his left, clapped his hand on her waist, and they were on their way.

In the deft hands of a pro, Natalie found she was able to dance better than she could have imagined. She sensed his turns, his changes, and didn’t think but went with him, spinning, turning, sliding under his arms over and over, until the song ended and Johnny spun her with a flourish, and dipped her over his knee.

“Another?”

“Yes!”

Four songs later, Lavay Smith mellowed the house with a slow song, her rich voice—a voice from another era—spilled into the space. Johnny kissed Natalie’s hand. “You’re aces, honey, but your old man’s cutting in.”

Natalie turned and Julian was there. Johnny gave them both another wink and was gone. Natalie slipped into Julian’s arms and rested her head on his chest until she’d caught her breath. Then she laced her fingers around his neck, gazing up at him.

“I can’t believe you,” she said. “How on earth did you plan all this? The cruise, that dinner, the professional dancer?”

“I had to grease a few wheels, but for you, love, it was worth it. Are you having a good time?”

“Are you kidding? The only thing that would make this night more perfect is if I were dancing with you.”

“I might consider lessons.”

“You would?”

“Right now, you could ask me to eat fire and I would do it.” Then Julian’s smile slipped and a feral, hungry look stole over him. “I loved watching you dance. You looked so hot out there. The way you moved…” He kissed her lower lip, long free of lipstick from dinner and cocktails, capturing it with his teeth and then letting go.

“Let’s go,” Natalie breathed.

“Are you sure? No, stay. Dance…”

“No,” she said. “It’s time to go.”

#

In the limousine, she straddled him, kissed him, carved her fingers through his hair. He gripped her hips, pulling and pushing her against him. She could feel the hard heat of him pressing against her through his slacks. His hands slid up her thighs, over her stockings, and his thumbs delved into the cleft of her hips.

“Julian…the driver,” she said, between kisses.

“I’m sure he’s seen worse. But you’re right. I’m going to get arrested if we don’t stop.”

He slowed his kisses and she smoothed down her dress. By the time the car pulled into his building’s circular drive, they were both composed—at least on the outside. All of the heat and energy that had been building between them all day—stoked by his maddening kisses earlier—was threatening to unleash itself.

They walked past the night doorman and the security guard in silence, as if speaking could break the tension. At the elevator bank, Julian murmured, “Cameras.”

The elevator ride was chaste; they stood side by side, watching the numbers climb to fifteen. On his floor, they walked calmly to his door where he keyed the security code. The console beeped, the door opened, and they were in each other’s arms, crushing their lips and bodies together, her back against the wall of the entry hall off the kitchen. He tried to guide her to the bedroom but she resisted.

“No, here,” she said. “I want…” She swallowed. “I want you here. Now.”

Julian nodded, stunned, and his hands surged into her hair. He devoured her mouth with his as she hauled at his clothing, pushing his suit jacket off his shoulders and stripping off his tie. His shirt came off next, leaving him in a white undershirt that accentuated every cut of muscle on his arms and chest.

“I don’t want to tear this,” he said, his voice haggard, and moved behind her to unbutton her velvet dress. “Lift your hair.”

She did, and then gasped as his mouth worked over the back of her neck. Her dress was open in the back, and he slipped his hands around her, to knead her breasts through her bra. Shivers and shards of heat radiated from under his kisses, until he pushed her dress off. It pooled at her feet. She turned around, reaching for him, but he knelt swiftly and laid his lips to her the silk triangle of her panties.