Misconduct(6)

“You’re right,” he whispered, his breath falling over me. “I don’t really like a lot of those people, and they don’t really know me.” His voice turned hoarse. “But I like you. I’m not ready to say good night yet.”

I swallowed, hearing the soft trickle of a slow jazz tune drifting out from the ballroom.

“Dance with me,” he commanded.

He didn’t wait for a response.

Sliding a hand around my waist, he guided me in, and I sucked in a sharp breath, my body meeting his for the first time.

Raising my arms, I put my right hand on his shoulder and my left hand in his as I let him lead me in a small circle, remaining in our own small, private space. Chills broke out down my arms, but I didn’t think he noticed.

I let my eyes fall closed for a moment, not understanding what made him feel so good. My hands tingled and my legs felt weak.

There was rarely ever a time when I felt drawn to a man. I’d felt attraction and passion, and I’d enjoyed sex, but I’d never opened myself up to someone long enough to connect.

Now I found myself not wanting this evening to end any way other than in his arms.

That’s where I wanted this to go. I didn’t need his name, what he did for a living, or his family history. I just wanted to be close to someone and feel good, and maybe that would be enough to satisfy me for the next few months until I needed someone again.

Shaking my head slightly, I tried to clear my thoughts.

Enough, Easton. He was good-looking and interesting, but I didn’t see anything in him that I hadn’t seen in any other man.

He wasn’t special.

Looking up, I asked, “You’re not enjoying the party, so what would you rather be doing right now?”

He shot me a small, sexy smile. “I like what I’m doing right now.”

I rolled my eyes, covering up how much I also liked him holding me close. “I mean, if not this?”

He twisted his lips, looking me over like he was thinking. “I’d be working, I guess,” he answered. “I work a lot.”

So he’d rather be doing work than schmoozing and drinking at a Mardi Gras ball? I dipped my head, breaking out in a laugh.

“What?” He pinched his eyebrows together.

I met his eyes, seeing the confusion. “You prefer work,” I stated. “I can relate to that.”

He nodded. “My work challenges me, but it’s also predictable. I like that,” he admitted. “I don’t like surprises.”

I instantly slowed, nearly stopping our dance.

I said the same thing all the time. I never liked surprises.

“Everything else outside of work is unpredictable,” I added for him. “It’s hard to control.”

He cocked his head and brought his hand up to my face, running his thumb along my cheek.

“Yeah,” he mused, leaning in while his hand circled the back of my neck possessively. “But there are times,” he said softly, “when I like to lose control.”

I closed my eyes. Jesus.

“What’s your last name?” he asked.

I opened my eyes, blinking. My last name? I had kind of liked keeping specifics off the table. I didn’t even know his first name yet.

“Easton?” he pressed.

I narrowed my eyes. “Why do you want to know that?”

He stepped forward, charging me slowly and pushing me backward. I had to keep backing up so as not to fall. “Because I intend on getting to know you,” he said. It sounded like a threat.

“Why?”

“Because I like talking to you,” he shot back, his voice thick with a laugh he was holding in.

I hit the wall behind me and stopped, glancing over at the people sitting at the table across the balcony.

He closed the remaining distance between us and dipped down until his face was a couple of inches from mine.

I locked my hands behind my back, instinctively tapping the wall with my fingers and counting in my head. One, two, three —

“Do you like me?” He cut me off, a playful tilt to his lips.

I couldn’t keep the smile off my face. I turned my head, but I knew he saw it anyway.

“I don’t know,” I answered casually. “You might be too much of a gentleman.”

The corners of his lips curled, looking sinister, and he threaded his hand around the back of my neck and through my hair, gripping my waist with the other and pressing his body to mine.

“Which means I’m still a man, only with more skill,” he whispered against my lips, making my breath shake. “And there’s only one place I won’t be careful with you.”

A whimper escaped, and I felt his hand tighten in my hair. He stared at my mouth, looking like he was ready to eat.

“I think you like me,” he whispered, and I could almost taste his hot breath. “I think you even want to know my name.”

He inched in, and I braced myself, so ready for it, but then suddenly he stopped and looked up.

“Tyler, there you —” A woman’s voice stopped midsentence.

I twisted my head to see a beautiful blonde, maybe seven years older than me with a slightly surprised but not angry look on her face.

Tyler.

That was his name.

And I shifted, forcing his hands to drop away from me.