Rebound (Boomerang #2)(7)

I step back, and his smile broadens. Finally, he reaches out a hand to me, and I take it.

“Okay, Catwoman,” he says. “Let’s dance.”





Chapter 4



Adam


Catwoman and I head to the dance floor and start moving together.

It’s packed around us, people jostling in the crowded space, the smell of alcohol and sweat hanging in the air. Pippa and Sadie dance nearby. Both of them have huge grins on their faces as they look from me to Catwoman, who rolls her body in front of me like she’s made of liquid.

When she glances at me, I see flashes of blue—pale blue, like the sky through my bedroom window in the morning—but it’s her body that has me locked in. I can’t stop staring at her. The leather cat suit hugs her every curve, and she’s gorgeous.

I look up, and find her eyes on mine.

“Hi, Zorro,” she says. Her smile is disarmingly sweet. Surprising, considering the way she’s moving.

Stepping closer, I link my hands behind her back. “Hello.”

She hesitates for an instant.

“This okay?” I ask, but she’s already wrapping her arms around my neck.

“Definitely,” she says.

“Werewolves of London” isn’t a slow song, or even a good song, but we make it work, swaying together. Smoothing my hands down her sides, I feel the shape of her. The roll and shift of her warm muscles beneath my palms is hypnotizing.

“This song,” she says, raising her voice. People all around us are howling at the top of their lungs. She laughs—pink lips, straight white teeth. “It really sucks!”

“Criminal.”

She points to her head. “My kitty ears are bleeding!”

I laugh because . . . Well, that was cute.

She’s tall even without the four-inch heels on her boots. This close, it’s tough not to stare right into her eyes, so I focus on guiding her hips with my hands until we’re moving in perfect sync. She’s slender but strong. Athletic.

Exactly what I like.

As we dance, her weight settles on my shoulders and she comes closer, her chest brushing against mine. Her costume has a deep V that shows plenty of cleavage. Flawless skin. I’m in trouble. This girl has me under her spell.

“Werewolves of London” fades into a Jay-Z song. With the howling over, the energy around us picks up, but I don’t let go of Catwoman.

She stops dancing and we just stand together in the middle of the chaos of the dance floor. Her smile is gone and she’s so still, it feels like she’s not breathing. The smooth skin along her neck glistens with a sheen of sweat and her pulse there is jumping.

She has to know how much I want her. It’s getting pretty damn obvious.

“So, I’ve been meaning to tell you,” I say, running a hand down her spine to the soft piece of fabric tied near her tailbone. “I really like your tail.”

Her smile comes back. “You do?”

I bring the black ribbon between us. “Yeah. A lot,” I say, running it through my fingers. “It’s the best tail I’ve seen all night. In months, actually.”

It’s the truth. I haven’t seen her face without the mask, but she’s still the hottest thing I’ve seen in a long time.

“Thanks.” She leans back a little, squinting as she looks me up and down. “But what about you? I thought Zorro was supposed to have a sword.”

I can’t help it. I laugh. “You want to see my sword?”

Her eyes snap to mine. She doesn’t say anything, but the answer is right there.

“Want to get out of here?” I ask, but her hand is already sliding into mine.

We weave through the dancing inside, then the party milling outside on the courtyard, to a flagstone path that heads away from the main house. The path splits, the left trail leading to a shadowed gazebo in a far corner of the yard. It’s a decent option but a little too exposed, still in view of the courtyard. But I’ve been here before for dinner, so I know the property and I have a better idea.

“Where are we going?” she asks.

Her hand is cool in mine. Soft skin, firm grip. Out here, I can hear her voice better. It’s feminine and refined. Delicate, like the tap of a knife on crystal.

“Somewhere private.”

I reach the Gallianos’ detached garage and try the door, mentally high-fiving myself when it opens. Inside it’s dark, the only light coming from a few skylights and the red charging lights of power tools along the back counter.

When I close the door behind us, the noise level from the party fades, leaving only a distant pound of the base from the music. Garage smells fill my nose. Motor oil and car wax. Smells I love.

Catwoman lets go of my hand and faces me, her eyes glittering like diamonds. I wait for my vision to adjust a little more. Then I take her in from head to toe.

She’s beautiful. Long and tight. Curvy in all the right places. She gets better every time I look at her.

“You want to tell me your name?” I ask, because it feels like I should.

Catwoman is quiet for a beat. She shakes her head. “No.”

“Okay. Fine by me.” It’s more than fine, actually. It feels good not to have to explain who I am or what I do. And she’s mysterious this way. Like something I’ve pulled right out of a dream. The masks also make this feel like it’s only about right now, this moment. I get the sense she likes that too.