Stranded With The Boss. Elizabeth Lane

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      ‘You are amazing,’ he said. Well, he mouthed it at her. Not much hope of her hearing him over the thunderous guitars. ‘I want some.’

      Some? All! But he could take that up later.

      She shook her head. But he could not tell if that was a rejection or she just couldn’t hear him.

      He hesitated. Then thought, She’s not dancing as if she’s rejecting me.

      Dom moved in closer. And closer. Their hips touched.

      The woman did not pull away. Oh, she swayed back, of course. But when the music told her to she swayed forward, too. Her breasts brushed across his chest—deliberately? Or was it by chance? No more than an accidental touch, caused by her abandonment to the music? Did she even see him?

      Dom groaned, unheard. And then realised their eyes were locked. Something told him she was seeing the moment of intense sensation in his face. Something made her eyes gleam anyway. Amusement? Sheer female triumph? Lust?

      He felt sweat break out along the back of his neck. If it isn’t lust, I’m in deep trouble.

      The track finished. For a moment she seemed to hang suspended, not unmoving exactly, but like a butterfly, beating the air with its wings while it hesitates between one direction and the next. He put a hand on her hip. No doubt about this one. Totally deliberate.

      She looked startled.

      And then, with a crash, the air was full of a salsa beat, fast and sexy. She plunged into a spiky routine and Dom did something he had never done before. He pulled her into his arms almost roughly, slid his thigh between hers, and took control.

      She seemed to shimmer in his hands. Not with resistance, but as if for a moment she did not know what was happening. Then, in a second, he felt her total surrender.

      Yes!

      Her body moulded itself against him, as if they had danced like this a thousand times before. And they went into a routine that he had not even realised he knew.

      It was like a cycle of the universe. Urgent, fast, yet still somehow unhurried. Tense, exciting, but underneath they both knew they were on a straight road and journey’s end was inevitable.

      It was like making love.

      The music changed. Dom bent his tall head, brushed her soft hair away and put his lips to her ear.

      ‘Time we were somewhere else.’

      He felt her hesitate for the tiniest moment. He could not bear it. His hands tightened in spite of himself.

      ‘Please,’ he said in a ragged voice. He could not ever remember saying please like that before. It shocked him for a moment.

      But then she shook back her head and gave him the most wonderful smile, and he forgot everything except that they had to be alone. Now.

      ‘Get your coat,’ he said curtly.

      Her eyes widened. She looked almost dazed.

      ‘No coat?’

      She swallowed. Shook her head.

      ‘Then let’s go.’

      He put a hand under her bare elbow and turned her towards the door. She did not resist but she was quivering. Well, hell, what was surprising about that? So was he.

      They were like machines that had just been turned on. Engines thrumming. Idling, but under power. Ready.

      He wanted her so badly it hurt. And she wanted him. No doubt about that. She was not looking anywhere but at him, and the pulse in her throat throbbed to the same beat as his own.

      Dom gave a laugh that was half a groan.

      ‘Shawl? Bag?’

      She did not answer. But there was a tiny bag in the same scarlet material as her dress on the bar. Dom swept it up as they passed.

      On the stairs, her trembling increased. She clung to him.

      ‘You should have brought a coat,’ scolded Dom, teasing.

      But he paused to shrug off his jacket and tuck it round her shoulders. As the silk lining slid over her shoulders she gave a voluptuous shiver. Their bodies were so close that he felt it run through from hip to heart.

      ‘Don’t do that,’ he murmured, in mock despair. ‘Not yet anyway.’

      She gave a little excited laugh, and leaned closer.

      ‘Yes,’ he agreed to that silent demand. ‘Home. Now.’

      He pushed open the outer door into the September night. She swayed.

      ‘Imagination,’ she said.

      Late arrivals were getting out of a taxi. Dom commandeered it. He looked over his shoulder. ‘What?’

      ‘Imagination doesn’t get going until the lights go down.’

      He turned to face her. ‘A philosopher,’ he said, his eyes full of tender amusement. ‘You’re wrong, though. My imagination got going the moment I walked into that place and saw you.’ He held out a hand. ‘Come with me?’

      She stopped swaying.

      ‘Yes,’ she said.

      It was not until later—a lot later, when Dom was asking himself what on earth had happened—that he remembered. She had sounded surprised.

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