“You say you danced with this guy?”
My head rears back at his lethal tone. “It was just a dance. So that I could ask my questions.”
He hums in the back of his throat. “And I’m sure he was all-too-willing to answer every single one of them. Especially with the way this dress clings to your ass. Are you even wearing underwear?”
I lift my chin, pleased to know he likes what he sees. “Yes, I am. I would expect some gratitude or at least a thank you for helping with your investigation. After all, that seems to be all you care about.”
Someone bumps into Max, shoving him against me. When the movement knocks me back, his hand instinctively goes to my waist to steady me. Our bodies are pressed close together, so it’s difficult to not notice the hard bulge between his legs. A bulge that he thrusts against me with one quick drive of his hips.
My eyes practically roll back in my head at the contact.
“I think you know that’s not all I care about, Sophie,” he breathes against my parted lips. “I care that you danced with another man. That another man had his hands on you. That he thought you were his, even just for a song.” His other hand clasps onto my hip, yanking me to him. “I care a hell of a lot that he wanted what’s mine.”
With both hands clamped around my waist, he sways his hips. Not driving his pelvis into me this time, but moving our bodies together to the rhythm of the sultry samba number the live band just started playing. Our connected bodies instantly sync to the beat, reminding me so much of our first dance the night we met. I go with it and allow him to lead me because I can’t not. This music—this dancing—is in my blood. I can’t waste an opportunity to feel it like this.
“You still think I’m yours?” I manage.
He groans when I roll my hips against him. “Baby, you’ve been mine since the first time we kissed. You really think I’m going to give you up? I don’t care how mad I make you, I won’t stop trying to earn you. Because I want to deserve you.”
His honesty takes me by surprise. And it only serves to make me hotter.
The dance floor is so packed there isn’t a lot of room for extra spins or grand twirls. Not that I want any more space between us. I’m enjoying the feel of Max’s hard muscles grinding against me way too much. The adrenaline from before I saw him still flows through my blood and spikes at his sincere words. I don’t want to go back to being Sophie Fuentes, witness for the DEA.
I want to be Sophie Fuentes, the woman who can bring a man like Max Romano to his knees.
I want to feel alive.
I want to feel la vida—life—emanate from my soul.
Our bodies stay interlocked, pulsating together, as we writhe in our confined space. I love this private world of dance we share. No other man in the world can make me feel like Max does, on and off the dance floor.
Ever perceptive, he picks up on my train of thought. “You didn’t enjoy dancing with him, did you? He didn’t make you feel like this, did he? You missed me, didn’t you?”
I nod frantically, too breathless to speak. Our passion has always had that effect on me. I lose all conscious thought, all control, all inhibitions. I surrendered to my desires with his first hip thrust, and now I’m close to begging for mercy, for a release.
I don’t even realize I’ve whimpered until he responds to it by sucking on my neck. “Christ. You need me. Don’t you, Sophie?”
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