“Ssh.” She pressed two fingers against his lips. “Please. Don’t talk. Let’s just dance.”
But they were doing more than just dancing. Logan knew it, whether she recognized it or not. Every step, every rocking sway of hips brought them into closer alignment, their bodies seeking and adjusting to the contours of the other.
Try as he might, he couldn’t ignore the roundness of her breasts pressed against him, or the evocative stir of her breath against his neck. Giving in to the building ache in his loins, he released her fingers and splayed both hands along her slender back. With a t
urn of his head, he explored the silken texture of the midnight-black hair near her temple.
The brush of his lips against her hair ignited little tremors of longing. Music swirled somewhere in the background as Cat closed her eyes, memorizing the imprint of his long body against hers—the way she should have done with Repp. Her hands wandered over his arms and upper body, fixing the feel of his muscled shape in her mind while her lips committed to memory the salty flavor of his skin.
But any satisfaction she felt was fleeting, leaving her with a need for more. An impossibility, it seemed, until Cat felt the moist heat of his mouth along her cheek. Hungering for a man’s kiss, she turned to seek it, aching to taste the hard, driving passion of unchecked desire. Again, he lifted his head that tantalizing fraction that had their chins touching and their breath co-mingling.
With lids half-shuttered, Cat glanced up and found him watching her. Suddenly she couldn’t look anywhere else but into his eyes, drawn by their large black centers ringed by a band of silver.
“Kiss me,” she whispered as the fierce ache rose again.
His head tilted, changing angles as he lipped her mouth.
Groaning in frustration, Cat slid her fingers into his coarse black hair and tried to force the contact. The muscles in his neck bunched, resisting the pressure she applied while he rubbed his mouth over her lips. Every quivering breath she drew became a tiny moan.
When he lifted his head again, she found him still watching her through eyes three-quarters lidded. He made no move to come back.
Did he think she was going to beg for his kiss? Cat wondered, suddenly furious at the thought. Asking was one thing, but she would never plead.
“Damn you,” she cursed in a hoarse whisper.
A small, quick gleam of satisfaction blazed in his eyes. Then it was forgotten as his mouth came down to claim her lips in a deep, drugging kiss. Instantly, Cat sagged against him and gave up all pretense of moving to the music.
This was what she had missed, this passion that she had wanted for so long and thought she would never know. But here it was, life in all its awesome wildness. She felt it. She felt all of it.
When his mouth rolled off hers, Cat moved to reclaim it in quick aggression. But his head lifted and his fingers closed around her wrists, dragging her arms from around his neck and drawing them down to wedge a space between them.
Slow to surface, her senses still spinning, Cat swayed into him and tried to pull her hands free without success. “No, don’t let me go.” Her voice was a husky murmur, the words slurring. “Hold me.”
. “The song is over,” he told her and shot a look at the other couples making their way off the dance floor. But Cat took no notice of them.
“I don’t care,” she declared and arched closer, needing to feel his arms around her again.
For a flicker of an instant, his gray eyes mirrored that same desire, and her heart leaped in response. Then a muscle flexed along his jaw, and it was gone. No, not gone. Controlled, she realized. The same way Repp had. Fury swept her, blinding, hot, raw.
“Damn you.” Rage choked her voice. “How can you not want me? What do I have to do?”
Grimness hardened his features. “You need some coffee.” He shifted his hold on her, seizing her elbow and turning her toward the bar.
She twisted her arm away and all but stomped her foot. “Don’t you tell me what I need!” Cat stormed, suddenly embarrassed and dangerously close to tears. “You aren’t my keeper. I don’t need a keeper. I—”
“You sure as hell need somebody looking after you,” he muttered, jaw clenched, his eyes the hard color of granite. “In case you haven’t noticed, you are more than half drunk.”
“Maybe I am.” She weaved a little, feeling the effects of the margaritas and conscious of the world swimming at the edges of her vision. Pride lifted her chin high. “Maybe I need to be. It’s really none of your business though, is it?”
Something sardonic glittered briefly in his eyes. “You’re right—drunks aren’t normally my business, but there are always exceptions.”
“You talk big, but that’s all you are is just talk.” Cat waved a hand in dismissal of him, then looked him up and down with contempt. “You aren’t a man. You just masquerade as one.”
“You’re going to say that to the wrong man one of these times, lady.”
“Lady? Who asked you to treat me like a lady?” she hurled in anger. “I’m not a lady, do you hear?”
“That’s right.” The thinness of his smile held no humor. “You’re Maggie the Cat.”