Claim My Baby (Crescent Cove 2)

“I told you.”

He leaned forward and placed his large hand against my forehead. “Skin isn’t flushed either. Your tolerance is impressive for a non-drinker.”

“I drank a few times in college. I just couldn’t get to the fully drunk part. The one where my inhibitions were gone. You know, tequila makes her clothes fall off.”

He gazed at me unblinkingly. “I missed that one.”

“It’s a country song. A good one too. We should dance.” I glanced around. It was late, but the cocktail bar still had its share of patrons scattered at the tables and milling around the bar. “Think we can here?”

“I’m not really certain this is the place for it.”

“I bet if we get the dance floor started, everyone will join us. Who doesn’t like to get their groove on?” I stood and circled the table, grabbing his hand and bringing him to his feet.

He didn’t put up even a token protest. Wonders never ceased.

“Me,” he muttered.

“You just get your groove on horizontally instead of vertically.” I pulled his hand over my shoulder and drew him into the cleared-out area near the bar. A couple of the patrons shot us wary looks, but just as quickly started to smile as I began to dance.

Any freaking way I wanted to.

“Yet you claim not to be drunk,” he said under his breath, hands dipped in his pockets as he watched me shimmy and sway to the Camila Cabello song coming through the speakers.

I hadn’t been to “Havana” and the music didn’t exactly match my movements, but whatever. This was a freeform freestyle.

“Nope. Just high on life.” I lifted my arms over my head and turned around, slowly swiveling my hips. I cast him a backward glance, hoping upon hope he was paying attention to me at the very least.

His gaze was welded to my behind.

“I like yours too,” I said, waiting until he looked up guiltily to flash him a grin. “Come a little closer, why don’t you? I don’t bite.”

Actually, I wasn’t sure that was true. I wanted to take a nice big juicy bite out of Oliver Hamilton—the kind that left behind marks.

Hmm, maybe I was a little bit kinky underneath my hard vanilla shell. Who knew?

He stepped closer and gripped my hips, moving against me in his version of dancing. I was okay with it. He was far more restrained than I was, but I knew that was public Oliver.

Private Oliver was a much different beast altogether.

“Do you know how many men are wanting you right now?” he asked near my ear, his breath a warm puff against my skin.

I nearly shivered as I reached behind me to hook my arm around his neck. It took some angling because he was so much taller than me. But he shifted down and I slid up and we made it work.

“That so?” I circled my backside against his front and smiled as I was rewarded for my efforts with the bump of his hips. And a mighty fine erection indeed. “What about you?”

His hand skimmed my waist, hesitating there before climbing higher so that the tips of his fingers brushed the underside of my breast. “Your effect on me is quite obvious, princess.”

That nickname. He might as well have poured hot caramel on my body and licked it off.

We danced for a while, and I was right that some of the other patrons joined us once we demonstrated we weren’t weirdos. At least I thought we did. It was Vegas, so you never really knew.

Before long, the beat of the music slowed as the night wound down to closing time. It was late, and even a woman experiencing her first exciting cross-country adventure got tired eventually. I found myself in Oliver’s arms with my cheek against his chest as we swayed to the song playing, one by The Chainsmokers. The singer was talking about wanting something just like this.

I could relate.

“Ready to go back to the room?” Oliver finally asked when it was obvious the bar was about to close.

I nodded, my sleepiness lifting. Did this mean we would finally take care of business?