Crazy (The Gibson Boys 4)

I take a deep breath. Go big or go home. I shake my head. Don’t think of home. Home is him in the kitchen with a towel. Think of this.

With a teasing little shrug of my shoulders, I turn away from him. He dances up against me as I sit back and shake my ass against him.

A muffled groan hits my ear as his hands plant on my hips. We move together, in sync, his solid build up against me. His fingertips dig into my skin, slipping beneath the hem of my shirt and touching my body. My head rests against his chest.

The lights are hot as I breathe in the scent of his sweat mixed with his cologne and try to not lose all control.

He takes my arm and throws it behind me, over his neck. My fingers touch the dampness of his skin. He rolls against me. I press back. We move in a circle and end up facing the other way.

The crowd roars as I bend forward and shake my ass his way. He bites his lip for effect, making me laugh, before pulling me against him once again.

“Damn, Dyl,” he whispers in my ear. But I’m not sure if I’m supposed to hear it. Instead, I look at him over my shoulder and wink.

“That’s enough,” Machlan shouts.

It’s only now that I hear the crowd. I’d forgotten they were there.

It takes everything I have to press away from his body.

The crowd boos as we separate.

The back of my shirt is damp from his body, and the eyes of the crowd suddenly feel heavier than before. I look at Peck. His hat is skewed on his head, his cheeks pink from the dance. An effortlessly sexy smile breaks out across his face, and I forget all about the crowd.

“That was awesome,” he says. He doesn’t wait for my reaction. Instead, he hops down as the song comes to an end and takes my hand again. I give it to him without hesitation and let him help me down.

Our breathing is ragged as I stand in front of him. Someone walks behind him and claps him on the shoulder, making some comment that I don’t quite register.

His eyes are so blue, the color of the angry sea, as he looks down at me. A mixture of confidence and vulnerability dances across his face as he watches me for my reaction.

“You don’t dance too bad,” I say.

“You either.”

I bite my lip to keep from smiling a big, lopsided grin. My hand is still encapsulated by his when he looks down at them.

“Guess I could let you go now,” he jokes.

“I mean, you can,” I say. “Or just keep me close in case your fans want an encore.”

His eyes light up. “Maybe I can instigate them into it.”

“I have a feeling you could do that with very little effort.”

He raises our interlocked fingers between us. We both watch as he separates our hands.

The energy between us thickens, preparing for the next interaction. The trouble is, I don’t know what I want that to be.

I mean, I do know. I want him to pick me up and set me on the bar and grind against me again. That’s the hedonistic answer. That’s the response of a woman who hasn’t felt this light and amazing in a very, very long time.

But the responsible woman knows that the longer I encourage physical contact with this glorious man, the more it will make things harder in the long run.

Like the next time I run into him half-naked in the dark.

I shiver. “I, um, I need to use the ladies’ room.”

He nods. “It’s over there.” He points at a sign next to the pool tables. “Want me to walk with you?”

“I got it.”

“Okay.”

I dip my chin. As I make my way through the crowd, surrounded by bodies and laughter, I feel … exposed. Vulnerable. Defenseless.

“It’s time to build up some walls,” I mutter. “Before I find myself a mess. Again.”

Fifteen

Peck

I flop down on a barstool. My heart thumps in my chest as if I just ran a marathon. Sweat dots my brow, and I wipe it off with the tail end of my shirt.

What the fuck just happened?

The smile on my face and throb in my balls will both stick around for a while. As a matter of fact, I doubt either will ease up until I figure out how to deal with Ms. Dylan Snow.

I can still feel her skin in my hands—the smooth curve of her hip. The warmth of her body and the way it molded to my palms.

Motherfucking hell.

I look toward the bathrooms but don’t see her. I have a half a notion to go back there, but there’s really no reason to. Except that I crave that feeling—the one where every cell in my body feels alive when I’m next to her.