Valentine's Day Virgin

He doesn't give up though, and I see him reaching for me. Even though I don't want to dance, the dance floor is right here and it's an easy escape. I push myself into the dancers, and am immediately overwhelmed by bodies. This was a terrible idea. There's a hand on my waist, and I know it's dancing guy. I feel sick to my stomach, but I can't let this happen. I turn to push him away again when a large hand slips into mine.

I look up to find Eric standing next to me, completely still in the middle of the sea of dancers, and relief pours over me like a wave. But he's frowning. Then I realize that he's not frowning at me. He's frowning at the man who's still trying to dance with me. Eric pulls me behind him, still holding my hand. The man stumbles because he was leaning into me, and he immediately realizes that Eric Marshall is not a person it's good to stumble into.

"The next time someone tells you they don't want to dance, leave them the fuck alone." Eric's voice isn't loud, but it cuts through the noise, and the man turns and slips away before Eric has the chance to say—or do—anything else. He turns to me. "Are you all right?"

I nod. I don't think I could yell over the noise of the music. He leads me across the dance floor, and it feels easier with him. The crowd parts for us, and it's not overwhelming anymore. Soon we're back by the entrance and he's guiding me up another staircase that I didn't see before. One that's labelled 'VIP.'

As soon as we pass the attendant, the noise fades a bit, and I can think again. Eric still has my hand in his and that hits me with sudden clarity as he leads me to an alcove with a low table and a cushioned, circular seat. "I'm sorry," I say to him. "I didn't realize until I was inside that we hadn't specified where to meet."

"You have nothing to be sorry for," he says. God, I forgot how sexy his voice is. "I've met people—clients—here in the past, and I always make a note to tell them to come to the VIP section. Alyssa should know better, and I'll be speaking with her."

"Oh," I say, blushing. "Maybe I just missed it. I don't want to get anyone in trouble."

"You're not," he says, pinning me with his gaze as he sits close to me. "I'll still be speaking to her though. You're sure you're all right?"

"Yes," I say, nodding again. "It was a little overwhelming for a minute. I'm not usually a club person, but that's probably obvious."

Eric's mouth tips up into a grin. "From how amazing you look, I would say that you inhabit the nightlife regularly."

My cheeks are now a fiery red that I can feel and I'm grateful for the dim lighting because it might be harder to see it. The purple lights casting down from the ceiling cast part of his face in shadow and bring out the highlights. They make him sharper and more mysterious and I want to press myself closer to find out more. "No," I say. "My best friend, Iris, is a stylist. She helped me. Even though I know I should say I did all this myself."

He smiles again. "Nothing wrong with giving credit where it's due. I have a man who's made my suits for years, and I'll admit that I'd be lost without him."

And he looks damn good in the suit, too. He opened the button of his jacket when he sat down, and I can see the way his shirt is clinging to his stomach. Every part of it is fitted to him perfectly. I could lean back, take a picture, and it would be fine to put on the cover of a magazine. Like I thought earlier, this man is a fantasy. What the hell am I doing here with him?

I don't realize that I've said that out loud until he starts to laugh. "Oh my God," I say. "I'm sorry, I just didn't see my day heading here when I got up this morning."

"Life is kind of that way," he says, still chuckling. "I suppose I can give you a little background. My mother is hosting a Valentine’s Day party. I think I mentioned that it was last minute?" I shake my head as a waiter in black appears. "Do you have a drink of choice?"

"Anything that tastes good," I say.

He nods, and orders some drinks. The waiter disappears, and Eric sighs, looking down for a moment. "The planning of the party wasn't last minute, but the fact that my mother told me about it was."

I frown. "Why's that?"

Our drinks appear a second later and he takes a tumbler of something dark and deep, and the waiter hands me a glass of something bright red. It doesn't have any frills except for the ice and the bright color, but when I taste it, oh my God, it's delicious. Apple and sweet honey and something else.

"She knew that I wouldn't want to come," he says, taking a sip. "So she told me at the last minute so that I wouldn't be able to make other plans. Especially this time of year. You can imagine how busy the greeting card business is around now."

I smirk at him. "Does Edward still have his head?"

"He does," Eric says, smirking back.

"Good. Why didn't you want to go to the party?"

"Because I hate Valentine’s Day." He says it smoothly and evenly with no hesitation. So I know that he's not joking.

"You do?"

He nods. "With a passion."

"Am I allowed to ask why?"

I think I see a small movement in the muscle of his jaw, but it's dark enough in here that I might have missed it. "It's a long story," he says. "I'd rather not go into it."

"Okay," I say. "It just seems...a little ironic."

He looks confused. "Why?"

"Because one of the reasons I agreed to Bianca's request is that I'm always single on Valentine’s Day. I've never had a date before, and I thought it would be fun to not be alone."

Eric leans a little closer. "If you're always alone and you don't like it, I'm surprised you don't hate it as much as I do."

"I don't hate it," I say, mimicking his movement. "And it doesn't make me sad necessarily, just a little...melancholy? I think there's something really nice about a holiday that celebrates that people have found someone. Even if it doesn't always last. I don't think the fact that people put themselves out there and try is celebrated enough."

He chuckles. "I'll try to remember that."

"But yeah, the fact that you hate Valentine’s Day doesn't faze me. It's pretty par for the course. It almost seems fitting for my first Valentine's Date."

"I'm honestly a little sorry that my sister roped you into this. The party is probably going to be incredibly boring."

I give him a small smile. "I'm not sorry."

"Oh?"

"This turned out pretty good for me, I think. Though if you hadn't spotted me in that crowd of dancers it could have been a lot worse."

I feel his eyes on me then in a way I haven't before, falling down my body and taking in the lacy bodice of my dress and the flow of my skirt down my crossed legs, the fabric pulled up a little and exposing some skin. "I think I'd be able to spot you anywhere," he says softly. And when I look up at him there's no lie in his eyes. My breath seems to have evaporated in my chest and I may imagine the fact that he looks at my lips. Then there's a smile, as if he realized what he said. "You're a terrible dancer. I could have seen you a mile away."