“Because I wanted to go dancing and you needed to get out of the house,” Teagan answered, tucking her feet up under her and snuggling deeper into Roman.
“Right.” Another glimpse of long red hair had me standing at the end of the sofa and pushing the button that drew back the sheers.
“You know I was only kidding about getting laid, right?" Roman asked. "I'm absolutely down for you expecting more from your life."
"I'm not going trolling," I threw over my shoulder as I kept my eyes locked on the crowd.
There.
My stomach dipped as I spotted Savannah dancing on the edge of the crowd. Her black skirt was short, her boots high, her purple blouse cut straight across her collarbone. Her hair was down and loose, and I nearly swallowed my tongue when she turned her back to me, lifting her long red tresses from the back of her neck, no doubt seeking relief from the humid night air. The blouse was damn near backless, showcasing every inch of her smooth skin as she moved to the beat.
My blood heated. I knew how her body moved against mine. Knew exactly how she felt pressed against me, under me. Knew the curves, the lines, the taste of her mouth. My fingers bit into the railing at the edge of the terrace. I traveled a half-dozen feet without even realizing it, her pull was just that strong.
She didn't see me as she walked to the right, sliding through the crowded dance floor. It looked like she was headed to the bar.
I heard a soft murmur behind me, and a quick glance told me Roman and Teagan were thoroughly engaged in each other.
Savannah approached the bar, a woman about her age following on her heels as she took the only open seat, her back turned toward me.
Every muscle in my body went taut as the guy next to her showed blatant interest. They must've known each other, especially given the way he laughed and nodded. There was something familiar in his gaze, something really familiar as he leaned forward so she could speak in his ear.
Guess she was tired of waiting for my response.
I shouldn't have been surprised—Savannah had always gone after what she wanted, made her decisions with the same confidence she carried herself with—but I was. Surprised, insulted, and if the heat flooding my veins was any indication, angry, too. I hadn't made up my mind yet, but it seemed she had.
I leaned forward over the banister as if the added inches would give me some kind of super hearing to make out the words between them. He drew back slightly and nodded as her thighs parted.
As his hands slipped to the top of one thigh.
As he dropped off his stool and put that thigh at his eye level.
"What the fuck?" By the time his head disappeared, I'd already sprung over the banister, clearing it with one jump to land on the pavement below. I ignored the startled gasps around me and barreled my way to the bar. Loverboy was still on his knees when I got there.
"Are you out of your goddamn mind?" I spun Savannah on the barstool, knocking the guy in the head with her knee.
"Hendrix?" Savannah gawked up at me, her mouth gaping open.
"What do you think you're doing? Or is getting off in public one of your kinks?" I kept my eyes on hers, my hands bracketing her hips as I leaned closer, taking up her space.
"I'm sorry?" She had the nerve to look flabbergasted.
"You know what? We're not discussing this here," I snapped. I dipped, pressing my shoulder into her abdomen and standing, securing the backs of her thighs with my forearm as I lifted her.
"Are you kidding me?" she whispered the hiss in my ear, her composure testament to an unfair childhood in the spotlight of a media hungry for scandal.
“Keep your fucking hands to yourself,” I warned the guy who stared at me with half shock and half appreciation.
He put his hands up like he was under arrest and leaned back on the barstool.
“Nice.” What a douche. There was zero chance I would have let anyone walk off with Savannah like I was currently doing. Registering the feel of her bare skin against my arm, I lowered her slightly. That skirt was short and getting shorter by the step. The last thing I wanted was for everyone to see the incredible ass under it.
"You're a Neanderthal," she accused, pushing up on my shoulders so I carried her upright through the crowd. I glanced to make sure no one had a cell phone out, but I wasn't sure I would've stopped even if I'd seen one. Red hot rage churned through my stomach, laced with something insidiously stomach-churning that I didn't want to examine too closely.