Vain (The Seven Deadly 1)

“No, thank you,” I answered softly.

Ian watched me, running a hand down my cheek, continued down my neck to my shoulder and my side until it rested on the bone of my hip. “Come with me then,” he said, tucking me into his side and leading me to the dance floor.

The song changed to Common’s Drivin’ Me Wild.

At the edge of the floor, he pressed me so close I could count each individual hard plane of his body. My breathing labored, nearly hyperventilating at the proximity. He grabbed my neck with one hand and tucked his face near my ear, swaying my body against his. I took advantage of the nearness and took a deep breath, inhaling his incredible scent of woods and water and my eyes rolled into the back of my head. I pressed my lids closed, desperately trying to stay upright.

As if he knew I was struggling, the hand wrapped around my waist pulled me closer.

“Soph,” he breathed in my ear, sending me toward an edge.

I sucked in a deep breath as his mouth found mine. He tasted sweet and earthy like the whisky. I moaned into his teeth and he kissed me even harder. His hands slid to the back of my dress and fisted the fabric there. This sent the butterflies flitting around my stomach into overdrive.

My arms tightened around his neck and my right leg wrapped around his calf. He bent me slightly as if he could bring us any closer and I pushed myself further against him. The kiss was frantic, borderline shocking even. I had never been kissed with such want before. We wanted so badly. We needed.

“God, Soph,” he breathed into my smile. “You taste incredible.”

I corded my fingers with his hair and brought his head up. I needed to look in his eyes. “When we leave tomorrow night,” I told him, suddenly afraid, “nothing changes?”

He smiled at me genuinely. “Nothing.”

The song changed again to something with a faster beat and as we sang the lyrics to one another and practically lost our breath dancing, I realized that Ian Aberdeen was the most fun I’d ever had or ever would have.

We didn’t leave until close to three in the morning. I’d removed my shoes by that time and Ian carried them for me, the ankle ribbons draped over one of his broad shoulders and me on his back. We sang the music being pumped into the streets and belly-laughed all the way to his car despite the fact that the only thing we’d had to drink all night was the single shot of whisky, burned off hours before.

“Oh, shit!” I said, remembering myself. “I need your phone,” I told him, when he set me down near his car.

He removed it from the back pocket of his jeans and handed it to me.

“Can I call out of country?” I asked, when he opened the door for me.

“Yeah, I have an International plan for obvious reasons.”

“Cool,” I said, sitting as I slid the unlock button. “Huh.”

“What is it?”

“There’s fifteen missed calls from my sat phone.”

“Seriously?”

“I’m not kidding. Must be Karina. Should we call them back?”

“Yeah, it’s probably no big deal though. Go ahead and ring Pembrook first. Get that out of the way so Simon doesn’t bombard me incessantly tomorrow.”

“You really love your brother, don’t you?”

He nodded seriously. “Like-like a brother.”

“You think you’re funny.”

“I do. To both.”

“That’s sweet,” I said as I dialed Pemmy. I did the math quickly in my head and nearly wiped the sweat from my brow when I realized it was a decent hour in L.A.

“Hello?” Pembrook answered.

“Pemmy!” I squealed.