Found in Us (Lost 2)

Infuriating.

"I don't need you to save me, Parker." I do a damn lousy job at keeping my voice even. Though truth be told, I did need saving that one time he's referring to. And saving me cost him a split lip and a black eye. I didn't emerge unscathed that night, though that was the direct result of my idiocy and dismal eye-hand coordination rather than a fight. We were in a club, and some guy didn’t like when I told him no. Parker stepped in, and things escalated.

Parker leans a few inches over the table and says in a low voice, "Who said I have any intention to save you?"

His gaze pierces me and I stubbornly hold it, feeling my cheeks getting hotter. He breaks his gaze at last, lowering it slowly, very slowly to my cleavage and then to my hips, as if he's drinking me in. I cross my legs and let out an involuntary sigh. Parker's breath catches. I look away, not daring to meet his eyes.

Luckily, Dani arrives, cutting some of the tension.

"Parker, you're here already," she exclaims. Parker gets up and places a gentle kiss on each of her cheeks. "See," she says to him, smiling proudly, "I told you I'd eventually get Jess to go out with us."

The slightest flush crosses Parker's features, but he recovers quickly and says, "I was concerned Jessica was overworking herself."

Dani grins. "You're a gentleman, as always." Bless her. She and, as far as I can tell, everyone else who knows him, seems to be utterly convinced that Parker is the ultimate gentleman. I'm convinced he's the ultimate man, all right. It's just the gentle part I'm not convinced of.

"I'll get myself a gin and tonic," Dani says after taking a sip from Parker's glass.

"I can get you one," he offers.

"No, no, it's fine," she says, hurrying to the bar.

He frowns as he glances at her, then asks in a to

ne so full of concern, it startles me, "How is she?"

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"James is concerned about her. So am I."

"Well, he's her older brother, so he has an excuse. But I think you are both overreacting. She's a perfectly normal young girl who wants to have some fun." Actually, there is no way for me to know if that's true. I don't know Dani very well. I met her at the same time I met Parker, but unlike Parker, whom I met very often afterward, I didn't see Dani much. The decision to move in together in London was more of an I-don't-know-anyone-else-in-London case.

Dani comes back with her drink, and just as Parker opens his mouth, the background music suddenly grows louder, and someone—the DJ probably, though I can't see him anywhere—says through the speakers, "Let the fun part of the evening begin, ladies and gentlemen."

The slowest blues in the history of the world starts playing.

"This is fun?" I ask incredulously, as some couples leave the couches and start dancing in the center of the room to the painfully boring song.

"It can be," Parker says, standing up. "Dani, excuse us for a few minutes."

"By all means," Dani says, grinning.

Parker turns to me. "Come on, let's dance."

"I don't dance to this kind of music," I say dismissively. "It bores me to tears."

He fixes me with his gaze and I choke on my next breath. "You will dance with me."

A slight tremble shakes me as I follow him to the dance floor.

"I promise you it will be anything but boring." Parker puts an arm around my waist, and with a jolt pulls me so close to him that our chests touch. No one is dancing this close. As we start dancing, he interlaces his left hand with mine, as if nothing would be more natural. I swallow hard, burning at the points where our bare skin touches. I rest my left hand on his chest, taking in his solid frame. I had guessed he was well built. It's not hard to guess really. The contour of his toned arms and chest is discernible even through the long-sleeved shirts he usually wears. Touching him like this, though . . . I bite my lip. Behind his shoulder, I see Dani beaming at us. This reminds me of her comment and how it put Parker on the spot.

"So you were worried I was overworking myself? Thinking about me, were you?" I ask playfully, hoping if I keep him talking, he won't feel the hammering of my heart against his chest.

"I was, Jessica," he whispers in my ear, sending burning tingles down my spine.

I draw a deep breath, but that only manages to liquefy me further. He's not wearing any cologne. The smell of him emanates from every pore; his scent is intoxicating.

He pulls back a notch, biting his lip. I have the sudden urge to run my fingers through his thick hair, pull him to me, and taste those darned lips. Bite them, kiss them. I only realize he's been watching me fantasize about his lips when he says in a low, husky voice, "I've been thinking about you, I admit it. And I—”