Imaginary Lines (New York Leopards 3)

He gauged my mood carefully, and then nodded and held out his hand. “We could dance.”

And, fool that I was, I placed my hand in his. “What a gentleman.”

He bent his head close to my ear as he walked me out to the club floor. “Guess again.”

The last time I’d danced with Abe had been at my prom, and even as raunchy teenagers, we’d behaved relatively innocently. I mean, I’d been raunchy, who knew if Abe had. But there was no innocence here, no air between our bodies as we fit together and swayed to the pounding of the music, a thrum that seemed to imitate my heart. He was warm muscle and soft musk and soap, and his eyes and smile could light the Arctic on fire. I craned my head up toward him, my arms hooked around his neck. “Do you remember my prom?”

He let out a groan and I could feel it reverberate through his chest. I could feel everything about him: the hard, strong lines of his thighs against the back of mine; the largeness of his hands as they slid across my waist; and how very, very much he wanted to be dancing. “God, yes.”

I smiled. “Why such a sound?”

“You were killing me.”

I twisted around so we were face-to-face—or as much as we could be, with him so much taller than me. “I was killing you?” I aimed for indignant but landed somewhere between thrilled and smug. “Why?”

“Because I wasn’t supposed to lust after you.”

I drew back. “You lusted after me? Never.”

He pulled me forward so I could feel how very not never that lust was. I felt hot and wild between my legs, and my muscles clenched with absolute desire. My breath came fast, and I was sure my eyes must be dilated, as his were. His voice came out husky and low. “I wanted to take you out of there and keep you in bed until morning.”

I couldn’t keep the smile from my face—or my body from pressing forward. I felt heady and delighted. “You did not. You didn’t like me at all.”

“I didn’t think I did. Which made it incredibly confusing when I didn’t want to keep my hands off you.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

He mock-frowned. “About wanting the daughter of my mom’s best friend? Are you kidding me? You were off-limits.”

I rested my head against his chest. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It made all the sense. I wasn’t ready for you.”

What did that mean? I lifted my head to ask, but his lips found mine instead.

Minutes, hours later, I reluctantly pulled away. “I should go. I have work in the morning.”

“Take it off.”

“I can’t. I have stories due. Stories I haven’t even written yet.”

“Dinner tomorrow?”

I made a face. “I can’t. Everyone’s staying late at the office to wrap the magazine. We’re making a night of it.”

He sighed. “Then we’re o

ut of luck. We’re playing a Friday game this week, and since it’s in Oakland we’re leaving a few days early so we can adjust to the time zone.”

I sighed, too. “It’s probably a good thing. I can remember we’re just friends.”

He laughed and kissed my neck, sending shivers all through me. “You’ll never remember that, because it’s not true.”

A very loud part of my brain insisted he was right, but I still managed to untangle myself. “I’ll see you when you’re back, then.”

He pulled me back to him and pressed a sweet, melting kiss on my lips. His eyes danced when I stepped back, somewhat dazed. “For luck.”

“For luck,” I murmured. “And good night.”