Incapable (Love Triumphs 3)
“Dance, then tattoo.”
“Slow dance,” she held her arms open, “maybe you’ll be interested in something else instead.”
Angus took her hand and wrapped it over his neck. “The things I do for you. I’m still getting a tatt.”
Jamie groaned. “What was in the beer?”
He looked at Sam who said, “Dance with me, baby,” held his arms open like Heather had done and earned himself a slap to the back of the head.
Taylor said, “Barf,” and was first out the door. The others followed.
Georgia left Damon’s side to pick up her hair stick and a few pins, then returned to him and put the back of her hand to the back of his. “You knew it was me. Out there when you were surrounded.”
He flipped his hand and grasped hers. “I’ll always know when it’s you.”
“How, there were women all over you?”
He shook his head. His voice crackled, he’d given it a work-out, hadn’t been kind to it. “No one is like you. Your scent, your touch, the way you move. There’s no mistaking that.”
Her seduction had been cratered. She could’ve happily stabbed Angus to death with her hair stick if it wasn’t lost on the floor when he walked in, but it was hard to stay out of sorts after hearing that. It was almost enough to convince her to get it inked on her skin.
She put her hand to Damon’s face. “We could go home.” If they went home maybe they could pick up where they’d left off, with the added advantage of tattoo avoidance.
He took her hand away, arranged her beside him. “The night is young.”
“And you’re determined to paint it red.” Her disappointment bled through, much against her intention.
“I want to slow dance with you. I want to get a tatt with the boys. I want to finish up inside you. Only you. Always you.”
This man could make her breath cease, make her thoughts spin and her insides molten. She could stop him, drag him outside, into a cab and make out all the way back to his place, and he wouldn’t protest. He was waiting for her to call it. She arranged his arm in the crook of hers and watched his face. “You’re leading.”
She got lifted brows and dimple. He knew she meant in the dance, in the night and in so many other ways. He gave her a nudge and she led him out into the bar.
Angus and Heather were already on the small floor, the lights were low, only a few diehard patrons left, plus the kitchen staff. Taylor was there, with one of the regulars, and Sam had grabbed a waitresses. Only Jamie sat it out at a table with a new round of beer.
Georgia led Damon onto the floor to the sound of Elton John’s Don’t Let the Sun Go Down on Me. There was no one to bash into. She didn’t have to worry about treading on her dress or embarrassing herself. All she had to do was trust him and that was the easiest thing to do, despite the fact he wasn’t his usual self: out of balance and husky voiced, smelling of smoke and beer.
She shifted up close, getting warm skin under her hands and cheek. They swayed rather than danced, but then Angus and Heather weren’t doing much more. Only Sam was cutting the floor up.
Damon crooned along with Elton softly, one hand playing with her hair, the other wrapped around her back. He got half the words wrong and either didn’t realise or didn’t care.
She reached up to brush his hair off his forehead, running a finger gently over the still pink scar above his brow. It was healing nicely but almost in the same place as he’d split the skin once before as a kid; it was going to leave a more pronounced permanent mark.
“Is it ugly?”
“It’s good for your badass rep.”
He laughed and tried to dip her and lost his footing and they both nearly ended up on the floor.
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Angus lent a hand to right them, almost going down with them. “Yeah, Fred Astaire, maybe sit this next one out,” he said.
Georgia took the cue and led Damon to the table, but let him capture her on his lap. “Please don’t get my name or song lyrics or something you think I’d like written on your skin. I already like what I see and it doesn’t need enhancing.”
He moved some hair behind her ear. “Back at you.”
“I’m glad you can’t see me. I’d have been too embarrassed to—”