Privilege (Special Tactical Units Division 2)

She could think of more basic ways to describe what it was like to have his arms around her, his body tight against hers, to be moving in time to the music in the couple of feet of floor space they’d claimed as their own.

If only she’d moved fast enough to make it back to the booth.

Still, this was probably better than sitting next to him, trying to make small talk.

It had been okay when Alessandra was there.

Her sister knew her so well. She’d realized that making conv

ersation wasn’t one of her strengths. Well, date conversation, not that this was anywhere close to a date. Still, Alessandra had made things easier. She’d asked the right questions. About things that were easy to talk about. School. Books. Her new practice. Stuff that had undoubtedly bored everyone else silly, the lieutenant for sure—but between the wine and Alessandra, she’d managed to hold up her end of things.

Or maybe she’d held it up too well.

Maybe she’d said too much.

Maybe she’d monopolized the conversation.

Maybe she’d made a fool of herself…

“Hey.”

She looked up. He was smiling. The lieutenant. The gorgeous, sexy lieutenant and, yes, absolutely, she’d had too much wine.

Except, she hadn’t.

One glass. That was all she’d had.

Maybe what she’d had too much of was him.

Too much handsome, virile, sexy male sitting for the last hour with his thigh pressed against hers, now with his arms wrapped around her, one big hand splayed over her back, the other down low at the base of her spine.

He felt wonderful. Hard. Warm. He smelled wonderful, too. Night. Man. Even leather, though he’d left his jacket in the booth.

Wonderful, she thought, and stepped on his toes.

“Sorry! I’m so sor—”

“My fault.”

“There’s no need to lie. I told you, I’m not a very good dan—”

“Stop apologizing. And stop watching yourself.”

Stop watching herself? That was precisely what she was doing. What she always did in moments like this, but how did he know that?

“That’s better,” he said. “Come on. Lean into me. Feel the rhythm.”

His voice was a little low. A lot sexy. Lean into him? It made her want to burrow into him, as ridiculous as that was.

“Better,” he murmured. His breath stirred a tendril of her hair. “Much better. Just let the music take over.”

No way. She never let anything take over. Success depended on control.

Still, if they weren’t going to sit down, it was easier to move with him. To let him lead. It was just a dance, after all, and Chay Olivieri was a good dancer. A very good dancer. She remembered that from the wedding.

He was so big, so masculine, but he knew how to move.

He was also easy to look at.