To Love Honour and Disobey

She got what he meant now—the dance was repeated over and over, with each pause those dancing would go and get a new partner. Snowballing—slowly expanding the participants until all the guests would be on the floor.

She stared at his outstretched hand. ‘I don’t want to dance, Seb.’

He pulled her into his arms as if he hadn’t heard. The music began and they moved around the room. Finally, thankfully, the pause came. But Seb didn’t move. Didn’t let her go.

‘Aren’t you supposed to get another partner?’

He shrugged. ‘I like the one I’ve got.’

‘Even though I keep standing on your feet?’

‘Just stand and sway.’

And so she did. Turned her face into his neck and breathed in his scent, unable to meet his eyes for long. The expression in them was too overwhelming.

She was like a sea goddess. The pencil-slim shimmering dress deepened her blue eyes, her long glossy hair hung loose, and with her skin gently golden from the sun and the deeper brown henna tattoo across it she looked stunning. She was so lovely he nearly swallowed his tongue. It felt as if it had grown to three times its usual size—but it wasn’t only his tongue getting thick.

His heart beat uncomfortably hard as he realised just how much he’d wanted to hold her again. And now that he was, he was in no hurry to let go.

He watched her; with the shoes she was wearing she was only a little shorter than him and he could see almost levelly into her eyes. Or he would be able to if she actually looked at him. And suddenly it struck him—that was the thing, wasn’t it? For all the fantastic sex they’d had, she never looked him in the eyes—at least not for long. She took pleasure from him, burned under his touch, but refused to connect with that simplest of intimacies.

No more.

‘Ana.’ He felt an utter compulsion to reach through to her. ‘Don’t go remote.’

‘What?’

‘Look at me.’

He knew his mother was watching. And his father. Both were staring over the shoulders of their partners. But he didn’t care what they thought. He just wanted to be with her. It was all he seemed to want.

She’d enjoyed the wedding. He’d watched her face during the vows, seen her smile. Could see the way she was glowing now. Yeah. She loved the whole deal. She’d want the big performance one day. And how would she look in a traditional wedding dress? With a veil wisping over her hair and face and the bloom of radiance that he had to admit did descend over a bride?

He pulled her closer. She followed him easily now. Her body soft against his. Then her leg tangled, brushing too close, and his pulse went even more erratic. She was going to be the death of him. He hauled her even closer and gave up on the trying-to-step bit. Stand and sway was all it could be. Her lids had drooped again, but it was different this time. Masculine pleasure filled him for he knew the reason—desire-drugged, she couldn’t keep them open.

He let her have a moment and glanced down at her arm. It looked as if someone had drizzled melted chocolate over the caramel skin of her upper arm. He ached to taste it. To run the tip of his tongue over the swirling design. OK, he was glad it wasn’t permanent, but it was fun for now. Just like the rest of her—right?

Fun for now. But their fun was over—closure. They were supposed to have left the lust in Africa.

‘Ana.’

‘Yes?’

‘You’re not looking at me.’

‘I’m looking at your chin.’

‘Look into my eyes.’

‘You want to hypnotise me or something?’

Part of him wished he could. He had no idea what she wanted from him. Did she want to kiss him the same way he was dying to kiss her? With the same kind of desperation? She wasn’t saying. But now he longed to know exactly what she was thinking. Why she was thinking it and what was she feeling for him?

Or maybe he didn’t want to know. In case it wasn’t the same.

He was losing track of his thoughts. So gave up and just sealed himself to her, lost in the blue of her eyes and the soft invitation of her mouth.

Closure? Who was he kidding?

Ana’s head was spinning and she was needy. The kiss was incredible. Soft and gentle and not enough. She wanted more—she wanted it all. But now the waltz was over. She wanted the cheesy music back. She wanted his arms back.

But he stepped away, breaking the contact. Putting on the brakes.

And then his mother was there, all over-bright eagle eyes, and his father too. She managed to be polite but inside she was bursting. It hadn’t gone—hell, would it ever go? This desire she felt for him?

And he knew. Played on it—making the best of a bad situation? He did that by invading every inch of her personal space. His hands didn’t leave her body—either he held her hand, or rested a palm on the small of her back, or slung his arm along her shoulders, his leg pressed to hers as they chatted to his father’s friends. And he looked at her—the way he looked at her. As if she were the most beautiful woman on the planet.