18. Lucius
CHAPTER 18
LUCIUS
Juno flaps her long lashes at me for a few seconds before she stands up. “Sure.”
I lead her to the dance floor, where we join a few other couples. The song the DJ plays must be by Ariana Grande because it’s a woman’s voice and Juno grins like a loon as she tells me, “That’s your favorite.”
I’m not usually a fan of dancing, but seeing Juno move makes the chore surprisingly tolerable. It must be her bright smile. Or the sway of her rounded hips. Or the sparkle in her honey-colored eyes. Or it could be the fact that her fast-moving feet are difficult to ignore. Speaking of that, has she always had that ankle bracelet and toe ring?
I drag my gaze back to her face. She’s wearing that same bright smile that captured me earlier. Suddenly, she pales and glances at someone to our left. Her smile evaporates, replaced with a deep frown.
“What is it?” I follow her gaze and see a boring couple: a shifty-looking man about my age and a woman who is clearly one of those annoying heiresses with a trust fund and enough entitled attitude to kill a horse.
“That’s my ex,” Juno says in a slightly choked voice. “With his new wife. The richer and smarter upgrade.”
Richer? Who cares? Smarter? I highly doubt it. To give credit where credit is due, Juno’s mind is razor sharp.
The shifty guy spots us, and for whatever reason, he seems to be looking more at me than at Juno as he drags his wife over to us.
What fresh hell is this?
“Juno,” he screams over the music when they’re close enough. “What are you doing here?”
“She’s my date,” I retort and try my best to project an attitude of “now leave us the fuck alone.”
The guy looks on the verge of drooling. “You’re Lucius Warren, right?”
As usual, I can tell what he’s really saying, and it is: You’re that guy who can do something for me. Please be that guy. Pretty please.
“That’s him,” the wife says, beaming. “I told you it’s him.”
“What are you doing here?” Juno demands.
The ex shrugs. “This cause is important to the wife.”
Is it really the cause, or getting glammed up and mingling with the right people?
Juno looks just as skeptical as I feel. “Well,” she says. “Nice bumping into you two.”
Translation from polite speak:
It sucked ass, so go away.
“I heard you’re soliciting doctors for a secret project,” the ex says to me, beady eyes shining.
And there it is. Can I please be on Project Novus Rome? Pretty please.
“It’s true,” I say. “But why do you care? I’m looking for the best doctors.”
Is it clear that I’m implying “and you’re not one of them?” Yep. Based on the widening eyes of Juno and the guy’s wife, the message gets through. The ex must get it as well, since he looks like he’s considering throwing a punch.
I give him a look that says, Yes, please. Great idea. Make coming to this shindig worth my time.
Sadly, he chickens out. “We’d better let the two of you dance,” the dipshit says to Juno. “Let’s hug and?—”
“Hug?” My hands ball into fists.
He takes a step back. “I’m a hugger.”
Juno rolls her eyes but nods. “Always has been.”
“I’m a puncher,” I state. “Are we going to indulge our natures today?”
The ex turns on his heel and walks away. His wife huffs indignantly and follows.
“Caveman,” Juno says to me, but the smile that tugs at the corners of her eyes betrays her.
I’d bet a million bucks she’s glad her ex just looked like an ass.
“Let’s resume the dance,” I say.
She nods, and in that moment, the music changes to a slow song.
“This is our chance to show everyone this fartlek is real,” I whisper into her ear.
“You’re right.” Her expression is unreadable as she steps closer. “Let’s make them eat their hearts out.” With that, she puts her forearms on my shoulders.
Fuck. Her nearness is intoxicating.
Then again, maybe I can use this as a chance to train myself to resist biological urges. I put my hands on her hips, pull her close, and start moving to the rhythm of the music.
Double fuck. We’ve barely started, and I’m already losing the battle against my body.
She just smells too delicious, and staring into the amber depths of her eyes is too hypnotizing.
Can she feel my raging erection?
Her Mona Lisa smile doesn’t say one way or another.
She rises on tiptoes to reach my ear with her lips. “You’re a good dancer.”
“Am I?” My cock twitches at the warm puff of her breath, and my voice is much too husky as I say, “That’s news to me.”
She nods, looking up at me. “Where did you learn?”
I force myself to focus. “I sometimes dance with my grandmother.”
She looks insultingly surprised. “You do?”
“Yeah. Why not? Is there something about me that says ‘hates his grandmother?’”
She licks her lips maddeningly. “No. Sorry. I just didn’t expect you to say that.”
Damn it.
Her lips call to me, like those sirens that drown sailors.
I pull her closer, and she seems not to mind.
I lean down without meaning to, and she?—
Fuck.
I freeze, looking to the side.
Is that what I think it is?
Yep. A furry creature is scurrying across the dance floor, holding a piece of deviled egg.
I must be imagining it.
I squint.
Nope.
That’s Blackbeard, one of my ferrets.