Chapter 3 Valencia
Valencia
I can’t explain what possessed me to ask Gideon Noble to dance with me.
Or rather, forced him, since I didn’t leave him much choice.
He was clearly mortified once he recognized me, and it’s possible I used that to my advantage.
Still, he could’ve pulled his arm out of my grip or dug in his heels if he didn’t want to come. The man is a foot taller than I am.
He’s also . . .
No. The asshole doesn’t deserve compliments.
But he really is . . .
Ugh. Fine. He’s gorgeous. Objectively. His wavy hair is shorter than when we were kids, each strand perfectly styled in a classic side part.
It’s hard to tell in this lighting, but it looks darker now, more of a light brown than a dark blond.
His narrow face has filled out, and his jawline better supports the wide lower lip that used to look bratty and now looks . ..
Bitable.
Yikes.
In the strobe lights, his eyes flash red, green, and red again. Mine are probably doing the same. I wonder if he notices.
I want him to notice.
Despite his denial, I know he came over to hit on me, and it makes me feel powerful. Electric. Alive.
He allows me to tow him onto the dance floor without complaint. And when I slide my hand down his forearm to his wrist and pull him toward me, he complies.
The heavy bass pounds through me like a second heartbeat.
Between the driving vocals and the living pulse of the crowd surrounding us, I’m swept into the dance.
I sway my hips and shimmy my shoulders. Noble’s grip on my hand is tight as he spins me.
His other hand splays against the bare skin of my lower back, firm and warm, as he takes over.
Noble is a good dancer . That’s as much a shock to my system as his touch. He doesn’t just nod his head to the downbeat, and he’s not jumping around like a fool, either. He’s smooth . He has actual rhythm. You’d think I would know that, but I can’t recall ever seeing him like this at school dances.
And yes, damn it, I was looking. He only acted like a troll.
Plus, he smells good. Subtle but expensive. Woodsy, with notes of citrus and bergamot.
Why, why, why does he have to be so fucking sexy?
This started as a lark. A simple way to get back at him for years of torment. To make him uncomfortable and snag myself a convenient dance partner in the process. But there’s something really hot about knowing that he’s into me. Maybe it’s perverse, but I want to drive him fucking wild.
Workaholic, homebody, nerd—all that might be true about me. But I can also dance my ass off, and Gideon Noble doesn’t stand a chance.
I’m barely looking at him, keeping my eyes closed or my head turned away.
But I’m hyperaware of every touch of hands, every brush of fabric, every graze of limbs.
I pull out the heavy artillery—body rolls, hip swivels, spine arches.
The quick glimpses I get of his face reveal hooded eyes and parted lips.
Mission accomplished. I’m seducing my former nemesis, and best of all, I don’t actually give a shit what he thinks, which is freeing in a way I never could’ve imagined. Embracing it, I give myself over to the music, the melody, the movement, and just dance .
As this song melds into the next, Noble’s hands grasp my hips, pulling me closer.
My back is to him, with barely a breath between us as I raise my arms and gyrate to the music.
The heat of his body radiates against mine, as erotic and intimate as his fingertips digging into the sensitive spot under my hip bone.
We don’t say a word. But whenever our eyes meet, something hot and crackling passes between us.
I’m melting. This wasn’t supposed to happen, but I don’t want to break the spell.
A guy wearing a trucker hat and ratty cargo pants approaches me. He’s drunk, the sloppy leer all but sliding off his generically good-looking face. Noble shoots him a dark glare and growls, “Fuck off.”
The guy fucks off. I laugh and keep dancing.
The song changes and Noble spins me to face him. His gaze is locked on mine as he drags his teeth over that sumptuous bottom lip.
It takes every ounce of my self-control not to pull him down so I can bite it, too.
God, who am I?
There isn’t even a breath between us anymore.
His hands mold over my ass to swivel me to the rhythm of the music.
His cologne invades my senses, and his dick is hard against my belly.
I’m pushing into him, way more than I would if I were dancing with a complete stranger.
But despite the fact that I haven’t seen Noble in nine years, I know him.
I saw him every single day from sixth through twelfth grade.
And while we’ve never been this close, never touched like this or moved like this, there’s something familiar about him all the same, something that draws me in.
The beat thumps in my blood, making me feel hot and a little reckless.
Maybe a lot reckless. Time will tell.
The next song has a slower rhythm. I step back and take a moment to fan my face, catch my breath, look away from the fire in those hypnotic green eyes. Somehow, my attempt to beguile him backfired, and now I’m the one in his thrall.
Before I can say something to erase the intensity of the moment, Noble grips my elbow and propels me toward the bar.
“Come on,” he grinds out. “Let’s get you that drink.”