29. Come Over Tonight
COME OVER TONIGHT
SAWYER
“Progress. You’re making progress.”
That’s Chloe’s dad’s prognosis of my moves as he teaches the class that night at Anyone Can Dance.
This time? I almost step on her toes, but I’m like Mercury, and the Roman god has nothing on my fleet feet as I step away just in time.
“Not stepping on you tonight,” I say to the gorgeous redhead in my arms.
“I have noticed, and I approve,” she says as I guide her into an underarm turn, her red dress fanning out with every spin.
In this intro class, we go through the basics once more as other couples sway and swing, shimmy and shake.
The whole time I can’t take my eyes off Chloe.
Her dress clings to her body, whisks against her soft skin, teases at her thigh.
It’s sinful. This dress is foreplay in sartorial form.
And it nearly distracts me, but my mission—I can’t believe I’m saying this, let alone thinking this—is to dance well enough onstage with her.
For her.
I want the fundraiser to go well for her. So she doesn’t reveal my secret, sure. But mostly because I like making her happy.
When the class ends with no more stubbed toes, her dad turns to Chloe and me and says in his upbeat tone, “You’re almost there. Just need some more practice.” But his hazel eyes twinkle with something like mischief. “First though, I have a surprise for tonight. I want to work on your choreography.”
Right. Of course. That makes sense. I knew we’d need to work on the specific moves for our short dance. But I thought we’d get through the basics first.
“So I’ve graduated from beginner?”
“You’re a fast learner,” Chloe adds.
But her father says nothing. Just flashes an impish grin as he sashays to the door, opening it right as it swings open. And the tall, dashing, utterly debonair man who inquired about dog daycare strides in looking like he’s just stepped off the pages of a goddamn magazine.
My jaw tightens.
“I’m here,” the man says, so charming, so British, so like a fucking magazine model I want to punch him.
Well, what other choice do I have when Mister Perfect walks in?
“Hi, Ian,” Chloe says, waving. “I guess you’re spending a little more time in our town?”
His smile is too magnetic. “I’m thinking about it.”
I’m thinking he should go.
“Luca knows Ian’s brother, and he’s been talking up our little town,” Chloe’s father explains with such affection for both his boyfriend and Darling Springs.
And perhaps for his plan too. “I asked Ian to come by and help since he’s an excellent dancer.
I thought it’d be better if I could direct the two of you.
Since you don’t know the steps yet, Sawyer, this will be an easier way to teach you the dance.
You’re a visual kind of person, so you’ll be able to see how the dance should look. You’ll learn faster this way.”
The fuck I will. A guttural hiss escapes my mouth.
“Fine,” I grumble.
“This will be fun,” Chloe says, because that’s her. Looking on the bright side, having a good time. “It’s such a great way to learn.”
As far as I’m concerned, her dancing with this Ian guy is a great way to make me want to smash his face in.
But I reluctantly let her go, stepping away, standing against the mirror, and crossing my arms. I’m like a bouncer, my eyes locked on the two of them, ready to toss him out for any line crossed.
“All right, this is just thirty seconds. A little waltz, some swing, a dip,” her father says, moving gracefully in his own short demo. While waltzing, he explains the choreography quickly to Ian.
“Fantastic. I’ve got this, no problem.”
I narrow my eyes as the charming Brit takes my woman in his arms and slides right into the dance like he’s on Bridgerton. Like he’s Anthony or Benedict. Like he’s smooth and irresistible and the moves are second nature. They spin, and his hand slinks down Chloe’s back.
My nostrils flare. His hand is on her.
I am nothing but a vat of boiling green jealousy as he spins her, dips her, and holds her close.
My fists clench.
My jaw clicks.
“Shall we do it again?” Ian asks, with that camera-ready smile, so ready to help.
Fuck that.
I uncross my arms. “No,” I say, stalking across the dance floor, my wingtips clicking on the hardwood.
I cut them off, taking her in my arms. “I’ll take it from here.”
“But you only saw it once,” her father says, his brow knit.
“I’m a fast learner,” I say. And we’ll see. We’ll fucking see. But no one else is dancing with her but me. I take what’s mine—hand on her waist, holding her close, and saying fuck it to their plan.
I improvise, doing my best to waltz like I’ve learned in class, to swing like he’s taught me, then to slide a hand down to the small of her back like I know how, because I know her.
I know this woman. I know what she likes. And screw her back. My hand drifts lower, lower, lower still, resting on top of her sweet curves as I dip her.
Farther than I’d planned. So far her red hair is spilling behind her, nearly sweeping the floor. Her eyes widen, flickering with the slightest bit of fear that she might fall—but also excitement, knowing I won’t let her. It’s like she’s on a roller coaster—the good fear, tinged with exhilaration.
She’s under my control, sweet and submissive, lips parted, breath catching.
Waiting for me to keep her safe. I do more than keep her safe.
I kick it up a notch, ad-libbing one more time as I drop a quick kiss to her lips.
Her sweet, spicy cinnamon scent fries my brain.
Knocks my senses loose. I tug her up and yank her close to my chest.
“How was that?” I’m asking her dad, but I’m really asking her.
Chloe’s breath comes fast and staggered. She nods, like she’s transfixed. That makes two of us.
“Surprisingly good,” her dad says.
Never underestimate the power of a little motivation.
Letting go of her, I head to the corner of the studio, passing Ian on the way.
He’s standing by the mirror, watching the scene unfold with curious eyes.
Let him. I grab a small paper bag I left in the corner.
It contains a gift. I bring the bag back to her father and hand it to him. “For you.”
He peers inside, and a smile spreads on his face like sunrise. “My favorite. Luca’s too,” he says, taking out the bottle of whiskey I picked up at Prohibition Spirit for them. With a bow on it, too, just the way they like.
I stick out a hand and shake. “Thanks for the dance lesson tonight, Mr. Rivers. We’re going to rehearse some more now.”
I swing my gaze to Chloe, savoring the way her hazel eyes flash with sexy hope. “My house this time.”
“Yes, we are.”
I take her hand, and we go.
* * *
I don’t pull up to my house right away. I flick on the blinker and turn onto her block. Chloe jerks her gaze to me.
“Wait. I thought…” Then she waves a hand. “Never mind. It’s fine.”
I’m quiet till I pull into her driveway, smothering a smile. I know what she’s thinking—that I don’t want her at my place for some reason. When I cut the engine, I nod toward the windshield and her home beyond.
“Get your dog and whatever you both need for the morning. In case you need to be fucked like the dirty woman you are all night long.”
“Oh,” she says, her lips parting in a circle of surprise. “You’re getting the blow job of a lifetime tonight.”
A groan works its way up my throat, but I waste no time. I get out of the car, stride around to her side, and swing open the door. “You’ve got one minute. I’d suggest you make the most of it.”
“Yes, sir.” She rushes up the steps and punches numbers into the lock.
“And leave the dress on, Chloe. The shoes too.”
She wiggles her butt, tossing me a sexy glance over her shoulder. “You have a thing for me in this dress.”
I nod toward the door, firm and clear. “Go. I’m not a patient man tonight.”
Exactly sixty seconds later—and I do count them on my watch—she’s racing out with the dog on a leash, a small blue duffel bag on one shoulder, and a bigger canvas bag on the other, full of (presumably) dog toys, judging by the squeaky alligator peeking out of the top.
She flies down the steps and slides back into the front seat as I invite Captain to the back. He barks out a hello.
“Hey, handsome,” I say to the friendly boy.
Then I get back behind the wheel, and I drive. A few minutes later, we pull up to my place, and for a second—maybe more—a warning sign flashes in my head.
Be careful. Don’t go there. Romance only leads to heartbreak.
But this isn’t romance. This is just…a night together.
At least, that’s what I tell myself. I’m not sure I believe it, though, as I bring her to the door and let her inside.
It’s the first time a woman’s been in my house since Katya and I split up. The first time I’ve brought a woman to this new home of mine where I’m building this new life. And my chest tightens with worry and hope as I flick on the light.
I hope she’ll like it.
I worry she’ll hurt me.
Captain bounds in first, sniffing the floor, the couch, the coffee table.
With bright eyes and a curious smile, Chloe sets down her duffel bag and Captain’s bag too, then spins around, seeming to take it all in until her gaze lands on one of the plants.
“You have a peacock plant,” she says, her voice filled with more wonder than I’d expect.
“I do. My sister got it for me,” I say, then gesture to the other plants Rachel picked out—perched on the coffee table. “That’s a Chinese money plant. And a lipstick plant. She calls them Dick, Bill, and Pucker Up.”
Chloe snort-laughs. “Let me guess. You call them Plant.”
“All three of them,” I say.
“But how do they know who you’re talking to?”
“It’s a mystery,” I say.
“They look well-tended.” She taps her temple. “I’m filing this away in the Sawyer file—you have a green thumb.”
“Does this surprise you?”
“Not one bit,” she says, then gives a sassy shrug. “I am terrible at tending to plants. I can’t even keep a succulent alive.”
I tap my temple. “I’ll put that in the Chloe file.”
“I bet it’s a huge and fascinating file,” she says.