23. Caleb #2
Jealousy seeps into my bones when their bodies touch and his hands wrap around her waist. She catches me watching, and smirks.
Knowing she now has my attention, she leans deeper into him, and they start to sway with the music.
My fingers squeeze a death grip around the empty beer bottle, needing to do something with my hands.
I lose track of time as the music drags on. How long is this fucking song?
She can’t possibly dance with him the rest of the night. One or two more songs and then she’ll get bored of him. She is clearly trying to get a rise out of me since I shot her down, and it’s working. And I don’t really care if I give her the satisfaction of knowing that.
Over the course of the song, they’ve turned slightly, and now her backside is directly facing me. Her pants look like they were expertly tailored to fit her curves. I can’t help but look. But my view is soon interrupted by the stranger’s hands slowly moving down from her waist to rest on her ass.
I don’t know what’s up with my reflexes these days. Just like that day at the bonfire, I’m marching onto the dance floor before I can think twice. The pain in my leg takes a backseat to my jealousy at seeing some strange man with his hands on Marnie.
When I finally reach them, she doesn’t look the least bit surprised. “Mind if I cut in?”
She looks me up and down, as if she’s considering my question. As if she’s considering rejecting my request. But no answer comes.
The stranger looks at me curiously. “She’s with you?”
“Yeah, she is,” I say matter-of-factly, turning my full attention on him.
He backs away, hands raised. “Sorry, man. I had no idea.” He scurries back to the bar, not waiting for my reply.
We stand there in the middle of the room, the only two people not dancing. The music continues to swell around us, the lights flashing and illuminating her face every other beat.
She doesn’t look annoyed that I interrupted—she looks satisfied. Like she expected it. “Took you long enough.”
“Ask me again.” I close the distance between us again until our chests brush.
I feel her pulse spike, but she raises her chin in defiance, not giving in. Her stubbornness knows no bounds.
My mouth slants into a smile as I lean in, lips grazing the lobe of her ear. “Ask me again.”
“Ask you what?” her breath comes out ragged.
“Ask me to dance with you so I don’t have to see another man with his hands all over the woman I’ve been thinking about nonstop for the past two months.”
The opening guitar chords to “My Kinda Lover” hum through the speakers. She pulls back and stares into my eyes. She opens her mouth and I swear she’s about to say it, but she presses her lips into a thin line and dips her eyes to my thigh. Her brow furrows and she looks back up at me.
“What about your leg?”
“I don’t care about my leg. I love this song, and I want to dance with you. But I need to hear you say it, too.”
My hands find her waist, eager to replace the feeling of the stranger’s hands on her with the feeling of mine, and I pull her close to me. Her body fits so well against mine. Every curve, every inch, fits perfectly.
She snakes her hands up my chest, over my shoulders, and around my neck.
Her hands are so soft as they rub small circles into the base of my neck.
She looks up at me through hooded lashes, and my breath hitches.
Our lips hover over one another so closely I can smell the cherry remnants from her drink on her breath.
“Caleb,” she breathes, fingers toying with my hair. “Dance with me.”
It’s a command, not a request.
“You . . . are . . .” My words are coming out breathless. That’s the sort of effect she has on me. I don’t want it to ever change.
“Go on,” she teases, drawing out the words.
“You are the most beautiful woman. In this room, on this island. Hell, you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.”
The confession tumbles out of me, but it’s the truth. No woman has plagued my mind and consumed my every waking thought the way she has.
Her shiny pink lips curl up into a small smirk. My words don’t scare her. She shows no signs of shutting down the way she did before. No, she’s enjoying this.
“Prove it.”
Fuck.
Those two words are about to be my undoing, and she has no idea how close the last thread of my resolve is to snapping. All she has to do is say it and I’m hers.
My head shakes and I lower my eyes to her lips, trying to buy myself a few more seconds. “But you said?—”
“I know what I said. I changed my mind. This is me letting you know.”
“When—”
“Just shut up and kiss me,” she practically growls.
So I do. I grab the sides of her face and pull her into a searing kiss. I release an involuntary groan as she arches into me. My hand moves to the back of her head, gently grabbing a fistful of her luscious red curls to tip her head back, deepening the kiss.
Our first kiss was tender and sweet. This one is hungry and demanding.
A moan escapes her mouth and I breathe it in, desperate for anything and everything she’ll give me.
“Let’s get out of here,” she sighs against my lips.
Say no more.
I practically drag her off the dance floor and over to the booth where Linny and Parker are watching us, a knowing glint in their eyes.
“Hey, uh, we’re gonna take off. Marnie’s feeling a bit tired.”
Linny looks us up and down. “Mm-hmm,” she drawls out.
“Sure looks that way to me.” Her attention turns to Marnie.
“I’m surprised you’re so tired, we’ve been here for less than two hours.
Although,” Linny’s eyes slide back and forth between us and she quirks an eyebrow.
“I’d be a little tired, too, if I were partaking in your dance floor escapades. ”
Parker brings his fist up to his mouth to stifle a laugh.
We start to say our goodbyes just as “Dancing With Myself” comes on over the speakers and everyone in the club breaks out into a group performance. My hand finds her waist, and I guide her past the sea of people and out into the cool summer night.