Irresistible Greeks Collection. Кэрол Мортимер
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of electricity seemed to flow between them, one even stronger than the flickering awareness she’d felt all night.
Daisy was aware of the pressure of Alex’s strong fingers wrapping around hers as he led her through the doors and onto the dance floor. But it was nothing compared to her awareness when he took her in his arms.
She almost stumbled against him as she tried to do the opposite and keep a respectable distance between them. It was a battle because every instinct in her went to him like a moth to the proverbial flame.
Every touch was memorable. His fingers encased hers warmly. She was exquisitely aware of his hand pressing lightly at the small of her back. She was close enough that she could catch a faint hint of soap and aftershave. And a quick glance showed her how smooth-shaven his jaw was. She remembered it rougher, had loved to stroke her hand over it, stubbled one way, smooth the other.
Abruptly she turned her head, trying to follow his lead at the same time and nearly tripped over his foot. He caught her, pulled her closer. And Daisy knew the sensation of her body melting into his, as if she belonged there, wrapped in his arms.
She had danced with lots of other men. She had felt other men’s hands on her body. None—not even Cal’s—evoked such strong reactions.
Even now, knowing he was not for her, knowing for a fact that she and Alex had no future, Daisy could not deny that Alex’s touch, Alex’s smile, Alex’s gaze brought to life something inside her that no other man’s ever had.
Dancing with Alex was, just as it had been five years ago, the Cinderella experience that Daisy had remembered.
She understood now how she had been swept away by it. There was a feeling of rightness, of perfect understanding, that she’d never had with anyone else. And it scared her to feel it again and know how wrong it had been.
She forced herself to remain clearheaded and sane. She looked away from his hard jaw to study the room, determined to commit it to memory. She focused on the music, tried to think of the title, the composer, to isolate the instruments. And all the while she was aware of the man who held her in his arms.
His breath teased the tendrils of her hair. His trouser-clad legs brushed the silk of her dress. And every touch, every brush set off a hum of something electric. And the study of the room and the music and everything else faded away.
It was all right, she told herself. Nothing was going to happen on a dance floor. He couldn’t sweep her off her feet. She couldn’t slide a hand between the buttons of his shirt.
So where was the harm in appreciating the feel of hard muscles under her fingertips? Why not give in, just for the moment, to the instinctive rhythm they seemed to engage in when they moved to the music? As long as she didn’t allow herself to remember the instinctive rhythm they’d brought to their lovemaking …
There was a point beyond which lay foolishness. Daisy had been there once. Never again.
Careful, she warned herself. Be careful.
But her head turned and so did his. Her lips brushed his jaw. His touched her ear. A shiver ran from the hairs on her neck to the tips of her toes. Her body trembled. Her knees wobbled. And deep in the center of her, something ached with the desire she refused to admit.
She took a breath. “So,” she said, “tell me about Caroline.”
She was gratified when Alex seemed briefly to stumble. But then he caught himself and without even looking directly at him, she saw his jaw ease as if he were smiling.
“Caroline is amazing,” he said. “She’s quick. Witty. Beautiful.”
His voice was warm, animated. Of course it was. Caroline was his woman. Remember that, Daisy told herself sharply and kept asking him Caroline-related questions.
Maybe it was masochistic. Maybe it was just the only way to keep her common sense. Whatever it was, it helped. Daisy made herself listen as he told her all about the ad campaign Caroline was developing that had taken her to Hong Kong. Alex told her about how Caroline had been headhunted by five different companies in the past two years.
“She’s amazingly successful. Definitely making her mark. She’s even thinking she might go out on her own in the next couple of years.” He clearly approved of her ambition and her talent. Daisy forced herself to think about that and not about the way his legs brushed against hers.
“So what are you waiting for if she’s so wonderful?” She ventured a glance at his face, wanting to see his expression.
A tiny crease appeared between his brows. The muscles in his shoulder tensed beneath her hand, and hard green eyes looked down into hers. “I thought you weren’t in favor of quick decisions these days,” he said sharply.
“Yes, well, I’m not you.”
Alex grunted. He didn’t say anything else. Didn’t answer. Didn’t talk about Caroline anymore, either.
Daisy tried to stifle her irritation. She told herself it didn’t matter, but for some reason it did. It would be easier if he were engaged. Easier to stop thinking about how damned appealing he still was.
Well, fine, if he wouldn’t help her out by talking about Caroline, she’d talk about the pulmonologist whose photos she’d taken for Lauren Nicols.
“I have to thank you for sending Lauren my way,” she said. She didn’t really want to be beholden to him. But it was her own work that had caused Lauren to call, nothing he’d done. So she talked about that. And Alex seemed grateful enough to take up that topic of conversation. Then the dance was over, and Douglas Standish asked to partner her for the next one.
She danced with half a dozen men, and only reaffirmed that no one’s touch affected her the way Alex’s did. She seemed to be aware of him—where he was, who he was dancing with—even when he was nowhere near. Actually though, he always seemed to be somewhere fairly near. Wherever her partners danced her, Alex was never far away.
She tried not to look at him, tried not to envy the women he held in his arms, tried not to gauge if he had held them as closely as he’d held her. But she couldn’t help noticing that while he danced and chatted with them, his gaze often sought her.
It didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t.
But she couldn’t quite stifle the gratification she felt every time she felt his eyes on her. She didn’t dare catch his eye, though. It would be playing with fire. And Daisy had no intention of playing with fire, though there seemed to be one kindling somewhere just south of her midsection, and every time she looked his way, the fire grew.
The evening passed quickly. It was nine-thirty. Ten. Then nearly eleven. They danced. They visited with people Alex had worked with. They danced again. And this time the flames burned even hotter than before.
His eyes seemed to bore into hers whenever she looked at him. Their legs brushed. Their bodies touched. Against her breasts, she could feel the beat of his heart. With everyone else they spoke easily, casually. But when they danced, they had little to say to each other, and the conflagration continued to build.
It wasn’t yet midnight, not even eleven-thirty. But Daisy knew she needed to be sensible. While she wouldn’t turn into a pumpkin at midnight, and Izzy was keeping Charlie until the morning, a woman could stand just so much temptation.
But one more dance wouldn’t hurt, she thought as the music began again and, wordlessly, Alex drew her once more into his arms. They hadn’t danced with each other two dances in a row. But it seemed natural now. Right.
Inevitable.
Just as, inevitably, in a few minutes she would say thank-you for a nice evening and take her leave.
But now—just for a few moments more, Daisy allowed herself the luxury of lingering close to him, to luxuriate in the warmth and the nearness of his body, to relish the shiver she felt at his warm breath against her hair.
It’s all right, she assured herself. It’s just