Bad Behaviour. Kristin Hardy
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still holding that against me?” he asked easily.
“Hell, yes. You walked off with my Smashing Pumpkins T-shirt.”
“Did I?” He suddenly found something in his glass very interesting.
“It was a collector’s item.”
“It was.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Define ‘was.” ’
“You can have it back if you want.” He cleared his throat. “Most of it.”
“Most of it?” she repeated dangerously.
“It got too small for me after a while. I’ve been using it to wax my car.”
Delaney breathed out through her nose. “I loved that shirt. You could have sent it back. My parents only moved away a couple of years ago.”
“Might be too small for you, too,” he said, studying her. “Although I bet it would look interesting.”
Something about the glint in his eyes had her swallowing. “Hmmph. You owe me, big time.”
“A drink?” he offered.
“More like free tire rotations for life.” He had good hands for rotating tires. And other things.
“All you’ve got to do is show up.”
“Don’t think I won’t, buddy. You’re responsible for burning out my CD player, too.”
“I am?”
“After the seventh straight day of playing ‘Nothing Compares 2 U,’ it started smoking.”
The corners of his mouth twitched.
“My sister’s still scarred from it. She threatened me the last time we were out driving and the song came on the radio.”
“They say family members are the first ones the cops interview after a murder.”
“Better that than wasting away. I started to, you know, after you broke my heart. Laid on my bed weeping. Walked around looking tragic, wasting away to skin and bones.”
“How long?”
“Oh, most of a week, at least. Jeff Doane helped comfort me in my time of need,” she added wickedly.
“Now that hurts. You never told me you took up with Jeff Doane.”
“You never asked me,” she tossed back at him. “Besides, you were the one who left me at the altar.”
“At the altar?”
“You’d promised to be my date for the Sadie Hawkins dance, remember? No date, no one to French kiss in the corner, no one’s lap to sit in for the picture, just me in my Daisy Dukes and my red check shirt. My life’s never been the same since. In fact, I don’t know why I’m even talking to you,” she added, enjoying herself.
“I’d be happy to give you a reason to.”
He looked down at her, eyes hot and dark and that quickly the breath clogged up in her throat. She’d kissed him for hours, once upon a time, sitting on the bleachers at the school yard, hanging out behind the garage. It had been a revelation, that first kiss, the soft pressure, the sliding heat and the sudden, surprising taste of him. His mouth had been her obsession, his mouth and the places it could take her, by turns gentle and more urgent, though neither of them quite knew what lay beyond. And she’d dreamed of him since, vivid, startling dreams that took her to places they’d never gone together.
Places she could go with him now.
“Yes. Well.” Desperately, she groped for something to say. Behind her, Eric was telling the others a tale of fighting off a fearsome barracuda armed only with an ill-fated crab.
“…two inch teeth, I’m telling you.”
Up at the gazebo, the band was doing a spirited rendition of “Livin’ La Vida Loca.” “Let’s dance.” Delaney rose abruptly, looking not for escape but time. No more of those quick, brushing kisses from him to scramble her mind, not until she was ready for it. Although, from the look in his eyes, he’d given up the idea of brushing kisses for something more…ambitious.
And she had no objection, at least in theory. Getting naked with him would be all well and good—more like excellent, probably—but only as long as she was driving things. After all, she needed to torment him at least a little for his sins. She couldn’t have him thinking that it was fine to waltz back up with a glance and a smile after dropping her sixteen years before. He needed to work for it, first.
Or she needed to work him.
So she headed for the floor without checking to see if he followed.
The song had her snapping her fingers, nodding her head even before they stepped onto the painted concrete in front of the band. It was crowded enough to force them to dance close, Delaney saw in satisfaction, with enough room to let her move. And move she could. She wasn’t Thea, with years of training, but when the beat got into her, it was the next best thing to sex.
IT WASN’T THE FLAILING they’d done as kids to Depeche Mode and Jane’s Addiction, Dom thought. Delaney wasn’t a kid anymore and she didn’t dance like one. Hips swinging to the rhythm of the music, counterpointed by her shoulders, she danced like a woman.
Her arms and hands wove teasing patterns through the air and all he could think of was how she’d look undressing for him, pulling that stretchy green dress up bit by bit, over her hips to her waist to reveal smooth, golden skin. Sliding it up to her breasts and over her head, tossing it aside to come to him, soft and warm and naked. All that, somehow, was suggested by her movements: the abandon, the arousal, the demand.
The desire.
He didn’t hear the beat so much as feel it, thumping out of the speakers, pulsing up through the floor, vibrating off her. And then she reached out to put her hands on his shoulders, never missing a step but swaying her own shoulders back and forth so that they were now moving in sync, moving as one.
Moving with the rhythm of sex.
Her eyes seemed bigger, darker, filled with adventure. She slid her hands up to run her fingers through his hair so that all his nerve endings came to the alert. And always to the beat, always the sinuous movements of her body that made him think now of how she’d move on top of him, against him. Slowly, eyes wide and staring into his, she let her hands slide down his neck, moving in closer now, hips bumping him, mouth tempting. He felt her fingers trail teasingly over his chest, dipping into the open collar of his shirt then going lower.
He could feel himself starting to get hard, watching her, feeling her, inhaling the scent of her that rose all around him. He reached for her hips without conscious volition, knowing only that he had to touch her or go crazy. It was all too much, the beat, the motion, the gleam of arousal in her eyes. And he was so absorbed in trying to tame his hard-on that he almost didn’t notice when she slipped her hands up to his shirt buttons, unfastening first one, then the next.
“Getting a little warm in here, isn’t it?” she said into his ear.
When she slid her hands inside the fabric, he jolted. A hot flash of triumph flared in her eyes. And he could only stare in that first stunned second as she traced her fingers over his bare skin, over his chest, over the tightening muscles of his belly. He ached to be away from all these people, to have her against him naked, ached to bury himself in her.
Her fingers dropped to the next button.
In self-defense, he clamped a hand around her wrist. “That’s good for now,” he rasped, as the song stopped.
Her laugh was quick and sultry. “Oh, I don’t think so. I’m just getting started here.”
“Outside, then.”
“What, no bad behavior for a nice private-school boy like you? Come