So Much More (Made for Love #3) (15 page)

The only way to quench the fire is to speak, to douse the flame with the clarity that comes with words. I don’t want this feeling to end. Not yet. So instead of saying hello, I slip out of my jacket. I toss it onto my vacant chair and then bring my eyes back up to meet his. I steal his move and wink at him before I leave him for the dance floor.

I’m vaguely aware that I should have introduced him to my friends, but I can’t bring myself to feel any remorse for my rudeness. This isn’t about them. It’s about me. It’s about me feeling bold and beautiful for the first time in
months
. I can’t let go of this feeling. I won’t.

As the sound from the stage pulls me into the crowd—away from Brandon—I feel my confidence slip. The question,
will he come?,
blares louder than the music that sends vibrations through my chest. I’m placated just slightly when Millie and Aria join me.

“Holy
shit,
that was fucking amazing!” cries Millie.

“I agree,” says Aria, fanning herself. “You’re a saucy little minx!”

I manage a small laugh, hoping they’re right. “What if he doesn’t come?”

“He will!” they say in unison.

“Just dance with us,” Aria instructs, taking my hands in hers before lifting our arms up over our heads.

I obey, my hips swaying to the beat. As I begin to let myself go, surrendering to the sound and movement that’s happening all around me, I feel a pair of hands glide down my sides. I don’t know how I know that they aren’t Brandon’s, but I do. Aria nods at me, encouraging me to keep dancing. When his grip tightens around my hips, pulling me back against him, I try and stay loose, but I feel uncomfortable. I want Brandon, not some faceless stranger with greedy hands.

Then he’s there—
here
. I blink and Brandon’s making his way between Millie and Aria—making his way towards
me
. He reaches for my hand, gently drawing me away from whoever is at my back. I see it, when his gaze shifts behind me, an unspoken warning darkening his hazel eyes. In an instant, the hands around my hips let me go. Brandon guides my arms around his neck before sliding one of his legs between mine. He locks an arm around me, pulling me so close I can hardly breathe, and then we’re dancing. We’re dancing! I fucking love every second of it.

Shit—this man knows how to move!

A
FEW HOURS AGO,
I was trying to get Sarah to go home after her twelve-hour shift. My attempts were halfhearted, but they were there. When I finally got her out of the shop, I was so ahead of schedule, I wasn't sure what to do with myself for the next couple of hours. By the time LB closed, Rachael and I had so little to do, we were out in ten minutes. It would have taken fifteen, but I had reason to move my ass. Rachael assumed I was worried about missing too much of Sage's set. I let her believe that.

Truth be told, I was anxious to see the woman now in my arms.

When I walked into The Brew Cycle, I spotted her in less than ten seconds. Even from behind, in a sea of people, she's undeniably recognizable to me—her long blonde locks hanging gracefully down her back. I bypassed the bar, heading straight for her, unable to deny myself the pleasure of seeing her face for another minute. As I approached, she stood to her feet. For a second, I caught a glimpse of her profile and my heart skipped a beat.

I knew it then—knew that I was fooling myself, thinking I could stay away.

I knew that I would make her mine—needed to make her mine.

Not just for tonight. No, one night would never do.

I want her everyday, I want her every night, because she fucking owns me
.

There's so much I don't know about her, but I don't care. For the last six days, she's invaded my thoughts, she's inhabited my dreams, she's made my body hyperaware of hers, and she's stolen my beat-up heart—
and I don’t want it back
.

I have no idea what the H stands for in
Sarah H. Prescott
, but I know that I've never met a more generous soul. Other than my blueberry crumble muffin, I haven’t a clue what her favorite food is, but I know what joy she gets when she busies her hands in the kitchen. I don't know the story behind the pain that haunts her, stealing the light from her perfect blue eyes, but I'm going to find out. I’m going to find out everything.

I want all of her—Every. Detail.

Earlier, as I closed the distance between us, I promised myself that I'd be patient. Patient with her. Patient with myself. I promised myself to take things slow, to take my time with her, because she's worth it. She's so fucking worth it. I want to be more than the rebound she hooked up with after that married bastard did God knows what to her—I want to be the one to protect her heart. When she looked up at me and tugged her lip into her mouth, I dared to imagine what we could be.

Then she winked at me.

My sweet girl winked at me and I came undone.

I tried to take a breath. I tried to think with my head and not my cock. I tried to let her go, reminding myself that I was going to take things slow. Then some guy came out of nowhere and put his hands on her. I definitely wasn't having that. Not a chance in hell.

Now, with her pressed against me—wrapped around me, holding onto me, teasing me, baiting me—I can't get enough. Our movements are synced as we sway, bump, grind. I'm so turned on, it's not even funny, but I try and keep my hands in check. No need to molest her on the dance floor. She's giving me more than I’ve earned already.

When one song ends and another begins, neither of us tries to part from the other. Instead, she spins around and presses her back to my front, pulling her hair to one shoulder before reaching up to rest her hand around my neck. To lessen her reach, I bury my face in her neck. She giggles and my hold around her waist tightens.

“What's so funny, Sunshine?” I mumble, my lips grazing her skin.

“Your beard,” she begins to say, rubbing her fingers across my cheek. “It tickles.”

“My bad,” I chuckle, pulling away from her.

“No—” she protests, turning just enough to meet my eyes. “I didn't mean—”

Before she can finish her sentence, I bring my lips to her ear. “Is this better?”

She nods and my stomach tingles.

Butterflies. She gives me fucking butterflies. Unbelievable.

When the song to our second dance ends, Mountains & Men decide to slow things down. Sarah lets me go as she turns to face me. I can tell by the look in her eyes that she’s wondering if I want to slow dance with her. The answer is,
hell yes.
Unfortunately, what I want and what I need are currently at odds. I
want
to stay on this dance floor with her for the rest of the night. But as my gaze falls to her full lips, parted as she works to catch her breath, I know that I
need
to put some distance between us.

If I don’t, I’ll kiss her.

I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that I’m way too heated up to kiss her now. I know, with every fiber of my being, that if I pressed my lips to hers, it’d be the most scorching kiss she's ever known. I’d have her up against the wall in a second. I wouldn’t be able to stop myself.
This
I know. Just thinking about it has me biting my lip in an attempt to contain the desire that’s burning a hole through my gut right now. The little bit of self-control I’ve managed to grab hold of is being expended as I tell myself—
Not here. Not now.

Instead of pulling her back into my arms, I take hold of her chin, tilting her head up as I lower my forehead to rest against hers. “How ‘bout a drink?”

“Okay,” she agrees.

I take her hand and lead her through the crowd. I see that her friends have made their way back to the table, but I don’t let her go as we head to the bar. She’s too damn gorgeous to be left alone. The vultures would be swooping in the second my back was turned.

When we reach the bar, she orders the New Belgium seasonal beer. I make that two and then shift my focus back to Sarah as we wait. I watch as she looks around and I get the feeling she’s a bit more anxious now than she was when we were on the dance floor. I understand the feeling. Out there, in a crowd full of people that’s teeming with energy, anything goes. Here, despite our linked hands, the separation between us muddles what’s real. I’m quick to put her at ease and set the record straight.

“I hope you weren’t feeling that guy who I stole you from,” I tease, remembering the way she came willingly into my arms when I pulled her away from him.

“I was actually wondering what took you so long,” she fires back with a smile.

I laugh, emboldened by her answer. “It won’t happen again. And for the record, I’m not letting you walk out of this bar with anyone but me.”

She grins at me and I claim that smile as mine. Noticing our beers have arrived, she’s quick to snatch hers up before she speaks her reply. “Then you better not let me go,” she says, turning to head toward her friends.

I grab my beer and follow her tug, more than willing to take advantage of her invitation to keep her close all night. When we reach the table, she braces herself against me as she steps up to settle herself in her chair. I smile to myself, amused at how much of a relief it is to still be touching her as she introduces me to Josh, Aria, and Millie.

I’m impressed her roommate came with them. From what Sarah has told me, they didn’t get off to a very good start. I express my thoughts wordlessly and Sarah reads my face accurately, offering me another smile and a shrug. I can tell she’s making an effort as she steers the conversation toward Millie, asking her roommate questions in an attempt to get to know her better. It’s not hard to learn that she isn’t the easiest person in the world to talk to, but Aria and Josh jump in and pretty soon we’re all sharing details about ourselves.

I pay extra attention to everything Sarah says.

It’s not long before the band announces their last song and everyone at the table falls silent so that we can listen in. I feel it when Sarah starts to pull her hand away from mine and I tighten my grip before turning to lift an eyebrow at her.

“Can I borrow it?” she asks with a giggle.

“No,” I reply, lacing my fingers between hers. A sly smile tugs at my lips when I see a hint of a blush color her cheeks.

I’ve never seen her blush before
.

“I’ll give it back. I just—”

I lean in closer to speak softy in her ear. “You said not to let you go and I don’t intend to.”
I wonder if she can sense the double meaning in my declaration
. “I’ve been trying my damnedest to keep my hands to myself all week. I can’t do it anymore.”

“Okay. Yeah. You win. Keep it,” she insists with a nod.

I chuckle as I return to my full height and then watch as she tries to gather her hair off of her shoulders, cluing me into why she wanted her hand. The prospect of getting to run my fingers through her hair is too great to pass up. Without a second thought, I trail a finger up her neck, catching the soft, thick, wavy strands before sweeping them onto her back. I then tuck a few strands behind her ear. She watches me as I do it and the look she gives me makes me want to kiss her.

Dammit. Not here. Not now.

“I’m heading up for some water. Who needs a refill?” asks Josh, effectively shattering the tension between Sarah and me.

“Oh, me,” Aria answers, lifting up her empty glass.

“Me too,” pipes in Sarah.

I give my bottle a shake, confirming that I’m empty, too. However, if we plan on staying much longer, I’ll need to stay sober. It’s the only way I’ll be able to control myself around Sarah. I barely trust myself now, let alone while intoxicated.

Not here. Not now.

I shake my head at Josh when he points at me.

As soon as Sage and his band are done playing and loading up their gear, clearing the stage for the next band, he comes and finds us. I can tell he’s still hyped from his performance, which is why he has the balls to ask Millie if he can buy her a drink. Earlier in the night, I learned that she’s twenty-six—like me—making her five years older than Sage. I find it amusing to watch him spit his game; but when it works, I think we all share the same amount of shock as we watch them walk away.