Clearing my throat, I whisper, “I’m a married woman.”
“You keep saying that, but I’m not sure I care.” A pause. “I’m not sure you care either.”
He runs a fingertip along the curve of my hip, and I jump, my throat slamming closed as I attempt to hide the reaction.
“Are you planning on having any fun tonight, Adeline? Or has your life become so boring, you’ve forgotten what it is?”
I don’t answer him, but it doesn’t stop Ari from having his fun.
Another soft slide of a fingertip, this time down the center of my nape, the secret touch hidden by the fall of my hair.
“I hope you know I plan to wrap my fist in this hair the first time I sink inside you.”
My entire body shivers, my lungs struggling to breathe as he pulls his hand away.
Voice a low croon, he asks, “Will you dance with me?”
Swallowing several times before I can answer, I lie to him. “I don’t dance.”
But it makes me remember when I used to lose myself to the beat of music, the hours I would spend happily working myself into a full body sweat, my hair wild, my heart pounding. I’d felt so free then. So unencumbered by the weight of responsibility that came with being the wife of Grant Cabot.
“I think you do,” he whispers.
“My husband doesn’t dance,” I say, my voice firmer because it makes me angry to admit it.
A soft chuckle. “Then it’s a good thing I’m not your husband.”