The hand on my hip moved upward, stroking my side, my arm, and then coming to rest against my chest. Not my chest-chest, but my sternum. His thumb stroked my clavicle and I sighed. It wasn’t loud enough that he would have heard, but he definitely felt it.

I could tell, because he smiled.

A slow, wicked smile.

Then, with his other arm wrapped fully around my waist, he gave my chest a gentle push.

Somehow, I knew exactly what he was doing, and this time, I did swoon back. I let my body go limp and collapse over his arm.

He should have stumbled. Should have lost his balance.

But he was Gabe Parker and he knew exactly what he was doing.

His grip on me was ironclad, and before I knew it, I’d been swung back up into his arms.

What is this Dirty Dancing shit? I thought as I was pulled upright.

My mouth was hanging open. It felt like a scene out of a movie. The whole thing was bizarre and surreal and unbearably sexy.

Gabe was looking down at me, smiling a very smug smile. The competitive side of me couldn’t let that stand. I did a move of my own, circling my hips against his, arching my back so my breasts—as modest and inoffensive as they were—pressed up against his chest and his hand slid back to touch my ass.

The smugness vanished into surprise—as if he hadn’t been expecting that. Hadn’t been expecting any of it. Especially how he felt. Because I could feel exactly how he felt. And it felt good. Felt intoxicating. Felt powerful.

Here was one of the hottest guys on the planet—according to People magazine—and he was turned on and pressed up against me.

I licked my lips. He watched.

Something was going to happen.

Except, it didn’t.

Because at that exact moment, Ollie resurfaced, dancing right into us. We broke apart, Gabe adjusted his pants, and I did my best not to stare. I didn’t succeed much, and when Gabe caught me, he gave me the same naughty, wonderful grin as before. The kind of grin that told me that if I wanted to get out of there with him, very, very wicked things might be in my immediate future.

“Come on,” Ollie said, either not noticing what was happening between me and Gabe, or saving me from it.

He gave my hand a tug, and I heard a rip. I didn’t have to look to know that my dress had torn—I could feel the slight breeze against my side.

Ollie pulled me away, deeper into the throng of bodies on the dance floor. I caught a glimpse of Gabe standing there on the edge of it all. He lifted a hand and then he was gone.

Film Fans

THE HILDEBRAND RARITY REVIEW

By Nicole Schatz