Fuck.

Fuck—

My cock strains painfully against the zipper of my slacks, and I move my hands to her velvet-clad hips to still her rhythmic rocking. She keeps that up and I’ll be causing all sorts of mayhem by dropping to my knees in the middle of the Morelli mansion and burying my face between her legs until she screams. Tempting. So damned tempting.

“Dance with me.”

Adrenaline burns in her dark eyes as she circles my wrists with shaking fingers. “I don’t want to dance.”

“You should.”

“Why?” She considers me with a tilt of her head and a wry twist of her lips. “So that you can sweep me off my feet like some gallant knight in shining armor?”

“No.”

“Then why?”

“Because I’m going to make you so wet for me, you’ll be begging me to fuck you in front of every one of these assholes who dares to make you feel like you don’t belong.”

Her throat works with a sudden swallow. “When you say things like that, it seems impossible to think that I hate you.”

“Trust me, you’ll want to carve out my heart soon enough.”

“Then why not tell me who you are and get it over with?”

“Because I’m a selfish bastard.” I step backward, tugging her toward the dance floor. “Because I’m no one’s knight in shining armor, least of all yours.” Below the hum of engaged guests, the haunting melody of Carol of the Bells begins to play, and I almost laugh at the irony. Every good and honorable thought disappeared the moment I caught sight of Laela’s necklace with its three tiny bells fixed to the center of the velvet cord. I’d wondered how loud they might chime if I fucked her from behind. I wonder, even now, if she knows how tempted I am to hook a finger over that velvet strap and treat it like a collar, one she has no hope of escaping.

Dragging her into my arms instead, I sweep her into the mix of dancing couples. “And because I like the way you look at me.”

“How is that?”

I lower my mouth to her ear. “Like you can already feel me owning your sweet cunt.”

Laela Donna isn’t easily offended but even she can’t pretend to be entirely unaffected. At my comment, her fingers find the stiff muscles of my shoulders and her nails threaten to carve half-moons into my flesh. Breathlessly, she demands, “You got past security tonight. How?”

“I’ve done business with Bryant Morelli in the past.” It’s not exactly a lie. Years ago, I worked a case with one of the guards stationed at the door. “What? Did you picture me climbing in through a window?”

Her dark eyes flit over my frame and linger briefly on my shoulders. “I doubt you’d fit through a window.”

“A compliment,” I murmur, allowing a small grin to touch my lips as I spin us in a slow circle, “be still my dead, un-beating heart.”