Strobe lights illuminated the dance floor with streaks of magenta, amber, and violet, the rich hues whirring to the rhythm of the high-energy Latin music pulsing like a heartbeat throughout the club. Samiah hadn’t had a particular purpose in mind when she’d pulled on her favorite Betsey Johnson midi dress with the ruffled hem, but it turned out to be the perfect choice for tonight. The flouncy fabric caressed her thighs with every twist and twirl. She felt sexy. Alive.

Free.

She had never felt so fucking free. Her makeup had long since melted off, and her hair was no doubt a mess from their nonstop dancing in the sweltering nightclub. But she did not care. Not even a little bit. The only thing she cared about right now was soaking in as much fun as possible.

“You owe me an explanation, mister,” she said when she twisted toward Daniel.

“What for?”

She made a turn and spoke over her shoulder. “I thought you said you couldn’t dance?”

He caught her wrist and pulled her in close. “I never said I couldn’t dance. I said I don’t.” He released her, then hauled her back with a reverse cross-body move that set her panties on fire. “Back when I was deployed, we had to find ways to keep ourselves occupied. One of the guys from my squadron was from Miami. He gave free lessons.”

She swayed her hips back, then came forward, bracing her chest against his. “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”

His gaze dropped to her lips. “More than you know.”

Her heart rate skyrocketed, her shallow breaths causing her breasts to pulse against his solid chest. An ache she’d tried her best to ignore throbbed low in her belly, an indicator of the pleasure that awaited her. All she had to do was ask for it.

Instead she stepped back and pressed her hand to her throat. “If I don’t get something to drink I’m going to die in the middle of this club.”

He took her by the hand and led her off the dance floor. They made their way toward the large semicircular chrome bar that encompassed the far left side of the club, but as they drew closer she felt the muscles of Daniel’s forearm stiffen. His steps faltered.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Samiah asked.

“What?” He looked at her and then just beyond her to a couple sitting at one of the pub tables in the area surrounding the bar. “It’s nothing,” he said. “I just noticed a friend.”

His stride was measured as they approached the table. The guy, whose haircut—shaved on the sides and long on the top—made him look younger than the crow’s feet etched into the corners of his eyes betrayed, stared at Daniel, a curious lift to his brow.

“Uh, hey,” Daniel said. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”