Page 4 of Secret Obsession
He kind of makes my skin crawl, especially when he steps up and grabs my hip.
“Yeah, fine.” I jerk my chin toward the mass of writhing bodies ahead of me. The music is loud, so we’re more lip-reading than hearing each other. The bass thrums in my chest, vibrating in a pleasant way, but I don’t want him—or anyone—to kill the feeling. “I’m going to dance.”
“I’ll join you.”
The hulking guy behind me trails in my wake to the center of the dancing bodies and immediately paws at my waist. His hands are too high, just under my breasts, and I’m flooded with discomfort. He pulls me into him, my ass against his groin. Against his erection.
Nope.
I force a laugh and twist in his arms, using my hand to leverage some distance between us. My fingers are positively tiny on his chest. “Not the kind of dancing I was talking about, big guy.”
He really is large. Packed with muscles and fat, and he’s got the height of a linebacker. He rolls his eyes and reaches for me again. “You don’t mean that.”
A tendril of fear winds through me, but I refuse to let it show. I only half-heartedly fight as he drags me back into his chest, and then his hand is moving down my front. He gropes me between my legs, and my vision goes white.
What thefuck?
I shove away and stumble backward, looking around. I don’t know if anyone saw it. No one’s even paying attention to me. I’m so focused on putting distance between me and him that I back right into someone else.
New hands brush my sides, and lips press to my ear. “You like trouble, hmm?”
For a second, my heart stops.
Knox wouldn’t be here—and he wouldn’t approach me. I glance over my shoulder, and it’s only because he withdraws an inch that I don’t end up accidentally kissing him. That’s happened before. Not the accidental part, but the making out while dancing.
Except it’s not Knox. It’s Miles.
I think, in this moment, that I’m more pissed because it’s him. The one who knew about the bet and did nothing to warn me. The one who let me fall on my ass in front ofeveryone.
The one who watches me like he’s the only one who pays attention.
“Don’t touch me,” I hiss.
His hands do the opposite, his fingers inching up to the open skin between my shorts and crop top. I slap at him, but he just whirls me around and into his chest. His knee slips between my legs, and suddenly, we’redancing.
Against my will, but… whatever. It’s like my body knows that dancing relaxes me, and I just automatically fall into his movements.
Because damn.
The guy can move.
“I’m rescuing you.”
His hands press into the small of my back, keeping me locked against him. Everywhere he touches is electric, and I loathe my reaction to him. His voice curls in my ear like smoke, and I inhale sharply when his lips touch my skin.
“That guy looked like he was two seconds away from ravaging you on the dance floor.”
“Who says I don’t want to be ravaged on the dance floor?” I force out, even though it makes me sick. Because hewastouching me against my will, and that was why I was in the process of getting away from him.
But I especially don’t want to be handled by Miles. Or anyone with the last nameWhiteshaw.
I step back. My body doesn’t really want to go, but I need the distance to think clearly. And breathe. A glance over my shoulder tells me that the older guy has drifted away, and he’s with some other dark-haired girl at the bar.
“I’m going to get another drink,” I yell. “If you don’t want that guy dancing with me, run interference. That’s probably a new one for you, since you’re usually all by yourself at the goal…”
He watches me with dark eyes. Well, his eyes are anything but dark—they’re brilliant blue, unfortunately. But with the dim lighting in the nightclub, and the way he’s glaring at me, it sure seems like he’s dark.
I shiver and slip away. I squeeze between two bodies, not at all ashamed by the way I duck and run to the bar.
