Anticipation (15 page)

Which meant she had no business letting him touch her like this. She should call a halt to this little exercise in masochism right this second.

“That the spot?” he asked, his left thumb zeroing in on a knot that made her twitch and squirm beneath his hands.

“God. Yes.” Her hands clamped onto the edge of the table as her head dropped forward to allow him greater access to her neck and shoulders.

Eddie’s laugh was so low she felt it more than heard it, the sound rumbling along her nerve endings as he dug into her muscles with his clever hands.

“I’ve got a client in five,” he warned her. “Don’t get too comfortable.”

There wasn’t much chance of that happening. Frankly, she was having trouble controlling her breathing, his touch was so distracting, so compelling. Heat rushed south, pooling between her thighs as he worked his way along her shoulders to her neck. The press of his thumbs into the hollow at the base of her skull was so erotic she could feel her nipples hardening against the soft fabric of her bra.

This was why she’d said no to his offer to finish the tattoo on her back — being this close to him, having his hands on her was nothing short of torture. There was literally no way she could endure the many hours of physical intimacy required for Eddie to complete the design he’d sketched for her. Far better, she’d figured, to say no to a truly beautiful design than to sentence herself to endless sensual torment. Even though rejecting Eddie had hurt, too. She’d hated seeing the disappointment in his eyes when he’d clearly put so much time and effort into the sketch.

But pretty much every decision she made these days hurt, really.

She twitched as Eddie found a particularly good spot, unable to stop a low hum of appreciation from escaping.

“Jesus. I might need a cigarette after this little floor show,” Renarto said, and like that, Blue was back in the room, aware of exactly how revealing her expression must be as she tried to contain her response to Eddie’s hands on her body.

Heat rushed into her face, the rush of self-consciousness so intense her armpits prickled with sweat. She kept her chin tucked to her chest, her whole body taut as a bow as she battled against herself.

“You weren't kidding about being tight,” Eddie said.

“Yeah. I should probably go home and have a bath or something.” She lifted her head, signaling that he should stop now.

“Still got two minutes on the clock. Might as well make use of them,” he said, his thumbs doing amazing things to the small muscles either side of her neck.

She wanted to protest, but for the life of her she couldn’t come up with a single good reason for him to stop doing something she’d been begging Corey to do five minutes ago.

This is what’s called being hoist on your own petard
.

And then some.

She closed her eyes, guiltily aware of how turned on she was. Finally, Eddie lifted his hands from her shoulders and she almost sagged with relief.

“Better?” he asked.

She forced herself to look over her shoulder. “Much, thanks.”

He didn’t need to know that she was about a million times more tense than when he’d started. That was her problem, not his.

Somehow she dredged up a carefree smile and managed to keep it on her face until Eddie left the room to collect his next client. The moment he was gone, she pushed back her chair.

“You guys have a good weekend,” she said before grabbing her things and heading for the exit.

She didn’t slow until she’d reached the privacy of her car. Then she pressed her forehead against the hard rim of the steering wheel.

Things weren’t getting any better with Eddie. Ignoring her desire wasn’t getting any easier, and her feelings weren’t getting any more bearable. It had been nearly four months since the accident. Four months of going up in flames when he walked into a room. Four months of wanting something with acute, painful longing. Four months of constantly monitoring herself and being afraid of her own feelings lest she do something irreversible.

It was too much. Something had to give — and she was terrified it would be her. She’d already blurred the lines by fantasizing about Eddie while making herself come. What would be next?

She didn’t want to find out. She needed to do something to short circuit the situation, and she needed to do it
now,
because she was sick to death of arriving home from work wet and needy and aching.

Her resolve hardened as she drove, and when she pulled into her parking spot beneath her apartment building she grabbed her phone and made a call to Steffi.

“Yo. You up for a night out? I want to get a bit crazy,” she said.

“Woo hooo! Blue’s back. Absolutely, baby. Where do you want to go? Mojo?”

Blue thought about the dark, underground vibe at her favorite dance club. Friday nights were always pumping at Mojo, which meant it was perfect for her purposes.

“Meet you there around ten?” Blue said.

“Done. Oh, man. I know I’m going to regret this tomorrow, but who cares?” Steffi laughed.

Blue ended the call, then climbed out of her car and took the lift to her level. She let herself into her apartment, dumped her gear on the couch in the living room, then went straight to the bedroom. Opening the closet, she pulled out her tightest black jeans and threw them on the bed. The chest of drawers yielded her sauciest underwear — sheer black mesh and lace that always made her feel invincible. She hesitated a moment over what to wear on top, then picked a sleeveless black top that made the most of her cleavage.

Why not? She was going out to get laid, and she might as well shout it from the rooftops.

She would go to Mojo, and she would find a hot guy, and she would fuck him until she couldn’t move or think or feel. She would do it even though her stomach dropped at the thought, even though the only man she wanted was Eddie.

She would do it because it had to be done.

Chapter Ten

Grimly determined, Blue kicked off her boots and padded barefoot into the kitchen. She unearthed the bottle of vodka from the freezer where it had been hibernating since her accident and grabbed a glass from the cupboard. She drank two shots in quick succession, then she stripped and went into the bathroom.

She washed herself perfunctorily, refusing the temptation to finish what Eddie had started when he’d touched her in the staff room less than an hour ago. She would take that need and make it work for her. She would dance until there was nothing but music and movement, and she would find a man. Because there would be someone. There had to be, despite how she felt right now. Her heart might not be in it at first, but once she had a few drinks in her, once she’d gotten up close and personal with a hard body on the dance floor, the rest would fall into place.

She spent some time on her makeup and hair, then dressed and sprayed strategic body parts with her favorite perfume. Then she killed time with
Far Cry 4
. At 9:30 she downed another couple of shots of vodka and called a cab. While she was waiting, she fired up The Heavy’s “How You Like Me Now” and walked around her apartment psyching herself up for the night ahead.

She was going to dance.

And she was going to get naked with a stranger and purge Eddie from her system.

And it was going to be good. If it killed her.

The streets were busy, and it took the cab driver longer than she’d expected to jockey his way to the hidden corner of the city that was home to Mojo. Blue’s belly felt tight as she exited the car and walked the short distance to the entrance. Dumb as it was, she was more than a little anxious. Probably because she felt desperate. Desperate and urgent and more than a little reckless.

A healthy dose of Jack Daniels would probably fix that. Her phone vibrated in her back pocket as she elbowed her way to the bar. She pulled it out and checked it. Steffi was looking for her, having just arrived herself. Blue told her where to find her and ordered two JDs while she waited for Steffi to make her way through the crowd.

“You ready to rock this thing?” Steffi asked, her white blonde hair streaming straight down her back and her midriff bared by a revealing bustier top. Like Blue, her jeans were painted on, and she took the glass Blue offered her with a grateful smile.

“Hell, yeah,” Blue said, clinking glasses with her colleague.

“Pity Lena’s not here — would be like old times.” Steffi had to shout to be heard over the music.

Blue shrugged philosophically. It would be awesome if Lena was here, because no one partied like Lena, but she wasn’t. She was on the other side of the world dealing with her own crazy shit.

Blue’s gaze went to the dance floor, her body already starting to sway in time to the music. She literally itched to get out there and
move
. For nearly four months she’d been held prisoner by her injury, restricted first by pain and a cast and crutches, then by a brace and yet another crutch. Last week, her doctor had shown her the bright line of new bone that had formed across her break and told her she was officially healed.

Tonight, she would make his words reality. She would take back control of her body and her mind.

The club was crowded and getting more so with every minute, and she let her gaze slide over the dancers, looking for someone, something to spark her interest. A set of shoulders. A firm ass. A mouth that promised good times.

There were a couple of potential suspects — a tall, built blond guy who knew how to move, and a dark-haired guy with some wicked blackwork tattoos on his shoulders and arms. Blue slugged the last of her JD and slid her glass onto a nearby table.

“You coming?” she said to Steffi.

She didn’t wait for her friend’s answer, simply headed for the dance floor. It was crowded, but she didn’t hesitate, slipping in between the gyrating bodies. Seconds later Steffi joined her, and Blue let the music take her.

The bass beat vibrated up through the soles of her boots as she rolled her hips and torso in time to the music. After a couple of songs, they were both covered with a light sheen of sweat and Blue was starting to feel buzzed with a combination of feel-good hormones and alcohol. One of her favorite songs came on and she punched the air, letting out a little whoop of approval.

God, it felt amazing to move. To be alive. To have air in her lungs and blood pumping through her veins.

She lost track of time as one song blended into the next. There was only the music thumping and her body moving. She switched smoothly between the hip-hop of her teen years to the sinuous rolling hip movements of the Kizomba and Reggaeton, both dances Eddie had introduced her to. She reveled in the smooth, loose feeling of her body and the beautiful, mindless joy of shaking her ass.

At some point, Renarto joined them, then Hans, and Blue realized Steffi must have issued a general invitation to the gang at work. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask if Steffi had spoken to Eddie, but she stopped herself from doing so. She felt too good right now to let herself get bound up in all the worry and strategizing that had occupied her since the accident. She didn’t want to think. She wanted to dance. She wanted to forget. She wanted to let loose in the best possible way.

She was working her hips, hands stretched above her head when she felt someone come up behind her. Her pulse leaped with undeniable, familiar excitement as an arm came around her waist, pulling her against a hard chest and thighs.

Eddie
.

Her body knew his touch, and for a moment she was awash with despair. This was supposed to be her escape. Her release. He wasn’t supposed to be here.

Then he started to move, his hips gyrating in time with hers, their bodies slipping instinctively into a rhythm they’d perfected over the years, and it felt so good, so right.

No one danced like Eddie. No one.

After a few seconds, Eddie spoke near her ear. “Welcome back, babe.”

For the life of her, she couldn’t stop herself from smiling. Maybe that made her insane or self-destructive. Right now, she was beyond caring.

Together they rolled their hips, the movement provocative and supremely well-practiced. The hand on her belly flexed, subtly leading her, and she spun in his arms so that they were now face-to-face. Locked hip to hip, her right hand held at chin height in his left, they slipped into a bass-driven Kizomba, Eddie’s hand on the small of her back directing her backward across the dance floor. She flicked and rolled her hips in synch with his, responding to the thigh he insinuated between her own. The beat changed, and they broke apart, losing the relative formality of the Kizomba and descending into loose-limbed hip-hop, still taunting one another with advance and retreat moves.

The euphoria that had swept through her earlier was nothing compared to the rush of pure exaltation that was dancing with Eddie. His beautiful body was responsive, strong, and supple, and she loved the masterful way he guided her with his hands, eyes, and hips. Not that she was completely at his mercy. She gave as good as she got, challenging him, daring him to follow where she led. He always did, taking up the gauntlet with wickedly glinting eyes and an almost-smile.

They came together again as a slower, dirtier song came on, bodies slipping into perfect harmony. He moved forward, she fell back. She attacked, he retreated. The leather and amber scent of Eddie’s aftershave filled her head as he dragged her closer, his chest brushing the tips of her breasts, his hips brushing briefly against hers. Immediately he moved away, restoring the tiny buffer zone they always kept between them on the dance floor.