came to a halt, the music stopped.
‘Well...’
Alyse laughed, slanting an amused glance at their still linked hands, the careful positioning of their arms. But she didn’t make any move to turn away, to break his hold. Instead she stayed where she was, eyes the bright green of purest emeralds as she looked up into his face.
‘I still want to dance...’
Dario didn’t give a damn about the dancing. But if it meant that she stayed here like this, hands touching, close to him, so that he could see the rise and fall of her breasts as she breathed, watch the colour come and go in her cheeks, inhale the warm soft scent of her body as it came up to him with his head bent down towards hers, then he wasn’t going to be the first to break away. So he stayed where he was and waited.
Luckily the next dance was another waltz and, after a couple of seconds counting the beat, Alyse launched into the steps, swaying sensuously, taking him with her. She was incredibly light-footed, barely seeming to touch the floor as she drifted over it.
* * *
I still want to dance...
Her own words echoed inside Alyse’s head, but she hardly recognised them for what they were. In that moment she had felt as if her mind was suddenly assailed by a multitude of sensations, buzzing and fizzing through her thoughts.
She hadn’t just wanted to dance. She had been overwhelmed by an uncontrollable hunger to dance with this man. To feel his hand in hers, his arms around her. And it had nothing to do with the idea that had been in her mind when she had first seen him. The wild plan to find someone who would help her put Marcus off. Who would—hopefully—stop his intent pursuit of her when nothing else had worked.
But this had nothing to do with that. It had only and everything to do with Dario Olivero and the man he was. The man who had knocked her off balance from the moment she had first seen him and from then it felt as if her mind was not her own.
‘Dario...’ She tried out his name, feeling it as strange on her tongue, catching on her lips. But it was swallowed up in the melody they were dancing to. ‘Dario...’ she tried again, louder this time.
The dark head bent, blue eyes connecting with hers, searing off a protective layer of skin so that she felt everything—every touch, every movement, the warmth of his breath as it stirred her hair with a new and shocking intensity. She didn’t know how she moved her feet, only managing to keep to the steps of the dance by pure instinct as her gaze locked with his.
‘You dance very well...’ she managed, a tumble of words over a tongue that was thickened with tension and awareness. ‘More than well,’ she added and felt rather than heard the rumble of laughter in his chest so close to her ear.
‘It’s a bit late to realise that,’ he teased softly. ‘What if I had two left feet and trampled you underfoot from the moment we started?’
I wouldn’t have minded. She had to clamp her lips shut fast to stop the words escaping from her unguarded mouth. She didn’t feel as if her feet belonged to her anyway. She could almost have been hovering six inches above the floor, her steps so light and beyond her control.
‘Then relax.’
‘I am relaxed.’
He didn’t respond—at least not verbally but the slow lifting of one dark brow to question her comment made her heart kick in stunned reaction. Her mind might be whirling in sensation, but her body was holding itself straight and upright as she had been taught in the dance classes her mother had insisted on at the exclusive school she’d attended. The distance between their bodies was tiny—barely there.
But then she looked up into those stunning blue eyes and her heart skipped a beat. There was so much less of that blue there now, the enlarged black of his pupils swallowing up all the colour until his gaze was like a lake of black glass in which she could see herself reflected, small and so very vulnerable. She lost time for a moment, and almost stumbled. She might have tripped if it hadn’t been for the strength of the arms supporting her, the width and power of the broad shoulder under her hand.
But it wasn’t vulnerability that made her heart kick so hard under the blue silk of her dress that she had to catch her breath on a hasty gasp. It was a realisation that made her head spin, her pulse race.
He felt it too.
She could hardly believe it but there could be little doubt it was true. Dario Olivero, the dark, dangerous-looking pirate who just minutes before had been a total stranger, was now in the grip of the same heated response that was burning her up like a bush fire. He was as aroused as she was, and she was close to swooning with need, weakened by the sort of sensual hunger that she had never known before.
‘Dario...’
This time his name was just a croak, the dryness of her mouth, her throat making it almost impossible to speak. But he caught it and a strange flicker of a smile curled the corners of his sensual mouth before he bent his head again and let his cheek rest against the side of her head, his lips brushing her hair as he whispered one word again.
‘Relax...’
Gently but irresistibly he drew her towards him, the pressure of one powerful hand tight against her back, the heat of his palm burning the exposed skin over her spine.
‘Relax...’ he repeated, the softly accented voice entrancing her.
She melted against him, her body curving against his, loose and pliant. Her head was against his chest so that she could hear the heavy, strong beat of his heart under her ear. The scent of him enclosed her, the sway of her body matching his, and she gave herself up to sensation, to an awareness and sensitivity that swept aside the possibility of any other feeling. The heavy pressure of his arousal against her stomach awoke an answering hunger deep inside, an ache of need that was both pleasure and a yearning that demanded to be assuaged.
But not yet. Not until she had enjoyed this sensation of closeness, this connection for a while longer, and taken from it all she could get.
* * *
He had a nerve, Dario told himself, telling her to relax, when all the time his whole body felt as if it was in the grip of a raging fever that threatened to burn him up, reducing any chance of control into a pile of ashes blowing round his head. The fact that she had obeyed him only added to the tautness of every nerve that stung with tension every time she moved.
The whisper of her soft soles on the floor, the swirl of the bright blue dress around her slender legs all worked on his senses with hypnotic effect. Every sense, every part of him, his whole concentration was on the woman he held in his arms—the feel of her, the scent, the touch of her against his hands, skin against skin. But it was not enough. He wanted more and yet he was not prepared to stop this, to have it end. Not yet, even if it was to move on to something more viscerally satisfying. Something that every cell in his body was starting to demand with hungry determination.
This wasn’t what he had planned on, what he had expected to happen. But right now he was more than prepared to let it go its own way. Any thought of thwarting Marcus’s plans had been relegated to the hazy part of his mind. He would let this play out as it was for now...
He drew in a sharp, controlling breath just as one song came to an end and the band began another one. A slow dance. The sort of dance that encouraged a man to take a woman in his arms and hold her close.
So had he made the move or had Alyse stepped closer, moving into his arms without hesitation? She was so close, curved against him, the arch of her body pressed against his at breast and waist and hip so that it was impossible that she couldn’t feel the heat and hardness of the hunger he was unable to disguise. She must feel it and yet she showed no sign at all of objecting. If anything, she slid a little closer, making him curse silently at the pleasure that was so close to pain that burned through him as a result.
‘Alyse...’
It was just a groan, a note of warning. A public gathering,