Hiding His Witness by C. J. Miller Page B

pressing her hand to his chest. Reilly swayed slightly, his body in time with the music. “Just relax,” he whispered. “Close your eyes and let me lead you.”
    His eyes were closed, so she shut hers and let his strong arms guide her. She was no Ginger Rogers, but at least she didn’t step on his feet. He wasn’t planted in one space, either. He moved, his hips brushing her body, his knee touching the inside of her thigh. Her skin prickled with sensation and her pulse scrambled to catch up with her racing heart.
    He did the work and she was along for the ride. As Reilly moved, he hummed quietly, and she leaned closer to hear him, basking in the heat of his body. The deep timbre of his voice shivered along her spine and he adjusted his arms around her, closing the inches between them. Achy, hungry desire amplified inside her.
    “Carey,” he said, each syllable catching on the music.
    Opening her eyes, she met his gaze and fell into her lust-charged emotions. The fire in his eyes matched the heat in his voice.
    She’d let herself have this one song, just this one to blot out Mark and the Vagabond Killer, and then she’d jolt herself right back into reality. One song wouldn’t cause any harm, would it?
    Her body was completely turned over to him. She lifted her mouth, her lips parted in invitation. He wasn’t any more immune to her than she was to him. She saw the kiss in his dark eyes before he lowered his head to deliver it. His lips fell onto hers, brushing, light, giving.
    A deep, burning need sliced through her. He brushed his lips over hers, soft and unhurried. He stopped dancing and threw his complete attention to what they were doing, his lips sending shockwaves over her body, his kiss making promises she knew he couldn’t keep. I’ll protect you. I’ll keep you safe. You’re mine.
    His hands reached into the back of her hair and angled her head to kiss her more deeply. She melted against him, her body to his, his arousal pressed into her stomach. The sensual slide of his hands urged her on, more, faster. She wanted to scream because what he was doing felt so amazing.
    His hands moved to her sides. “Is this okay?” he asked, lifting his mouth slightly from hers.
    “What?” she asked breathlessly, pressing her lips to his, desperate for his touch, wanting to savor every moment. How long had it been since she’d been in the warm embrace of a man? She knew for certain she’d never kissed a man like Reilly. It had never felt this way.
    “Your ribs. Does it hurt when I touch you here?” he asked, brushing his hands down her back.
    His touch ignited passion that flared in her belly, spreading to every part of her. “No, no, everything you’re doing feels good.”
    He growled low in his throat, a sound echoing hunger. He walked backward to the couch and lowered himself, taking her with him, setting her legs over his hips so she was straddling him.
    Kneeling over him, she cupped his face in her palms, lifting his head. She held his gaze and lost herself in his eyes. “You’re a good man, Reilly Truman.” He’d done what no other man had. He’d kept her safe, protected her, risked his safety for hers. When this was over, she wanted him to remember those words. They were the greatest truth she had spoken since she’d met him, no half-truth, no honesty hidden behind semantics. He was an impossibly honorable man—her head knew it and her heart feared it. She could too easily fall for him and trick herself into thinking she’d get a happily ever after.
    Knowing this may be the only time they had together sent desperation and hunger spiraling in her veins. Carey ground her hips against his pelvis, the rough fabric of her jeans creating the perfect friction. He set his hands on her hips, sliding her along his hardness, lifting his hips and circling them against her.
    Emotions bombarded her from every direction, tenderness, warmth and lust. Her eyelids grew heavy and the pressure between her legs