venture farther than the liquor cabinet. Lizzie brought orange juice and ice to make screwdrivers, joining him there. He smelled spicy, utterly delicious. She backed against the wall, watching as he poured the drinks, knowing full well Dima’s queen-size bed waited only a few feet down the hall.
What would Paul do if she just…led him there?
Except having him was not the same. She’d jumped him at the club with only herself in mind—or out of her mind, which was entirely possible. To accept a repeat performance would be selfish, done at Dima’s expense. She’d hurt him enough lately, with her refusal to see him dance at Devant. She couldn’t do that to him again.
“Why doesn’t he want a drink?” Paul asked.
“His parents. Like he said, they didn’t handle retirement well.” She left it at that, hoping Paul would take the hint. His parents’ slide toward the worst Russian stereotypes had never sat well with Dima. At all. “So he’ll have his disgusting Kusmi tea instead. Don’t feel you’re missing out, believe me.”
Paul nodded and didn’t press. Damn, she plain ol’ liked him. He was adorable, gorgeous, polite. Not much more a girl could ask for. But there she was, waiting for more.
She clinked glasses when he raised his for a toast. The sharp citrus was a refreshing end to the meal. “You never did tell me what we’re celebrating.”
After taking a drink, Paul looked her over. Slowly. From her feet on up to her eyes. “Well, first I thought it was because I’d gotten lucky last night. Really lucky.”
“Oh?”
“Uh-huh. This hot girl practically jumped me when I was at work.”
Lizzie forced her grin into hiding. He wanted to flirt, all stern-faced, and she definitely wanted to join in. His pure and simple safety was part of why she’d latched on to him. Playing along was the least she could offer him in return. “She must have been a tramp.”
“I don’t think I much cared, to be honest.”
She covered her mouth with her hand. “Such high standards.”
Paul shrugged and set both of their glasses on the liquor cabinet. He pushed into her space. Hands on her hips. Pelvis angled just right, although the height difference of nearly a foot might take hardcore against-the-wall action off the menu.
“You wouldn’t think it, from the way I behaved,” he said, his lips against her temple. “But generally I’m a pretty levelheaded guy.”
“You seem that way.”
“The thing is? I’ve had a shitty two years. Divorce doesn’t happen all of a sudden. It builds up and blows up.” His mouth tightened briefly, before he exhaled his obvious tension. “I don’t want a damn thing other than a good time.”
“For the best, I’d guess. I can’t imagine a bar fuck lasting too long.”
“Exactly.” He wrapped his arms around her low back, bowing her in a deep embrace. “Then…I met her dance partner. I got an odd vibe off the two of them.”
Lizzie looked up, meeting his gaze. A sharp, hot fire lurked in his blue eyes, making that cool color burn. She tried to speak. Tried to swallow. Nothing happened. There was no denying that she and Dima were linked. Maybe that’s why Paul hadn’t pressed for her attention alone, and why he’d accepted an obviously joint invitation to dinner. He felt it too.
Paul kissed her gently, lip to lip. “See, I got the impression that her partner was as hot for me as she was. Funny, huh?”
“He’s a dancer,” she said with a grin. “You never can tell.”
“Probably true, but the strangest thing about the situation is… Well.” He smiled against her mouth. “I’m hot for him too.”
“Jesus.”
Lizzie shuddered. On tiptoes, she wrapped her forearms around his neck, pressing hard against his chest as they kissed. Tongues surged toward one another, tinged with orange juice and the sharp bite of vodka. Her breathing went from awkward to painful to ecstatic as she dragged ragged gulps of air into her chest.
Paul eased her back
What would Paul do if she just…led him there?
Except having him was not the same. She’d jumped him at the club with only herself in mind—or out of her mind, which was entirely possible. To accept a repeat performance would be selfish, done at Dima’s expense. She’d hurt him enough lately, with her refusal to see him dance at Devant. She couldn’t do that to him again.
“Why doesn’t he want a drink?” Paul asked.
“His parents. Like he said, they didn’t handle retirement well.” She left it at that, hoping Paul would take the hint. His parents’ slide toward the worst Russian stereotypes had never sat well with Dima. At all. “So he’ll have his disgusting Kusmi tea instead. Don’t feel you’re missing out, believe me.”
Paul nodded and didn’t press. Damn, she plain ol’ liked him. He was adorable, gorgeous, polite. Not much more a girl could ask for. But there she was, waiting for more.
She clinked glasses when he raised his for a toast. The sharp citrus was a refreshing end to the meal. “You never did tell me what we’re celebrating.”
After taking a drink, Paul looked her over. Slowly. From her feet on up to her eyes. “Well, first I thought it was because I’d gotten lucky last night. Really lucky.”
“Oh?”
“Uh-huh. This hot girl practically jumped me when I was at work.”
Lizzie forced her grin into hiding. He wanted to flirt, all stern-faced, and she definitely wanted to join in. His pure and simple safety was part of why she’d latched on to him. Playing along was the least she could offer him in return. “She must have been a tramp.”
“I don’t think I much cared, to be honest.”
She covered her mouth with her hand. “Such high standards.”
Paul shrugged and set both of their glasses on the liquor cabinet. He pushed into her space. Hands on her hips. Pelvis angled just right, although the height difference of nearly a foot might take hardcore against-the-wall action off the menu.
“You wouldn’t think it, from the way I behaved,” he said, his lips against her temple. “But generally I’m a pretty levelheaded guy.”
“You seem that way.”
“The thing is? I’ve had a shitty two years. Divorce doesn’t happen all of a sudden. It builds up and blows up.” His mouth tightened briefly, before he exhaled his obvious tension. “I don’t want a damn thing other than a good time.”
“For the best, I’d guess. I can’t imagine a bar fuck lasting too long.”
“Exactly.” He wrapped his arms around her low back, bowing her in a deep embrace. “Then…I met her dance partner. I got an odd vibe off the two of them.”
Lizzie looked up, meeting his gaze. A sharp, hot fire lurked in his blue eyes, making that cool color burn. She tried to speak. Tried to swallow. Nothing happened. There was no denying that she and Dima were linked. Maybe that’s why Paul hadn’t pressed for her attention alone, and why he’d accepted an obviously joint invitation to dinner. He felt it too.
Paul kissed her gently, lip to lip. “See, I got the impression that her partner was as hot for me as she was. Funny, huh?”
“He’s a dancer,” she said with a grin. “You never can tell.”
“Probably true, but the strangest thing about the situation is… Well.” He smiled against her mouth. “I’m hot for him too.”
“Jesus.”
Lizzie shuddered. On tiptoes, she wrapped her forearms around his neck, pressing hard against his chest as they kissed. Tongues surged toward one another, tinged with orange juice and the sharp bite of vodka. Her breathing went from awkward to painful to ecstatic as she dragged ragged gulps of air into her chest.
Paul eased her back
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