Surrender by Tawny Taylor Page B

reached for mine. His index finger stroked the back, ever so softly. “What is the issue?”
    “Well . . .” My gaze lifted again, swept over his face. His brows were pinched. His lips turned down slightly at the corners.
    He stood, took my hand in his. “Come, dance with me.”
    “But—”
    He pressed an index finger to my lips. “Shhh. It’s only a dance.”
    Only.
    Dancing involved standing close. And touching.
    Touching.
    A quiver of need raced through my body.
    He led me back through the doors and down to the dance floor. It was empty. The whole place was empty, except the two of us. The lights were low, red and blue colored beams casting a deep glow over us.
    Kam pulled me to him, placed one hand on my back, and lifted my hand with the other. He swayed his hips. “Do you dance?” he asked, speaking softly in my ear.
    “A little,” I said.
    He tightened his hold on me and started following a set of simple rumba steps. Slow, quick, quick. His hips were rolling as he moved. It was a seduction as much as a dance, and it made my heart thump heavily in my chest, my body warm.
    The hand on my back slid down toward my butt, but his feet kept up that simple pattern. Slow, quick, quick. Slow, quick, quick. My heart was thumping out the beat. My body undulating to the rhythm. I was melting into him. We were moving as one. Our bodies writhing to the music, limbs entwined.
    He snugged me tighter, until my entire body was flattened against him. The scent of his skin and cologne filled my nose. I breathed it deep, pulling it in, relishing it. My nipples hardened as they were gently grazed through the layers of our clothes. A steady throb pounded through my body, heat pooling in the deepest part of me.
    How I longed for his touch. His kiss.
    This was no dance. It was torture. Cruelty beyond words.
    The bastard.
    What the hell was he trying to do? Crush me? Destroy me?
    “I can’t.” Surprising myself, I shoved him and hurried away.
    Didn’t he know what he was doing? How could he not realize how confusing this hot-and-cold act was?
    “Abigail, wait.” He ran to me, catching me by the waist and jerking me around. “The dance isn’t over yet.”
    “Yes, it is.” Breathless, I glared into his eyes. Even as I said those words, my hands skimmed up his body and he began swaying his hips to the music again.
    We were dancing.
    We were fighting.
    We were living a strange, beautiful moment. It was magical.
    His head tipped forward and his lips found mine. The kiss was as sensual and intoxicating as the battle-dance. I skimmed my hands up his body to his face, cupped his cheeks. I held him, refusing to let the kiss end. My lips parted as I sucked in a deep gasp, and his tongue slid into my mouth, filling me with the decadent flavor of man and wine.
    My knees suddenly felt weak and soft.
    No man had ever danced with me like this, kissed me like this, made me want him so much.
    I whimpered. I shuddered. I grabbed fists full of hair and kissed him with all the emotion that was blasting through my body. And he possessed me. My mouth. My body.
    His hands stroked. His tongue claimed. He took and took, and gave and gave.
    When I couldn’t take another second, I murmured, “Please, Kam. I’m begging.”
    He eased back, gently loosening his hold on me while keeping me steady. “Dammit, Abigail. Dammit.”
    “Don’t!” My hands lifted to my lips. They were still tingling. And his flavor lingered. My tongue slipped out, dampening them, tasting him.
    Looking conflicted once again, he reached for me, but I jerked away. “I didn’t want to do this, Abigail. That’s not why I called you tonight.”
    “Why did you call me tonight?”
    “I . . .” He jammed his hands through his hair. “I wanted to make up for what happened in New York.”
    “The drugging?”
    “Not just that. Everything.”
    “Everything?” Feeling slightly chilled, I wrapped my arms around myself.
    Once again he reached for me, but this time he jerked his