Jaxson's hand closes around mine, and the contact sends electricity arcing up my arm, through my chest, directly into the traitor organ that refuses to beat steadily in his presence. He pulls me toward the dance floor without waiting for my feet to remember how walking works, his grip firm enough to leave no room for retreat.
The crowd parts for him because of course it does. People instinctively recognize predators and step aside to avoid becoming collateral damage.
I glance back toward our booth, searching for Sophia's face among the chaos, but she's no longer watching. A woman has appeared beside her—tall, broad-shouldered, with close-cropped dark hair and the confident posture of someone who knows exactly how much space she deserves to occupy. Sophia leans toward this stranger with the particular intensity she reserves for potential romantic interests, her champagne forgotten, her attention completely consumed.
Jaxson spins me to face him, one hand settling on my lower back while the other captures my fingers against his chest. The position is traditional, formal, the kind of hold appropriate for charity galas and wedding receptions.
Then his hand slides lower.
His palm presses into the curve above my tailbone, fingertips grazing the upper swell of my hip, pulling me flush against him until there's no space left between our bodies. The music throbs around us, slow and hypnotic, and I feel every inch of him through the thin fabric of my dress.
"Jaxson, people will see us." My stomach tightens, muscles clenching beneath the silk.
"Let them watch." His mouth brushes my temple as he speaks, lips barely touching skin, the ghost of contact more devastating than a proper kiss. "There's no one here who knows you, Harper. No one who matters. Just strangers who will forget our faces by morning."
"Sophia is right there, and she's Preston's sister, in case you've forgotten that minor detail."
"Sophia hasn't looked in our direction since that woman sat down next to her." His hand tightens on my hip, guiding my body to sway with his. "She's occupied, which means for the next four minutes, you're mine."
The possessiveness in his voice should infuriate me. Instead, heat pools low in my belly, spreading outward with each slow revolution he leads me through.
"I'm not yours." My spine arches involuntarily, pressing closer even as my words push away. "I'm engaged to another man, wearing his ring, planning to marry him in front of his family and friends."
"Take off the ring, Harper." His breath ghosts across my cheek as he lowers his mouth toward my ear. "There's a bathroom in the back with a lock on the door."
"You're out of your mind if you think I'm following you anywhere."
"Am I?" He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, and the darkness there makes my lungs forget their primary function. "Your pulse is racing right now. I can see it fluttering in your throat. Your body already knows what it wants—you're just too stubborn to admit it."
"That's not want, that's fury."
"Do you have to be this stubborn?" His hand splays wider across my back, fingers pressing into muscle through silk. "Take off the ring and let me show you what we've spent seven years imagining. One dance isn't enough, Harper. I need you alone, behind a locked door, where no one can hear what I'm going to do to you."
The words send a shiver cascading down my spine. My thighs press together involuntarily, seeking friction that isn't there, and his knowing smile tells me he feels the shift in my body.
"Jaxson, I am not going to sneak off to some club bathroom with you like a desperate groupie."
"Then don't sneak." His laugh is dark velvet against my ear. "Walk with me like you own the place." His hand slides up my spine, fingers tracing each vertebra through the fabric. "I would lock that door behind us and be on my knees before you could change your mind. And once my mouth is on you, Harper, you won't want to."
My pulse hammers against the thin skin of my throat, visible, betraying.
"I'd push this pretty dress up around your waist and spread your thighs with my shoulders. And when I finally taste you?" He pulls me tighter against him, his thigh pressing between mine. "I won't stop until you're shaking so hard you have to grip the sink just to stay standing."
My breath catches, lungs seizing mid-inhale. My hips roll against his thigh without my permission, chasing the pressure he's offering, and his grip tightens in response.
"Come with me, Harper." His voice shifts, the command softening into a plea that's somehow more devastating. "Let me prove we are worth the risk."
Wetness spreads between my thighs. My head spins with want and fury, neurons firing in patterns no other man has ever managed to trigger.
Not Oliver, with his tortured artist sensitivity. Not Thomas, with his investment banker confidence. Not Preston, with his methodical approach to intimacy that leaves me counting ceiling tiles.
None of them ever made me feel this wanted. None of them ever looked at me like I was the only source of oxygen in a burning building.
"And after I've made you come on my tongue—twice, because you deserve to know what it feels like when someone actually pays attention," Jaxson continues, his words searing themselves into my imagination, "I'll turn you around and bend you over that sink. I want to watch your eyes in the mirror when I finally slide inside you. I want to see your face when you realize no one else will ever make you feel the way I do."
His hand presses flat against my stomach, holding me against him, and I feel the evidence of his own arousal pressing into my lower back. He's hard. Achingly, impossibly hard, and the emptiness between my thighs turns sharp, demanding, like every cell is screaming for something only he can give.
"Take off the damn ring, Harper." His lips graze the shell of my ear. "Take it off and follow me, and I'll spend the rest of the night making sure you never settle for mediocre again."
The song ends.
The shift in music breaks whatever spell he's woven around us, and reality crashes back with the force of cold water. I step away from him, putting distance between our bodies, my hands trembling at my sides.
"I am not one of your European whores you can fuck in a club bathroom." My chin lifts, jaw tight enough to ache.
The words land between us, and I watch his expression shift—but not the way I expect. The hunger doesn't fade. The intensity doesn't dim.
Instead, a slow smile spreads across his face. The kind of smile that says he heard exactly what I said. And more importantly, what I didn't say.