Oh, Naughty Night!

She sat up a little straighter and thrust that no-longer-flat chest out the tiniest bit.

His gaze shifted. He noticed. She noticed him noticing.

“Well?” he asked, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone. “What do you say?”

“Uh...you really want to dance? With me?”

She was pretty sure the only time they’d ever danced together was when they’d had to be square-dancing partners in gym class in middle school. It hadn’t gone well. Holding hands with Chaz had been way too weird for her twelve-year-old self. Her hands had gotten sweaty, her breath short, and she’d had the strangest fluttering in her stomach.

She now suspected what the sweating and fluttering had been all about. She had liked Chaz’s blushes, despite what she’d said to her mother. But back then, never wanting to admit such a thing, she’d convinced herself that holding hands with Chaz Browning was enough to make her want to throw up.

So she’d done what any bratty twelve-year-old would do. She’d stuck out her foot and tripped him during their do-si-do.

Little bitch.

“You know how to dance, right?” Another green twinkle—how had she never noticed he had the most interesting golden streaks that cut through the irises, looking like starbursts? “I mean, it’s pretty easy—you just try to find the beat in the music and move around to it.”

She licked her lips, hearing the band finishing “Time Warp,” which immediately made her think of pelvic thrusts—not something she should be thinking about when it came to Chaz. Luckily the musicians segued right into a torchy version of “Witchcraft.” That somehow seemed appropriate, given her costume, and the fact that she felt as if someone had cast a spell on her. The song was slower, jazzier, and would necessitate close-up dancing, with hands and bodies in direct contact. And though her mind decided that was even riskier than pelvic thrusts, her legs launched her out of her chair immediately.

“Sure.”

She let him take her hand and pull her toward the crowded dance floor. When he grabbed her hips and pulled her close, she swallowed hard, trying to maintain her smile. Could he feel her crazily-beating heart or see the way her pulse thrummed in her throat? And was there any way in hell he didn’t know that some of her most female parts were standing at attention as their bodies brushed together?

Lulu waited for him to say something—Welcome to D.C., How’s the new place?, How are your folks? But he remained silent, merely moving his thigh between her legs as they swayed.

Lord have mercy. Though she’d often imagined having Chaz’s throat between her hands so she could strangle him for saying something that totally pissed her off, she’d never fantasized about having any part of him between her thighs.

He’d been gone from her life before she’d realized stomach flutters and thigh clenching were definite signs of lust.

But now her body was reacting to him in a way she’d never allowed her mind to. There was no mistaking her reaction for anything except excitement. Her palms were sweating and her whole body felt hot and sticky, as though if she didn’t get her clothes off, she would melt right into a puddle of want in the middle of the dance floor.

God, he was so big and strong compared to the boy she’d known. Powerful, male, appealing enough to stop hearts. His chest was so broad it could be used as a life raft. She couldn’t help twining her fingers in his longish hair, tousled from the sheet, shaggy from a few months’ travel.

The truth slammed into her, hard and life-changing.

She wanted him. Badly. Lulu wanted to go to bed with Chaz Browning and see if all the years of angry tension between them could be erased by erotic tension.

If only he were some random guy she’d just met, and the baggage of an entire childhood of fighting and competing, not to mention family drama, didn’t stand between them. If only he were just a sexy stranger like Schaefer, albeit one with charm, easy wit and personality.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t a stranger. Despite how closely he held her, Chaz couldn’t possibly have forgotten her childhood shenanigans and his own disdain toward her. There was no way he’d look at her as anything but the bane of his youth and the scorn of his adulthood. Plus there was the family-connection burden of looking after her. His email had said he’d promised his mom he’d do exactly that once he was back in the country, like she was some high schooler on a field trip to the big bad city. An inconvenience. A brat.

No, anything remotely resembling a sexual connection between her and Chaz was simply out of the question. She was just going to have to go home and get cozy with her vibrator, or say to hell with it and bang the boring guitar player. Anything to avoid letting Chaz realize he’d affected her so deeply. That would be worse than the sweaty hands/square dancing incident.

“The music’s good tonight,” he finally said. “Schaefer and his band have improved since the last time I heard them play.”

“You know him?”

“Yeah, he’s sort of a regular in the neighborhood and he was a soloist for a while. But he was a bit of a hippie. He’d get into trouble, sneaking out of upbeat background music and into some depressing, sixties, psychedelic-mushroom ballad once in a while. Talk about a mood killer. The bar owners threatened to ban him.”

“Do you know his first name?”

Chaz grinned. “I do.”

“What is it?”

“If I told you, I’d have to kill you. He made me promise.”

“Must be a doozy.”

He nodded slowly. “Let’s just say...it’s appropriate.”

“Can’t I bribe it out of you?”

“What’ll you give me?”

“All the Tootsie Rolls from my goodie bag?”

“I’m not interested in candy,” he told her, that half smile lingering on a mouth so kissable it made her own go dry.

“I thought you were jonesing for candy corn.”

“Maybe I’d rather taste something else sweet.”

Whoa. The twinkle in his eye and the flash of that dimple took the light comment and brought it up to flirtatious—maybe even suggestive—level. It was totally unlike anything he’d ever said to her. She had to wonder how many drinks he’d had, or if he’d been drinking them on an empty, jet-lagged stomach. She just didn’t believe a sober Chaz would’ve made that kind of comment—not to her, anyway.

“Like what?” she asked, her tone just as flirty and suggestive, calling his bluff. She knew he’d put a stop to the conversation any second, but couldn’t deny she was having fun while it lasted.

“That drink left your lips looking very red and delicious.”

Good God, was he going to kiss her? The way his gaze focused in on her face said he was considering it, and her heart pounded in her chest. It was crazy. They hadn’t even played doctor as kids, much less snuck even the most innocent of kisses. But he was eyeing her mouth as if he was parched and needed to positively drink from her.

“I have to admit, this conversation is taking me by surprise,” she said, hearing the breathiness in her own voice and wondering what he would make of it.

“You can’t be surprised that I think you’re beautiful.”

“I most certainly am,” she said with a forced smile. Chaz, the boy who’d once called her a soul-sucking leech, thought she was beautiful?

Yeah. He had to be drunk.

“Every man here thinks it,” he said, sounding totally serious. “I saw you the minute I walked in and couldn’t take my eyes off you.” Glancing down at her body, he smiled wickedly. “You surprised me. I always assumed witches were old and ugly.”

“Only bad witches are ugly,” she pointed out, catching his Wizard of Oz reference.

“And you’re a very good witch?”

“Some would debate that. Maybe I’m a little of both.”

“Which witch are you tonight?”