The Stars of Mithra: Hidden Star

He thought she was probably right. There was something entirely too innocent about the way she fumbled, the way the color rushed to her cheeks. He slid his hands over her bottom, up to her waist. “It’s just dancing.”

“I don’t think so. I’ve probably danced before.”

“Put your arms around me.” He levered her arms around his neck himself. “And kiss me.”

“What?”

“Never mind.”

His face was close, and the music was filling her head. The heat from his body, from all the bodies pressed so close against them, was like a furnace. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t think, and when his mouth swooped down on hers, she didn’t care.

Her head pounded with the backbeat. It was unmercifully hot, the air thick with smoke and body heat, scented with sweat and liquor and clashing perfumes. All of that faded away. She swayed against him while her lips parted for his and the strong, male essence of him filled her.

“If we’d stayed home, we’d be in bed.” He murmured it against her lips, then skimmed his mouth to her ear. She was wearing the perfume he’d bought for her. The scent of it was unreasonably intimate. “I want you in bed, Bailey. I want to be inside you.”

She closed her eyes, burrowed against him. Surely no one had said such things to her before. She couldn’t have forgotten this wild thrill, this wild fear. Her fingers slipped up into the untidy hair that waved over his collar. “Before, when I was in the kitchen, I—”

“I know.” He flicked his tongue over her ear, spread fire everywhere. “I could have had you. Did you think I couldn’t see that?” To torment them both, he skimmed his lips along her throat. “That’s why we’re here instead of home. You’re not ready for what I need from you.”

“This doesn’t make any sense.” She thought she murmured it, but he heard her.

“Who the hell cares about sense? This is now.” He caught her chin, brought her face to his again. We’re now.” And kissed her until her blood bubbled and burst in her head. “It can be hot.” He bit her bottom lip until she was ready to sink to the floor. “Or sweet.” Then laved it tenderly with his tongue. “It can be fun.” He spun her out, then whipped her back into his arms with such casual grace that she blinked. “Whatever you want.”

Her hands were braced on his shoulders, her face was close to his. Lights revolved around them, and music throbbed. “I think…I think we’d be safer with the fun. For the time being.”

“Then let’s have it.” He whipped her out again, spun her in two fast circles. His eyes lit with amusement when she laughed.

She caught her breath as her body rammed into his again. “You’ve had lessons.”

“Sweetheart, I may have hooked cotillion more times than I want to admit, but some things stuck.”

They were moving again, somehow magically, through the thick throng of dancers. “Cotillion? Isn’t that white gloves and bow ties?”

“Something like that.” He skimmed his hands up her sides, just brushed her breasts. “And nothing like this.”

She missed a step, rapped back solidly into what she first took for a steel beam. When she glanced back, she saw what appeared to be one massive muscle with a glossy bald head, a silver nose ring and a gleaming smile.

“I beg your pardon,” she began, but found she had breath for nothing else as the muscle whirled her to the right.

She found herself jammed in the middle of a pack of dancers with enthusiastically jabbing elbows and bumping hips. They hooted at her in such a friendly manner, she tried to pick up the beat. She was giggling when she was bumped back into Cade’s arms.

“It is fun.” Elemental, liberating, nearly pagan. “I’m dancing.”

The way her face glowed, her voice rang with delighted laughter, had a grin flashing on his face. “Looks that way.”

She waved a hand in front of her face in a useless attempt to fan away the heat. “I like it.”

“Then we’ll do it again.” The volume eased down, the beat smoothed into a hum. “Here comes a slow one. Now all you have to do is plaster yourself all over me.”

“I think I already am.”

“Closer.” His leg slid intimately between hers, his hands cruised low on her hips.

“Oh, God.” Her stomach filled with frantic butterflies. “That has to be another Commandment.”

“One of my personal favorites.”

The music was seductive, sexy and sad. Her mood changed with it, from giddiness to longing. “Cade, I don’t think this is smart.” But she’d risen to her toes, so their faces were close.

“Let’s be reckless. Just for one dance.”

“It can’t last,” she murmured as her cheek pressed against his.

“Shh. For as long as we want.”

Forever, she thought, and held tight. “I’m not an empty slate. I’ve just been erased for a while. Neither of us might like what’s written there when we find it.”

He could smell her, feel her, taste her. “I know everything I need to know.”

She shook her head. “But I don’t.” She drew back, looked into his eyes. “I don’t,” she repeated. And when she broke away and moved quickly through the crowd, he let her go.

She hurried into the rest room. She needed privacy, she needed to get her breath back. She needed to remember that, however much she might want it, her life had not begun when she walked into a cramped little office and saw Cade Parris for the first time.

The room was nearly as packed as the dance floor, with women primping at the mirrors, talking about men, complaining about other women. The room smelled thickly of hairspray, perfume and sweat.

In one of the three narrow sinks, Bailey ran the water cold, splashed it on her overheated face. She’d danced in a noisy nightclub and screamed with laughter. She’d let the man she wanted touch her intimately, without a care for who saw it.

And she knew as she lifted her face and studied the reflection in the spotty mirror that none of those things were usual for her.

This was new. Just as Cade Parris was new. And she didn’t know how any of it would fit into the life that was hers.

It was happening so quickly, she thought, and dug into her purse for a brush. The purse he’d bought her, the brush he’d bought her, she thought, while emotion swamped her. Everything she had right now, she owed to him.

Was that what she felt for him? A debt, gratitude? Lust?

Not one of the women crowded into the room with her was worried about things like that, she thought. Not one of them was asking herself that kind of question about the man she’d just danced with. The man she wanted, or who wanted her.

They would all go back out and dance again. Or go home. They would make love tonight, if the mood was right. And tomorrow their lives would simply move on.

But she had to ask. And how could she know the answer when she didn’t know herself? And how could she take him, or give herself to him, until she did know?

Get yourself in order, she told herself, and methodically ran the brush through her tumbled hair. Time to be sensible, practical. Calm. Satisfied her hair was tidy again, she slipped the brush back into her bag.

A redhead walked in, all legs and attitude, with short-cropped hair and wraparound shades. “Son of a bitch grabbed my butt,” she said to no one in particular, and strode into a stall, slammed the door.

Bailey’s vision grayed. Clammy waves of dizziness had her clutching the lip of the sink. But her knees went so weak she had to lean over the bowl and gulp for air.

“Hey, hey, you okay?”