op behind his neck and my hips rock to the beat.
From under his ball cap, he keeps his gaze locked on mine and slides his hands around my waist, resting them at the small of my back.
Our eyes stay locked as we adjust our movements to the music and the fit of our bodies. He smells so good. I want to bury my face in his neck and breathe him in until I’m intoxicated.
Time trips, stutters, stalls out, and then melts away entirely. At some point, one of his hands moves from my back to my hip, and our already-connected dancing becomes something more intimate.
I’ve been self-conscious all my life, but dance has always been the exception. There’s something magical about music that masks everything else, and ever since I was a little girl all too aware of being the chubbiest in my ballet class, nothing but music and movement mattered once I started dancing.
Couples on either side of us are making out. The man to our right has his date’s leg up around his waist as she grinds against him and he sucks on her neck.
Nate’s hands drift to my ass and back up, down and back up.
His touch leaves me breathless and aroused, a hot ache settling firmly between my legs and inspiring me to match the pose of the couple next to us. I can feel the length of his erection against my belly, but I want to feel it nestled between my legs.
The realization makes me draw back a bit, put an inch between our bodies.
I never intended to make it to twenty-three as a virgin, but I have. Max and I could have gone there, but I was so terrified I’d disappoint him that I told him I wasn’t ready. That I wouldn’t be ready until after marriage. It was a lie. My body was completely ready. And my heart belonged to Max since the beginning. Maybe it still does.
“Where’s that mind of yours gone, angel?” Nate’s voice is in my ear again. Then his breath is sweeping over my neck, hot and needy, as if he’s asking permission to taste me there.
Suddenly, my virginity is nothing more than a heavy coat in the heat. I want to shed it, to be done with it and put it behind me—a problem I won’t have to deal with anymore.
I tilt my head up and rise onto my toes until my lips are a breath from his. He drops his gaze to my mouth for a moment, but instead of kissing me, he spins me around then grasps my hips with his hands, drawing my back against his front. The movement is so smooth and easy that it almost feels choreographed.
One of his hands slides around to lie flat against my belly. The other takes a tour of my body, dipping down over the tops of my thighs, sliding up over my hips and belly, his fingertips brushing the underside of my breasts. I can’t breathe. Breathing feels inconsequential when every cell in my body is homed in on the sensations his touch sends through me.
Then his hand is on my neck and my chin, my jaw, turning my head so I’m looking at him again. His lips are so close. Rising onto my toes, I part my lips. An invitation.
But instead of bringing his mouth to mine, he drops his hands and steps away from me. “Can I get you a drink?”
“A drink?” I don’t want a drink. I want him. His mouth against mine. His body. That sexy voice, low and gravelly, promising pleasure in my ear.
I shake my head and push past him, through the crowd, and out the side exit into the night.
My ears seem to sigh at the silence, and my heated skin practically steams in the cool air.
Several smokers mingle a few feet from me. I catch the scent of clove cigarettes and something else. Weed, probably. Long shadows wait for me around the corner, and I slip into them, leaning my head against the building and closing my eyes.
He flirted with me all night, didn’t he? Made his attraction clear? Danced with me so close my body is buzzing, my skin hungry for more of his touch. He made me believe a guy like him could find me sexy.
But maybe it was all just pretend—a guy pretending to be attracted to me to cheer me up.
The thought makes my chest ache, throb like a thumb hit by a hammer. Why couldn’t I have been made more like my sisters? Maggie doesn’t have to worry about her weight and she eats whatever she wants. Krystal works hard to keep her body, but even if I eat the same things she does and follow her to the gym, I barely lose a pound. And Lizzy has been thin her whole life—my twin completely unaffected by my demons.
“Hanna.”
My eyes fly open to find Nate standing in front of me, hands in his pockets. His eyes are unreadable, cloaked under the shadow of the ball cap. I’m so drawn to him that, despite the sting of fresh rejection, I want to step into his arms, rub up against him like a cat.
But I’m not the kind of girl who can rub up against guys and get them to respond. I just proved that, didn’t I? How did I forget?
“Hanna, talk to me.”
My heart pounds in my chest, and I want to scream. “I’m sorry. I thought…” I shake my head. “I misunderstood what was between us. Don’t worry. It won’t happen again.”
“Shit.” He steps forward, his body a breath from mine. “I’ve wanted to get my hands on you since I saw you walk into the bar at the hotel.” Taking my hands, he hooks my arms behind his neck. The gesture works with his words to fill me with one last ounce of courage.
My stomach riots with nerves, but I lift onto my toes to get my mouth to his ear. “Then why won’t you kiss me?” I hardly recognize myself in the boldness. It’s him. He does this to me. His eyes and touch, his words, making me so sure of his attraction to me when it’s ridiculous for me to be sure of any such thing.