before she sloshed the contents on one or both of them, then tilted it back to drain the rest of the minty liquid before dropping the tumbler onto the tray of a passing server.
The man had drunk her mojito. What did someone even say when their mojito was stolen from their own hand?
Keep talking. Being speechless only proclaimed, I’m out of my depth and not smart enough to keep up with this insane conversation.
Anything that would keep her from staring at his mouth, and thinking about the kind of lusty crush fantasies that mouth definitely could fulfill if he were so inclined.
Pathetically adolescent and showing how badly she wanted company—enough to go on blind dates. Enough for drinking-glass-inspired lust. Pathetic.
Just. Say. Something.
“These stupid things affect what sizes I can wear, but the scrub tops are standard design, and everyone—even people who are actually proportionally built—looks dumb in them. Except you, you look good in scrubs for some reason. I’d say you sold your soul for it but we’re both already in The Inferno. Besides, they’re comfortable, so it’s easy to work in them. And if I ever got tops fitting my hip dimensions I’d suffocate in my own cleavage.”
Great. Great visual, strangled by bosoms.
Dante grinned down at her, her second brush with amusement in his eyes, twice in fifteen minutes.
She still couldn’t tell if he was laughing with her, or at her.
Before she could say anything else to embarrass herself, he slipped his arm around her waist and took her newly mojito-free hand, flawlessly maneuvering her into dancing position and steering her backward onto the dance floor.
Breathless, and more than a little gobsmacked, Lise allowed herself to be led. “We’re dancing now? Arguing makes you feel like dancing?”
Maybe it was good he’d drunk her mojito, she’d clearly had too many.
The firm arm around her waist pulled her close enough to demonstrate the need for her admittedly tent-like scrub tops—her lower half didn’t touch his, but her breasts pressed against the heat of his chest, and her still-free arm went automatically around his shoulders.
“That dress is spectacular, and it fits you very well,” He said, hand firm on her waist to turn her into some dance her feet didn’t know. “Follow me.” He slowed down, stepped back enough for her to see his feet, and after she’d mimicked the pattern a couple times, his firm hands were on her again and he steered her in slow steps around the edge of the now much more crowded dance floor.
Why was she going along with this? She’d gone to the dance floor to get away from him. And because she wanted to dance.
But even with that rude phone business, the man was still incredibly sexy, and she’d been stood up. Dante was a satisfactory stand-in for sure.
Don’t overthink it. Just dance with him.
“Why this dress when you don’t know Jefferson?” he asked again, like she hadn’t heard him before and had chosen to answer the other, more important part of his question.
Trying to understand him over the loud music meant she had to stare at his mouth, the corner of which had quirked up.
Everything about this felt out of line.
Stare at his mouth to understand and sound sane. Solid plan.
Pretend to dance like she wasn’t the offspring of an ostrich and a three-legged goat.
Ignore the tide-like sensations rushing up her arms and over her body from having his hands on her.
No problem.
“I did. And it’s new,” she admitted, and, as she’d done, he focused his attention on her mouth as she spoke. “I’ve been thinking of these dates as a kind of last hurrah before motherhood. Because I never really go out. Or date—mostly because it’s just way too much trouble. But I thought maybe if Jefferson played his cards right and wasn’t...”
“Ugly?”
Lise winced, but nodded.
She should definitely stop talking. If she talked, the truth would come out. If she just didn’t say anything, that wasn’t lying, even if it was a slippery-slope sort of deception.
Also, she should stop licking her lips.
No matter that recognizing her before had put a damper on his wolfish expression, Dante seemed to have changed his mind. He looked at her mouth longer than she spoke, but his brows had come down in a completely different fashion, sex-laced anticipation darkening his eyes.
She felt her ankle wobble and released his hand to throw both arms around his shoulders, holding tighter to him. The wobbly ankle added one more thing for her to concentrate on than her frazzled brain could handle.
If she wanted—and if she could rationalize hooking up with him in any way that could be considered safe or sane—Dante would be her last hurrah.
A last hurrah of epic proportions. He might even come with mojitos.
Dante didn’t say anything, he just pulled her a little closer so that his mouth was at her ear and she could feel the slight stubble on his cheek as he sang the Spanish lyrics softly along with the music.
The shivers his song brought rushing forth across her skin made his arms pull tighter, though he leaned back enough to look into her eyes again.
“You should let me take a picture of you then text it back to him. Make him suffer for his bad decision.”
And he wanted her, too. This was actually happening. Dr. Dante Valentino wanted her, even after he’d worked out who she was. Two years of nothing but business between them at the hospital, then they meet once outside the hospital...
Why was he still talking about Jefferson?
“You think that’ll make him suffer? For all we know, he snuck in, got one look at me, and left in a hurry.”
“He didn’t,” Dante said, still holding her close, though he’d stopped steering her around and they now swayed in one place at the edge of the stage, out of the way.
“You don’t know that.”
“I do. He’s straight, and if he’d seen you tonight... Trust me.”
Trust him. As if that were the easiest thing in the world. Trust the sexy man who led a double life.
On the other hand, what harm could a picture do? Maybe Jefferson wouldn’t suffer, but he might feel slightly guilty to see that she’d gotten dressed up and waited for him in a nightclub by herself for so long before he actually called it off. Teach him a lesson for the next woman he got fixed up with.
“Okay,” Lise said, pulling back to get her phone from her bag. “But make me look good. Maybe there’s some kind of sexy filter we can use.”
While she pulled the purse off and hung it properly on her shoulder, he stepped back in to murmur something unbearably
