to show you who’s boss.’
‘I’d like to see you try,’ Ruby quipped, then laughed and clung on as he swung her round.
His answering chuckle made her head spin as he dipped her over his arm for one tantalising second. ‘Consider yourself shown.’
She inhaled a lung full of the woody scent of his soap masked by the hint of fresh male sweat—and basked in the sultry rhythm of the salsa as he whisked her upright. His arm banded around her waist so tight she could feel every single inch of his hard, lean physique.
He was a good dancer. An exceptionally good dancer. Not only did he know the steps, but he moved with a fluid, natural grace unencumbered by his height, throwing her into the spins and dips with masterful strength and confidence.
Unfortunately, after two margaritas, only a nibble of the spicy tapas dishes and an hour of full-on flirting, Ruby was finding it impossible to concentrate on the dance, instead of all the parts of her body that were throbbing with need.
The desire to feel those hard, callused fingers on her naked skin—to lick the divot of his throat and taste the salty aroma of his sweat—overwhelmed her and her intoxication had nothing to do with the heady cocktails or the lack of food.
A small voice in her head kept telling her that he’d engineered this, that he’d been stoking the need all evening. Making her feel like the only woman in the bar with those long penetrating looks; tempting her as his gaze flicked to her mouth every time she licked dry lips; goading her as they vied for top spot in a seductive game of one-upmanship.
And now he was sealing his conquest in time-honoured tradition by holding her body close and leading her in a sensual dance of challenge and retreat. Promise and provocation.
But the more she breathed in his scent; the more she felt the muscles bunch beneath the fine cotton of his shirt; the more the husky tone of his voice played havoc with her senses; the quieter that dissenting voice became. Until all she could hear, roaring through every cell of her overwrought body, was the voice yelling, ‘Go for it, Ruby.’
She’d never had a one-night stand before. Had always thought the concept highly overrated. Why would you want to share that kind of intimacy with a man you didn’t know? And who didn’t know you? But suddenly the glorious anonymity of one night of passion held a giddy thrill that was impossible to resist.
She’d sworn off relationships for the time being, but surely one night of indulgence didn’t count.
And if you were going to have a one-night stand, who better to have it with than someone who had the sex appeal of Casanova—and about half as much depth?
She wouldn’t be able to hurt a man like Callum Westmore, even if she tried.
The music slowed to a stop and Cal’s hand rode down to rest on her hip. Her legs straddled one hard thigh, forcing her to press against the muscled sinew. Her eyes fixed on his lips and she noticed the shadow of stubble on his cheeks.
He swore softly, then clasped her head, and captured her mouth.
The contact was electric. His lips firm and warm. The insistent throbbing between her legs exploded as he deepened the kiss. She opened to accept the invasion, the strong sure strokes of his tongue leaving her breathless as he drew back.
‘Let’s get out of here,’ he said, his gaze shuttered, his voice rough with lust. ‘I don’t do sex as a spectator sport.’
Yes, please.
Her mind screamed the words, but she could only nod, mute with longing, her lips still burning from the intensity of his kiss.
Damn it, he was about to explode.
Cal’s hand squeezed Ruby’s as he hauled her through the bar determined not to let her loose for a second. What had been fun at first, the exhilarating foreplay of flirt and counter-flirt, had turned to a torturous need that was about to send him hurtling over the edge into insanity if he didn’t get her naked really, really soon.
Grabbing his jacket up from the chair, he pulled out his wallet and threw a bunch of twenty-pound notes on the table.
‘It won’t be that much!’ Ruby said as he clasped her hand and led her through the crowd to the exit.
He looked over his shoulder at her flushed face, the lips red where he’d all but devoured her on the dance floor. ‘You want to wait for the change?’
She gave it a moment’s thought, before her full lips spread into a smile. ‘Chantelle’s going to get extremely lucky tonight.’
He laughed, the sound strained. ‘I certainly hope she’s not the only one.’
The still evening air did nothing to quell the heat as he showed Ruby to his car. ‘Where do you live?’ he asked as he yanked open the passenger door.
‘Tufnell Park.’
He slammed the door, then skirted the car and leapt into the driver’s seat. Firing the engine, he shifted into gear.
‘I live on the south end of the Heath.’ The powerful hum of the engine was nothing compared to the driving need in his gut as he roared away from the kerb, then had to brake at the traffic lights on Camden High Road. He glanced at his passenger, fisting his fingers on the steering wheel. ‘My place is closer.’
The smile got bigger. ‘Excellent point.’
Leaning across the steering wheel, he plunged his fingers into her hair and hauled her close—unable to wait another moment to taste her again.
Her lips softened, her tongue tangling with his as he claimed her mouth.
The blast of a car horn forced him to release her as every last ounce of blood surged south. ‘My place it is, then.’
She nodded, looking as dazed as he felt.
He stamped his foot on the accelerator. The screech of burning rubber as they shot away from the intersection made him jerk his foot off the pedal.
Get a grip, Westmore. It’s sex. Not life or death.
He eased out a breath, holding his car under the speed limit as he made the series of turns through the backstreets of Hampstead then drove up the hill past the Heath.
By the time they reached the Victorian mansion block, he’d managed to get his breathing back under control, just about. He adjusted his trousers as he climbed out of the car to ease the pressure. Ruby stepped out the other side, her lush breasts pressing against the thin bodice of her dress. He extended his hand, but, instead of taking it, she clasped her bag to her midriff and a flicker of uncertainty crossed her face.
‘Is there a problem?’ he asked, more curtly than intended.
If she changed her mind now, it would probably cause him a serious injury.
She cleared her throat. ‘Two things.’ She clutched her bag tighter. ‘Firstly, I don’t have protection with me tonight. I wasn’t expecting this.’
The relief that coursed through him almost made his knees give way. He locked them. ‘I have protection,’
