“I’m so sorry.” Her breath hitched, long lashes fluttering over soft cheeks. “Let me clean you off.” Before he could respond, she whipped off her dupatta and patted his chest.
Jay glanced up, wary of attracting attention. He went to great pains to avoid this type of humiliating situation. And yet he couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think of anything but her gentle hands on his body.
“You don’t have to—” His words caught in his throat when her hands moved downward, a light pressure over the ridges of his abs and then across his belt. When the tail end of her long scarf brushed his fly, he silently cursed the salesman who had insisted that pleats were out and tight dress pants were in fashion.
“My dad has this same belt.” She polished the buckle and the situation down below became critical. Could he distract her with conversation?
“You mentioned he plays in a bhangra band.” His voice was so rough and hoarse he almost couldn’t believe it was coming from him.
“Yes.” She looked up, the scarf dangling from her fingers. “He almost lost his life in a car accident and had an epiphany. He gave up his career to pursue his passion for art and music.”
Passion. Bad word. His body tensed as his blood rushed through his ears like a freight train. He tried to draw deep calming breaths through clenched teeth and made a hissing sound instead.
“It destroyed my parents’ marriage.” She sighed, balling the scarf in her hand. “It was one of the reasons I didn’t pursue theater at college. That and the fact I would have been disowned. Now I have to get my fix by acting in community theater in my spare time and dancing and singing at weddings.” She glanced toward the door and the courtyard beyond, where the festivities would take place. “Are you dancing with the groom’s squad tonight?”
He steeled himself against regret. “I don’t dance.”
“Bad experience?” Her face creased with sympathy. “Did you try it one time? Mess up the steps? Were you stumbling around the stage not knowing what to do, and people were laughing, and you were utterly humiliated, so now you’re afraid to do it again?”
Jay frowned. “No. That’s not—”
“An old girlfriend, then?” She put a hand over her heart, and her dark eyes glistened. “Did you two dance beautifully together until she ran off with someone else and broke your heart? Did you vow you’d never dance again because every time you heard ‘The Humma Song’ you thought of her and it hurt too much?”
Jay’s mouth opened and closed again. He was a practical person who lacked even a shred of imagination. How did she come up with these ideas so fast? “Absolutely not.”
“So, you’re just insecure,” she said. “Otherwise, you’d be dancing tonight to support Tarun.”
Bristling, Jay gave an indignant huff. “I’m not insecure.”
“Well, then, let’s see what you’ve got.” She spun in a slow circle, humming a tune as she rocked her hips and undulated in front of him.
He couldn’t take his eyes off her. Had to take his eyes off her. Had to do something because there wasn’t enough slack in his pants to accommodate his rising desire.
“Have a little fun with it, Jay. How about some jazz hands?” She waved her hands in front of him.
“I’m not interested in public displays of any kind.” He instantly regretted his abrupt tone when her smile faded.
“Of course not.” Her voice sharpened. “What was I thinking? You must be desperate to get away.” Without warning, she dropped to a crouch in front of him and dabbed her scarf against his thigh.
Pat. Pat. Pat.
His mouth went dry. “What are you—？”
“Just getting those last few drops. It spilled all the way to your knee.”
Brain freeze. He couldn’t keep up on the crazy road trip from insult to admonishment to sexy-woman-dancing to jazz hands to woman-on-her-knees-with-her-hands-on-his-thigh. Was she trying to seduce him? Confuse him? Tease him? Torture him? Or did she really not understand the effect her position might have on a man?
“Stop.” He caught her slim wrist, drawing her up from the ground. “I’ll take care of it myself.”
“Are you sure? I’d hate to think of you walking around all evening in wet pants. I dated a male model a few years ago and every time I looked at him . . .” She shook her head and sighed. “Let’s just say I know from experience how uncomfortable wet pants can be. Sometimes it’s just better to go without.”