She flashes me a wide, satisfied grin, the cat who’s had its cream. “Yes.”
Recklessly, I drink in that grin, and my hand slips lower down her back as we whip into a quick turn, then take a long slow step together. My other hand tightens around her waist, to make up for the lack of her other hand for me to hold and keep her steady. That’s the only reason my palm is wide across her back, holding her hips to mine, my other hand wrapped around her ribs, my thumb sliding over the curve of her waist.
“You’re holding me rather tightly, aren’t you?” she asks. Her breathing is a little unsteady. Mine is, too.
Then again, we’re tangoing our asses off. But it doesn’t feel only like that—her body turning and twisting with mine. It’s the way we’d move if there weren’t layers of clothing and decades of dissonance between us, her breath hot on my neck as I worked her hard and slow, her cheeks flushed, her nails raking down my skin.
“Petruchio.”
I swallow, meeting her eyes, trying to cool myself down. “What?”
“I said you’re holding me tight.”
“And? Otherwise, one quick turn and you’d go flying.”
“I have my left arm hooked around you. I’m not going anywhere.”
I sigh, exasperated. “Could you just trust me for once and not have an argument for every—Christ.”
Her heel slams on my toe. I glare down at Kate as she stares up at me serenely and says, “Oops.”
“I suggest you hold on with that all-powerful left arm of yours,” I tell her.
She frowns. “What—ack!”
It’s not the right moment for a dip, but I do it anyway, smooth and fast, leaning forward. Kate arches back reflexively in my arms and gasps.
“Jesus, Christopher,” she hisses as I draw her upright, bringing her even tighter against my body. “You could have dropped me.”
My hand tucks her hips against mine, and a swallow works down my throat. “I’d never drop you, Kate.” She doesn’t answer me, but our eyes hold, hers hot as blue flames, as we take a slow step, then another. “You don’t trust me?” I press.
On our quick turn, her knee connects with my thigh.
I groan in pain. “I’ll take that as a no.”
“Take that as a ‘no, and I’m pissed at you.’ You startled me, dipping me without warning.”
“You’re right,” I tell her, a pang of guilt echoing in my chest. “I startled you on purpose, and that was wrong.”
Kate nearly trips as we slide into a slow step, her head whipping my way. “What did you just say?”
“I said I was wrong. I know it’s hard to wrap your head around,” I tell her dryly, “but I can be wrong sometimes.”
She bursts out a smoky laugh that draws a few heads. “What’s hard to wrap my head around is that you’d admit it!”
My jaw clenches. “It’s not exactly a phrase you’ve practiced, either, Katerina.” Wrenching her to me, I pick up our pace and complicate the footwork, a thrill racing down my spine as she catches on and meets me, step for step.
“Guess what, Petruchio?” she says breathily, her hand clawing into my back to anchor her to me. “I have news for you. It’s a phrase I know very well.”
“Could have fooled me,” I grunt, my grip sinking into her waist.
“Because I reserve apologies for people who deserve to hear them.” She leans in, her breath hot on my ear, her mouth a whisper away from my neck. A rush of dizzying heat burns through me. “You just aren’t one of them.”
Her heel lands on the same toe, twice as hard as last time. And then she wrenches herself out of my arms and walks away.
? SEVEN ?
Kate
I tell Bea I’m tired and heading back. I promise I’ll take a cab. I hug Sula goodbye and tell her happy birthday again, not that, based on her drunkenness, she’ll even remember. I hug Margo and let her cajole me into taking a shot with her that I needed desperately.
I walk the whole way home.
And because the brutally cold wind wasn’t enough to extinguish the aggravated heat pumping through my veins, I take a brutally cold shower, too.
I’m shivering when I get into bed, wrenching the sheets over me, and yet I’m still burning hot. I must have a fever.
Lying on my back, staring up at the dark ceiling, I count to one hundred in three different languages I’ve learned in my travels, and when I’m still wide-awake, I know I’m not ready, that I won’t be able to sleep for a while. There’s a pulse between my thighs, a fierce, nagging ache coiling through my limbs. I feel agitated and antsy.