Page 82 of Fractured Ice

Every time she shoots one down I feel something that is embarrassingly close to relief.

Knox appears beside me. "You're being creepy."

"I'm not being creepy."

"You're one step away from being the guy who hides in her bushes at night."

"Nobody can tell."

"I can tell. Noah can tell." Knox takes a drink of whatever he's having. "You're not subtle."

"I'm the picture of subtlety."

"Walker."

"I'm fine." I look at him. "How are you doing?"

His expression goes somewhere that isn't its normal location and then returns. "Fine."

"Emma—"

"I'm fine," he says, with a finality that closes that conversation completely.

The music shifts, someone putting on something with more bass, and the center of the room reorganizes into something that resembles a dance floor. Sienna and Rory and Emma move toward it, which I watch happen, and the jungle juice is warm in my chest and the room is warm and loud and she's in that dress and I'm across the room doing nothing with any of that.

I set down my cup and go to the dance floor.

She sees me coming. I know she does, because the look she gives me over her shoulder has too much awareness in it to be accidental, and she doesn't move away. When I reach her I put my hands on her hips and she lets me.

The music does the rest.

She presses back into me and I pull her closer as we find the rhythm together. She's warm against my front and her hips move against mine. I'm hard, she can feel it, and she doesn't stop, she just keeps moving, her body working against me in a slow roll that makes me want to put my mouth on her neck and stay there for the rest of my life.

I keep my hands on her hips. I tell myself I'm keeping my hands on her hips. It lasts about ninety seconds before my palms slide to her waist, then her stomach as I pull her tighter in. She lets out a small sound that I feel more than hear and tilts her head back against my shoulder.

The room is loud and full, and nobody is paying attention to anyone else. I'm not paying attention to anyone but her. She moves, I move, and her ass grinds back against my cock. I grip her tighter and feel her respond to that, her hips working harder against me, and I'm running at a temperature I haven't run at in a long time.

We dance like this until I lose track of the songs. Her back against my chest, my hands on her body, her moving against me with an ease that says the jungle juice has done its work on the walls she usually keeps between us. I put my mouth against her ear.

"I want to make you come," I say, low enough that it stays between us.

She turns her head slightly but doesn't pull away. "I'm not having sex with you."

"I didn't say anything about sex."

"Ethan—"

"I just want to taste you." I press my lips to the curve of her neck, just below her ear, and feel her pull in a long breath. "That's all. I swear."

She goes still for a moment. I wait. The music keeps going and the room keeps going, and I wait.

She turns and tips up to reach my ear. I have to bend down, and her lips brush the shell of it when she speaks. "If you swear you won't fuck me," she says, quiet and deliberate, "I'll let you taste me."

I pull back to look at her face. Her eyes are dark and direct, and I've never meant anything more than I mean it right now.

"I swear," I say. "I swear. I just want you." I press my mouth to the corner of hers. "That's it. That's all."

She nods, once, and I take her hand.