Chapter Fourteen

 

Someone asked her to dance, and she looked at Luc. Not for permission. Not really; but for support. She didn’t want to dance with the man, but she agreed anyway.

The last man she’d danced with had been at Al’s Thanksgiving party. That man had turned out to be a serial killer. Payton wasn’t exactly keen on dancing lately. After the first dance, three more men asked her before she could find Luc.

She stepped off the dance floor, finally, intending to go back to the table where they’d first settled. And find her date. Like him or not, he was still the only person in this room that she knew.

She didn’t make it. Someone grabbed her arm and pulled her against a tuxedoed chest. She knew at the first touch who it was.

“Enjoying the dancing?”

“Not really.” She looked up at him. He was so tall and his shoulders looked so broad. Tuxedoes were designed to be worn by men like him. “Are you getting tons of pledges?”

“Yes. Doing quite well. I noticed you were getting lots of attention. I’ll admit, I’m jealous. You’re mine, yet all these other men keep touching you. I think you’ve made a few conquests.”

Heat hit her cheeks. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not yours. They’re just wondering who your date is. I doubt they even remember my name right now.”

“I wouldn’t underestimate your appeal. That dress is absolutely stunning, but doesn’t hold a candle to the woman in it.”

“I don’t have any money, Luc, so can the charm. Keep it for the people who could really help your cause.”

He pulled her closer, and she tried to ignore the feel of his chest against hers, of his hands hot on the skin of her back. He trailed fingers up her spine, then tangled them in her hair. He pulled, and she tilted her head back instinctively. “I think we can leave whenever you want. Go back to my place and I’ll demonstrate every little thought that the men looking at you are having. Maybe then you’ll believe. If not, we’ll have a damned good time trying.”

Payton couldn’t help it; she laughed. He looked down at her for a long moment. They kept swaying to the music, then he shocked her by lowering his head and kissing her. When he pulled away, she stared up at him. “You’re crazy. Everyone is looking at us, now.”

“Hardly. We’re old news. It works that way, fifteen minutes of staring, then they’re back to their own little worlds.” He brushed a hand over her hair again. He liked touching her hair, didn’t he? He’d done that the night in the bunker, too. “We have the rubber chicken portion of our evening, then I’ll make my nicey-nicey speech. Then you and I can head back to my place, slip into the proverbial ‘something more comfortable’, and get busy.”

She smacked him. “We’re not getting busy.”

“Not like that, Dr. Asher. My, you do have a dirty mind, don’t you?” He leaned his forehead against hers. The intimacy of the dance had her stomach practically trembling and her knees like water. “I meant, get busy going over donation cards. You have a long night of work ahead of you. Not pleasure.”