“That’s more like it,” Sam whispered against her ear. He kissed her temple and Nadine tensed. She felt like a Judas, dancing with him, holding him when her heart was far away with Hayden Monroe.
As the song ended, she disentangled herself and made an excuse about needing to go to the bathroom. Sam found his friends and she hurried off toward the restrooms, intending to splash cold water on her face and find a way to tell Sam that she wasn’t interested in him romantically.
“Having a good time?”
Hayden’s voice stopped her short. She whirled, hardly daring to breathe and found him in the thickening shadows, lounging against the rough trunk of a massive cedar tree.
“I’m trying to.”
“That your boyfriend?” He cocked his head in Sam’s direction, where, along with a few of his friends, Sam was adding to his soda from a bottle hidden in a brown paper bag.
“He’s...
he’s just a friend.”
“Looked like more than that to me.”
“You were spying on me?”
His teeth showed white in the coming darkness. “Just happened to see you.” He stepped out of the shadows, and Nadine’s heart lurched at the sight of him—his smooth, disjointed walk, his thick dark hair and blade-thin mouth. His eyes, midnight blue in the gloaming, held hers and the night seemed to close around them. Laughter, music and conversation grew suddenly distant, and the air, still and muggy, became thick. When his gaze shifted to her neck, she knew he could see the tempo of her heartbeat at the base of her throat.
“I’m surprised you’re here,” she said.
“Command performance.”
“Who commanded?”
“The king.” When she didn’t smile, he explained, “You called me the prince. That would make my father—”
“The king,” she said.
“So now I’ve done my duty.”
Her heart dropped. “And now you’re leaving.”
Smoldering blue eyes held hers. “Want to come along?”
“And go where?”
“Does it matter?”
No! her heart silently screamed, but she knew she couldn’t just take off. Not without an explanation to her parents and to Sam. “I can’t.”
“Why not?” He cocked his head toward the group of boys huddled in the parking lot. “Your boyfriend disapprove?”
“I already told you he’s not—” He took hold of her shoulders, pulled her impatiently against him and cut off her explanation with a kiss. Hot and supple, hungry and anxious, his lips molded firmly over hers.
She didn’t protest, but sagged against him, her arms encircling his neck. She drank in the smell and taste of him, felt the sweet wet pressure of his tongue as it insistently prodded her teeth apart and explored the dark inner reaches of her mouth.
When he dragged her deeper into the foliage, she followed willingly, her lips still pressed to his, her body beginning to respond in wanton, lusty abandon. His hands spanned her waist, and his lips claimed hers with such passion that her head spun and her body began to ache.
When one hand moved upward to cup her breast, she sighed into his mouth. His thumb brushed in eager circles over her nipples and her bra was suddenly far too tight. He slipped his fingers beneath the hem of her blouse, upward until he touched the webbing of lace that covered her breasts. Groaning, he pushed her back against a tree and she sagged as his fingers probed and plundered, massaged and sculpted the shape of her breast until she felt as if she were on fire. The ache between her thighs began to pulse.
“Why do you do this to me?” he whispered hoarsely, as if he were angry with the world. He still held her breast, but now his body was pressed against hers and he was breathing in deep, trembling gulps of air.
“Do...do what?”
“Torture me.”