Kanga made it to the dance floor in a combination of skips and hops that had Philly laughing before they’d even begun. When he started to move to the music she couldn’t stop. She was either being buffeted by the huge hind legs of his costume or he’d swing around and collect her with his tail. It was impossible not to have fun.
She was still here.
For a while he’d been unable to find her, scared beyond belief that she’d already left when he didn’t even know who she was. But then his eyes had been drawn to the dance floor and there she was.
My God, she was even more beautiful than he remembered. Her smile was so wide her whole face lit up and she moved so well to the fast rock and roll number, her body picking up the beat and making it her own.
He checked out her partner and discounted him in the same glance. He could deal with Skippy. He’d dealt with much stronger adversaries, like the CEO he’d finally caught up with. He was history in the business community from here on in.
He moved closer, sensing the music track was nearing its end, preparing to cut in before anyone else had a chance to get anywhere near her. He’d wasted enough time tonight. Now he was going to make her his.
What made her look around? There was no way she could have heard a thing over the loud music, but something made her turn. Something made her look.
Not something.
Someone.
Her steps faltered in time with the skip of her heartbeat.
Damien. He was back and he was heading straight towards her. He’d come back for her. She sucked in a breath, watching his approach. He looked like a triumphant general returning from war. She was unaware she’d stopped dancing until Kanga tapped her on the shoulder with his paw.
‘You tired? It’s like an oven inside here. I’m getting a drink. Want one?’
She was aware her head was shaking but only just. Every other part of her concentrated on Damien’s purposeful approach, her body tingling in mounting anticipation with each step he took closer. His eyes were still masked but she could tell his focus didn’t leave her. It was empowering knowing that he could no more take his eyes off her than she could from him.
‘Okay, then. Thanks for the dance.’ Kanga bounded off to find refreshments as Damien reached her side. He took one of her hands, lifted it to his mouth and held it there, pressed to his lips.
Finally he removed his mouth. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘where were we?’
His grip was firm, his hand warm and strong. The fast rock and roll number came to an end as, without letting go of her hand, he drew her closer. For a few seconds he just stood, looking at her, ignoring the jostling of the crowd around him, waiting for the new track to cut in.
She couldn’t move. Even if he hadn’t had a grip on her hand, she wasn’t going anywhere. From under his mask the heat from his gaze pulled her like a magnet. Her body responded, breasts swelling, nipples tightening, as his sheer presence touched her in places his eyes couldn’t.
When the gentle strains of guitar playing signalled the start of a slow Robbie Williams ballad Damien pulled her gently into his arms and suddenly he was all around her. His chest, solid and warm, pressing against hers, his thighs firm, his arms encasing her, modelling her like clay to his form while he swayed to the music.
She gave in to the pressure and let her head fall against his chest to rest upon the plates that covered it. It wasn’t exactly comfortable but she didn’t care. When she breathed in it was his scent, natural and masculine, that intoxicated her senses.
His large hands held her close, one cradling her shoulder, the other firm at the small of her back, and his head rested over hers as they moved together to the music, their bodies as close as they could be with clothes on.
He breathed deep, unable to get a hold on her scent—frustrating for someone who prided himself on knowing them backwards. She was wearing a wig—that didn’t help—but there was some kind of rich perfume, something exotic, just like she was. Something else lurked below too, but the signals were blurry and he couldn’t quite make it out. Whatever it was, she smelt all woman. He liked that.
The rest of her he could make out just fine. She fitted him perfectly. Something told him she’d fit him everywhere perfectly. She moulded to his body as if she was made for it. The jut of her breasts, soft but firm against his chest, the dip to her waist and the flare of her hips. She was perfect.
His hands moved slowly over her back, exploring, taking inventory. He liked what he felt as she followed his swaying rhythm, her body curvy and sensual and just the way he liked them.
The only thing he hated was the mask she wore. He’d do away with that the first chance he got.