Her hips swayed as they wove through the tables, her hand gripped firmly in his as she led him onto the dance floor. His fingers were strong, his palm warm, and his thumb kept rubbing across her knuckles. She wondered if Declan even realized he was doing it. Her heels clicked onto the battered parquet floor in front of the stage, the band just starting a mambo-driven number. Music blasted them, quick and bright and loud, and Fiona turned immediately, laying her palms flat on Declan’s chest. Firm muscles instantly flexed beneath his tee shirt. “I should’ve asked before,” she said, pitching her voice over the noise. “Can you salsa?” Leaning down, he placed his lips next to her ear. Heat. Pure heat, hurtling through her veins like a rollercoaster on acid. “I can, but not as well as you.” He paused, and his lower lip brushed her earlobe. She shivered. “You’ve been watching me?” He nodded, the tip of his nose grazing the sensitive shell of her ear. More heat, consuming her bared skin in waves.
