Cam grinned. “Yeah, I can see what you were. I think the temperature’s about ten degrees hotter around your table.”

The two men shook hands, and if Cam noticed that Mitchell was trying to burn him alive with his glare, he didn’t show it.

“Hey, Jules, Katie Ann is having a party at Blink next weekend. You should come.”

Julie tilted her head. “Do I know Katie Ann?”

“No. But you know me.” Cam’s hand settled on her knee, and Julie gave a nervous glance. She and Cam had dated for like, five minutes a few years ago, but other than occasionally dancing if they ran into each other, there was nothing between them.

“So what do you think, Jules? You think you’ll stop by? For old times’ sake?”

His gaze roamed over her body, letting her know exactly which old times he wanted to relive.

Julie hesitated. Attending a party at Blink for a girl she didn’t know was the last thing she wanted to do, and yet . . . what the hell else would she have going on? Certainly not Mitchell.

“Sure,” she said with a shrug. “I’ll stop by.”

“She won’t,” Mitchell said, his arm dropping on Julie’s shoulder as his eyes fixed on Cam’s hand on her leg.

Cam gave an easy smile and quickly removed his hand. “Sorry, dude. Didn’t know it was like that.”

“It’s not—” Julie began.

“It is,” Mitchell said, cutting her off.

Cam whistled and stood up. “Can’t say I ever thought anyone would tame Julie Greene, but congrats, man. That’s quite the feat.”

He gave her a wink and was on to the next table before Julie could process what had just happened. Finally she turned to Mitchell, glaring fiercely into unreadable eyes. “Are you serious right now?”

“I hate that phrase. It sounds like something a teenager would say.”

Julie’s anger was roaring so loudly she could barely hear the music. “What the hell was that, Mitchell? You tell me I’m just a fling, and yet you won’t let me go to a party?”

“You know full well that’s not what that loser was after.”

“What was he after?”

Mitchell’s gaze flicked down to her skimpy outfit. “He was after whatever you’re selling.”

Julie itched to slap him. “Well, he’s more than free to shop here, because I’m not taken.”

“Wrong.” And then he kissed her again, his lips savage and hungry.

Mitchell moved suddenly, jerking Julie to her feet. She wanted to ask where they were going, but she could barely think, much less speak. Anger warred with confusion, and both emotions battled against her aching want for this man and whatever game he was playing with her.

To her surprise, he led her to the dance floor, weaving her adeptly through the mob of bodies until it felt like they were in the very center of the crowd.

Julie let out an involuntary gasp as he yanked her close. For a nightclub novice, he certainly understood how this kind of dancing worked. As in, it wasn’t really dancing at all. At least not in the way any of their parents would define the word.

It was more like hot, frantic writhing.

And Julie found she really liked writhing with Mitchell.

His hands moved briefly over her neck, pushing her hair back over her shoulders and skimming a finger over each shoulder blade, the gentle touch conflicting with his savage expression. Slowly his hands crept around to her back, and she cried out softly as his fingers curled into the ends of her long hair and pulled her head backward, exposing her throat and forcing her to meet his gaze. The look in his eyes was feral and dangerous, and yet she found she couldn’t look away.

Instead she moved her hands restlessly over his chest, wanting . . . something. Anything.

And then his hands moved to her hips and he began to move.

Julie was no stranger to the intimate nature of the Pair dance floor, but never before had it felt quite so distinctly like sex. The press of strangers on every side of them, the sound of the DJ’s voice, the high-pitched cackling of women there for a drunken bachelorette party—it all faded away.

There was nothing but her and Mitchell, hip to hip, chest to chest.

Eye to eye.

The tempo of the music changed from something fun and upbeat to something sultry and driving, and he pulled her even closer, his hands roaming over every inch of her body that he could touch. She intentionally tilted her hips up until she was rubbing against him, her eyes locked on his.

Her hands slid up behind his neck, her nails scraping lightly at his skin as though wanting to mark him. She wanted to leave a mark on him. Mark him the way he seemed to be marking her very soul. Mitchell growled before his mouth slammed down on hers.

Julie gave back as much as she took, using her own tongue to tease and torture. She had no idea how long they stood there, all pretense of dancing abandoned except for the subtle grind of hips. She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but try to bring him ever closer, only to realize that there was no way to get close enough. Not while they were still wearing clothes.

“Get a room,” screeched a girl next to them, elbowing Julie roughly. They pulled back, breathing harshly as they stared at each other.

“God,” he whispered.

He moved before she could try to lighten the moment, tugging her off the dance floor with less finesse than when they’d entered the crowd.

Mitchell stopped by their table, pausing only long enough to throw down a wad of bills and shove her purse at her.

“We just got here!” she said in his ear, yelling to be heard over the noise. She wasn’t ready to be alone with him. Not yet.

He ignored her, moving steadily toward the exit.

“Where are we going?” she asked, feeling oddly terrified. The controlled, self-aware Mitchell she could handle. But this wild, pagan version? She had no defenses against this one. Didn’t know how to guard herself.

She dug her heels into the floor like a belligerent child until he finally spun around.

“Wait, can we talk about this?” she yelled.

In answer, he cupped a hand around the back of her neck, and stamped a kiss on her lips, hard. He pulled back to search her eyes. “Tell me you want me.”

She licked her lips to buy time, trying to read him.

“Tell me,” he said again. His voice was harsh.

“I want you,” she said softly. Don’t break my heart.

His eyes blazed hot and fierce. “I’m taking you home.”

* * *

He was on her as soon as the door to her apartment closed behind them.

For a second it reminded her of that first time after that run in Central Park, but this was different.

They knew each other now. Knew just where to stroke, when to tease. What made the other person gasp and moan.

His fingers pinched her ni**les just the way that she liked, and she knew that he had her number. Then her teeth sank into his shoulder and he swore. She had his number too.

“This skirt is too short.” His hands slid up the back of her thighs, shoving the skirt up around her waist as his fingers toyed with the lacy edge of her thong. “I like it.”

He shoved her against the door, his hands cupping her ass as they kissed, tongues tangling as though trying to one-up each other. He moved his hands only long enough to tug at the string of her halter top, growling as he realized she wasn’t wearing a bra. In less than thirty seconds, her shirt and skirt were on the floor at her ankles. She stood before him clad only in ridiculously high heels and a tiny blue thong.

Even through her surge of want, she couldn’t help the flash of satisfaction at the stunned lust on his face as he took her in. Bet your movie-night girls don’t look like this.

Mitchell ran a reverent finger from hip bone to hip bone, tracing the low-cut top of her panties. “You’re beautiful.”

Julie’s breath hitched. Beautiful. Not hot.

The words tried to wriggle into her heart, but she pushed them out. She couldn’t afford to make room for the pain. Instead she settled for raw, animal passion. She launched herself at him, and just like that, she was once again pinned against the door, their mouths fused so tightly they shared the same breath. It was like they’d never left the club dance floor. His tongue moved in her mouth, moving in perfect sync with his hips as he ground against her. She locked her ankles behind his waist, matching him thrust for thrust even as she tore at his shirt, desperate to feel skin on skin.