She glanced away from me, taking in the other women vying for my attention. I wasn’t sure what to do to reassure her. We hadn’t even spoken yet.
But I took her hand. Her face popped up in surprise. Her eyes were like quicksilver, lively and pale gray. I flashed with concern that I had screwed up already, but then she squeezed my fingers. I pushed away from the stage and led her out of the throng.
My heart was hammering ninety to nothing. The adrenaline of the song, the crowd, and now touching her — God, I was touching her — threatened to make my chest explode.
We moved through the crowd that seemed to part for us. We were making a scene somehow. I thought about that guy who’d put his arm around her earlier in the night. Would he start something? This didn’t look to be a fighting crowd. Their faces were too pretty and probably too important. But they had money. That could mean bodyguards and lawyers.
I glanced down at her.
She didn’t seem concerned. I didn’t know where I was leading her exactly, but she seemed willing to follow. Behind us, Paul cranked the band into another song. I wondered if I should take her far enough away that we could talk.
We broke free of the thick part of the crowd and into the fringes. Then to the edge of the lights, then along the garden paths I’d explored earlier.
Suddenly she stopped.
“Sorry,” I said automatically. “I shouldn’t take you from the party.” Probably she was worried about being too alone with a total stranger. I should have known—
My brain shut off when her hand grasped the back of my neck and brought me closer. Only when her lips hit mine did I realize what she was doing — what we were doing.
Kissing.
Need hit me like a blow to the gut. Her mouth was warm and soft. I buried my hands in those pink dreadlocks, more than ready to get lost in them. Her small body in the green dress fit neatly against mine.
I kept it easy with her at first, but as the kiss lingered, my body thundered with urgency. I pulled her hard against me, feeling every curve.
My tongue slid along her lips. She parted for me, and the warmth of her mouth was mine to possess, take over, taste. I didn’t think we could get closer, but somehow we did, and the line where my body ended and hers began started getting blurred as we stood locked together.
A burst of light commanded our attention, and I broke the kiss.
“What the hell?” I growled when I saw some punk with a camera taking off down the path.
Shit. This would probably upset the girl.
But she was laughing. “Well, that’s done,” she said.
“What?” I asked. What the hell was going on here?
“Come on,” she said, tugging on my hand. “They won’t follow us into the house.”
She led me back toward the party. We wound through the tables. I had a million questions for this girl, but I felt like I was walking through a dream. Maybe all these actors made you feel that way, as though you were on a movie set, acting out a story that wasn’t really your life.
I hadn’t been inside the house. We arrived at a long room full of white wicker furniture. The whole side was glass so you could look out on the party. Nobody else was in there.
“We can take over the casting couch,” the girl said with a laugh, drawing me down on a padded love seat along the far wall.
“You lost me,” I said, but I sat down beside her. “This whole thing feels surreal.”
“These parties have that effect,” she said.
“Did they slip you a Mickey?” I asked.
She laughed again, and this made me relax. The sound was infectious, like a child’s giggle, innocent and full of life.
“No,” she said. “Or at least I don’t think so. It’s always possible.”
Now that we were settled, I realized we hadn’t even gotten through the basics. “What is your name?” I asked her.
“Oh, right,” she said, and laughed again. “I snogged you without any introductions.” She pushed the mass of pink dreadlocks behind her shoulder. “I’m having trouble getting used to these.”
“The hair is new?”
She touched her hands to it. “My hair is always pink, or it has been since I was seventeen. But the dreads were added yesterday.”
I picked one up and felt its spongy softness. “Ah, so you didn’t grow them.”
She sat back against the cushions. “I have the patience of a squirrel,” she said. “The eight hours it took for these were already stretching my attention span.”
I figured she didn’t want to give me her name, so I didn’t push. I certainly wasn’t going to ask about that guy who had his arm around her earlier. He was probably not important, if she was willing to kiss me like she had. Unless she was causing trouble. Using me.
“So the kiss?” I prodded.
“Oh, that.” She looked out the windows. “I’ve always been a little too impulsive.”
Now that was an answer I liked. “So, if you’re not going to give me your name, what should I call you?”