I leaned forward again, then glanced around, wondering if anyone else had noticed the drama unfolding in front of me.
They seemed to be arguing, and the woman’s sweaty face was red and worried. But then the man held up his hands in surrender, releasing his prey.
I relaxed back into my chair, feeling almost as much relief as the short woman who was retreating in the direction of the bathroom.
The man stood, watching the woman leave, and I was surprised to see frustration on his face. Not disappointment, not annoyance. He wasn’t offended, his ego wasn’t dented. If anything, he seemed angry with himself.
It was odd. Nothing in their behavior hinted that they were close. It looked like a hookup, but why had he chosen someone who was so far below his own league?
It occurred to me that perhaps he was one of those men you read about in Vegas, a gigolo in all but name. It hurt my heart a little to think that such a beautiful man might use his perfect body in such a way. I didn’t want to be disappointed when everything else about him was just so . . . perfect.
The man ran his hands over his hair as he searched around the room, his eyes ticking off the women he saw, some internal checklist that remained hidden to all but him.
But then his eyes flickered to me, probably because I was still watching him, and a wide smile stretched his full lips. The smile, so totally unblemished from a distance, didn’t reach his eyes, and when he approached me, I was immediately on guard.
“Hi, I’m Ash. Are you by yourself?”
It was hard to be sure over the pounding music, but it sounded as if he had an accent. Something Eastern European, perhaps Russian? Polish?
I gave him a polite but closed smile, a cool smile that hid all warmth, a smile for slow servers and rude cab drivers. A smile for men I didn’t trust.
“No. I’m here with my friends.”
The man looked around him, then shrugged theatrically. “I don’t see them. Would you like to dance?”
And he held out his hand, obviously assuming that I would say yes.
I laughed.
“No, I’m not dancing.”
He frowned, his hand still suspended between us. “But you like to dance?”
I stopped laughing and stared, my gaze sinking into his, puzzled, annoyed.
“What makes you think I like to dance?”
He shrugged again and his hand fell to his side.
“You’re in a nightclub, and you’re not drinking. So you must be here to dance. Please, dance with me.”
He held out his hand again, but I shook my head impatiently. “Then go find someone who will dance with you.”
His eyes widened with surprise, and then he grinned as he leaned on the table, his perfect face inches from mine. “Maybe I want to dance with you.”
“Then you’ll be waiting a long time.”
He cocked his head to one side and I noticed a small beauty spot, shaped like a teardrop beneath his left eye—a perfect imperfection. Up close I could see that he was younger than I’d thought, younger than me perhaps, maybe early twenties. My eyes dropped to his lips and then to his throat. I could see a thin silver chain around his neck.
“I’m a good dancer,” he said, looking almost wounded at my continued refusal.
He wasn’t lying, but my anger, smoldering beneath the surface, ignited.
“I’m not dancing!”
“But everyone comes here to dance,” he insisted, his intense dark eyes so focused, it was unnerving.
“Not me,” I insisted.
He was making me anxious now and I glanced around for my friends.
“You’ll have a good time.”
“I don’t doubt it,” I snapped, losing patience. “Your last friend seemed to enjoy herself immensely.”
A dull red flooded his cheeks and he looked away.
His reaction surprised me. I’d hurt his feelings, but I wasn’t sure why.
“Maybe I’d like to dance with a pretty girl for a change,” he said softly, glancing up at me from beneath long dark lashes.
His intense stare and pleading eyes were hard to resist. Oh, he was good. Calling me ‘pretty’, pretending to be upset that I wouldn’t dance with him. But then I felt a little guilty, too. You can’t fake flushed cheeks. I would have guessed that it was simply the exertion from dancing, but when I met his gaze, his expression was almost desperate.
“You are missing out.”
My mouth tightened and the gates to my sympathy slammed shut.
“Laney, is this guy bothering you?”
I breathed a sigh of relief as Vanessa and Jo strode toward me, their lips pursed, eyes flashing dangerously.
Ash looked nervous, his glance flicking between my friends and the bouncers by the exit. He started backing away, his hands held out from his sides.
“I just asked her to dance, that’s all. I wasn’t doing anything wrong.”
Jo threw him a disbelieving look and stood with her hands on her hips.
“Do you want to go back to your room now?” Vanessa asked.
Suddenly feeling emotional and overwhelmed, I nodded silently as Jo continued to glare.