One night 1

After the sixth drink she went to the dance floor and a certain set of strong hands grabbed her waist but she was too drunk to mind.

She wanted to see his face so she turn around and she was mesmerized to see a handsome looking devil "_"

"Hey," I said, giving his wrist a gentle tug and pulling us both to a stop. Another light blush swept across my skin as he turned and gazed down at me with an inquisitive smile. "I just realized that we don't even know each other's names. I'm—"

"No names," he said quickly, shushing me with a finger to the lips. When I looked up questioningly, he brought my knuckles to his lips for a soft kiss. "No names, no strings, no consequences," he explained, his dark eyes burning into mine, setting my entire body ablaze. Then, as if second-guessing himself, he asked, "Is that okay?"

It was as if a door opened in front of me, beckoning and inviting me inside. Again, the decision was mine, but I had the distinct feeling that if I didn't walk through, it would never open to me again. "Yeah, that's fine," I said.

Famous last words.

He flashed another blinding smile, nodded quickly at the bouncer, and a few seconds later, the two of us were in the middle of the loudest, craziest nightclub I'd ever been to.

My lips parted in astonishment as we melted quickly into the crowd. The air was thick with tequila and sweat. A fog machine in the corner was shooting streaks of neon light through the heavy shadows, and the floorboards were literally bouncing with vibration as what looked like an entire army of London's hipster underground writhed and grinded together in a tangle of limbs.

It wasn't my typical scene in any way, but it was also not my typical night.

"I'm going to use the little ladies room," I said.

He shot me a shocked look.

"What?" I asked.

"Wow, you're forward."

I laughed. "Am I now?"

"Yes, indeed. I mean the last woman who hit on me at least took me out to dinner first, but you want me in the bathroom already?"

A smile grew across my lips. I knew he was joking and trying to break the ice between us.

I softly touched his arm. "How about I get you a few more drinks first?"

"I like your thinking. Get me a scotch on the rocks, and then I might be more open to the idea."

I playfully swatted him and he laughed.

When I returned, he handed me a drink.

The walls blurred into a single streak of electric purple as my mystery man spun me suddenly toward him and caught me just a few inches away. A series of bright greens and violets streaked across his lovely face as he gazed down at me in the dark, waiting with an outstretched hand, yet another silent invitation.

It's just his style, I was coming to understand. Everything might be his idea, but the choice is always mine. That said, he was so damn irresistible that saying no wasn't an option, and I was pretty sure he knew that all too well.

The second I took his hand, the music changed, slowing into something smoother, something sexier. His fingers closed over mine as he pulled me into his chest.

I had never been a great dancer, and fancy footwork was not my forte. To say I had two left feet would have been an understatement; on most occasions, it was more like having one left foot, one pogo stick, and a tripwire to stumble over. Growing up, I attended public school in the States, so of course I'd learned the tried-and-true, basic hold-each-other-and-sway prom routine, that awkward rotation that ended only when couples broke apart to sneak off to make out in the backseat or throw up the spiked punch in the cafeteria bathroom. That,

however, was the extent of my knowledge in the world of dance. It was a testament to how smitten I was that I'd actually dared to accept the mystery man's offer. Then again, dancing with him wasn't like anything I'd done before.

It was sex, pure and simple. As people pressed in around us from every side, our bodies melted against each other, twisting back and forth in a kind of sensual wave.

"You feel nice," he murmured, slipping his hands to my lower back as his hips grinded temptingly against mine. "Really nice."

We were skin to skin, so close that I could feel his racing pulse through the thin fabric of his shirt. I felt the heat rise from his body and sink into mine. As his forehead dipped down to press lightly against my own, I caught a whiff of his sweet-scented hair.

"You smell like honey."

He pulled back a few inches and stared down at me curiously. There was a pause in his sensual rhythm as a heated blush blossomed in my cheeks.

"Your hair," I muttered, wishing like hell I'd just kept the compliment to myself. "It smells like honey."

He stared for another second before his confusion vanished into another smile. A burst of quiet laughter echoed in the air between us as we started swaying once more. "Abby," he said.

"Huh?" I asked, looking up at him in confusion. "You're not trying to guess my name, are you? I thought we agreed on no names."

"No," he said with another laugh. "Abby's...a friend. She sent a bucket of this shampoo for my birthday. For reasons I have yet to understand, she found the gift hilarious."

I smiled in spite of myself, inspired by the broad smile he seldom lost. Everything about him was contagious; it was impossible not to smile in return.

"Happy late birthday then, and your friend did well with the shampoo. It smells delicious."

He grinned again. "She'll be happy someone noticed. She's my best friend's wife."

"Oh."

Those were the last words spoken between us for a while as the music picked up speed and our bodies reacted accordingly. We writhed, grinded, and swayed with a sexual fluidity I didn't think myself capable of until that very moment. Before long, the two of us were damp with sweat. Our breath came in quiet, shallow bursts as we gripped each other, our eyes dancing with an explosion of flashing neon.