Rock Your Heart Out (Sinful Serenade #3) by Crystal Kaswell Page B

between my legs. Then his thigh is against my sex, the fabric of his jeans creating friction in my cotton panties.
    My breath catches in my throat. No doubt my cheeks are as pink as my hair. God, that feels good. I grab at his shoulders. Stare up into his eyes. He's watching me, intently, studying my reaction. I nod the best yes I can muster. Whatever this is, yes.
    He responds by pulling me closer. The friction is enough to send pleasure to every nerve in my body.
    Tom brings his mouth to my ears. "Do you realize how much you light up when I touch you?"
    I say nothing.
    His fingers skim the waist of my skirt then settle on my lower back. It's completely appropriate for dancing. Normal. But my body doesn't feel normal. My body is buzzing, desperate to get those hands under my skirt.
    One hand traces its way up my back, all the way to the bottom of my still crop top. Then under it. His fingertips grace my bare skin. I'm not wearing a bra. He's so close to touching me properly.
    Why isn't he touching me properly?
    My body throbs with need. I stare into Tom's eyes. There's no clue in them. No explanation. He's been clear about us being friends. This isn't what friends do. Friends don't dance like this.
    Don't lead each other on.
    "Excuse me." I step back. "I'm going to sit the rest of these out."
    The song shifts to something faster.
    "Willow, don't. I'll stop." His fingers graze my wrist. "Don't brood with Pete. It's no fun."
    I will myself to push Tom away, but his body feels too fucking good. Okay. I need to focus on something else. On whatever it is that's upsetting him. "Yeah. But you can't run away from your feelings. You have to let the pain sink in sometimes."
    "Not interested in pain. I prefer pleasure."
    I stare back at him. It's hard to tell if he's serious, especially with the limited lighting. "What does that mean?"
    "I'm not trying to be oblique, kid. But I'm more than happy to explain in detail if that's what gets you off."
    Okay. He is mocking me. That's enough. "Stop it."
    "Stop what?"
    "Teasing me. I get that you're a slut. I get that you can nail any woman you want. I get that you can tell I'm attracted to you, that it amuses you that someone like me would want someone like you. Stop rubbing it in my God damn face."
    "Doesn't amuse me."
    "Yes it does."
    "It doesn't. I... Forget it."
    "Just stop teasing me. I don't care how long it's been or how many days you have left until you can finally nail the first girl who meets your stringent criteria." I take a step backwards. "I haven't had sex in six years, and you don't see me torturing my friends to pass the time."
    Tom's jaw drops.
    I continue before he says something to make me even more angry. "I've got the message. You can do better. We're friends. Platonic. That was your edict, not mine."
    "Six years?"
    "Yes."
    "That's not possible."
    I ignore his commentary. I need to stay focused on making it out of this alive. "Stop flirting with me. Please."
    "Stop looking at me like you're thinking about me naked."
    "Fine."
    "Great."
    I spin and head for the couch.
    Pete has that same calm expression on his face. He leans in close enough to whisper. "You can go. I'll keep an eye on Tom."
    "No, I'm great. Having a lot of fun."
    It takes Tom the briefest of moments to find a dance partner. He picks a blonde women with long hair and a short skirt. His hands go to her hips, inches from her ass. She whispers something in his ear and clings to his shoulders like he's a buoy and she's lost at sea.
    "He won't fuck her," Pete says.
    "Cause he can't fuck anyone."
    "True." Pete watches the action. "But he won't take her home."
    "If I'm really lucky they'll start necking."
    "They won't. He doesn't kiss on the lips."
    I stare back at him as if to ask really .
    "You learn way too much about a person's sexual habits on tour. Not that I can talk."
    I look at him curiously.
    "Phone sex. I get carried away. Or I did. Long story, not very interesting." Pete turns to me. "You like him?"
    No