Only You by K.T. Quinn

17

Molly

The Day We Danced

We drank expensive wine and talked about everything—home, work, other countries we wanted to visit—until the candles burned low. When Donovan went to refill his glass, the bottle was empty.

“How about I grab another bottle from the wine closet and we drink it on our balconies?” I asked. “The rain has finally stopped, and we haven’t had balcony wine in days.”

He chewed the inside of his lip, then smiled sadly. “I should probably clean the kitchen and put the food away.”

“I can help!” I said. “It’s the least I can do.”

But he waved his hand. “I don’t mind. Besides, I want to tinker with some of the kitchen gadgets. I’ve never had access to a real kitchen before. I feel like a kid in a toy store, and I don’t know what to play with first.”

“Fine,” I teased. “Play with your toys. Thank you for a wonderful evening.”

We smiled at each other, and I was struck by just how much I wanted to kiss him. Donovan wasn’t a stranger anymore. We’d been stuck together for over a week, and had been on the equivalent of five or six dates. I didn’t have any excuses anymore.

Not to mention he radiated sex appeal. As we stood on either side of the table, the sexual tension between us was the strongest it had ever been. Even more than when we played pool last night. That felt like playful teasing, but this? This had been a real date, with cooking and wine and candles.

Kiss him, I told myself. Go around the table and push your lips against his and make him respond.

Before I could work up the courage to do just that, Donovan grabbed our two dessert plates and carried them into the kitchen.

I snatched a bottle of red wine from the kitchen closet and carried it upstairs to my balcony. The sky was perfectly clear and the stars were shining above the city, despite the light pollution. A cool breeze blew across the balcony, stirring my shirt.

I thought about my date with Donovan. Something had changed between us, for the better. His playful flirting had been replaced with genuine interest.

It’s probably the kitchen, I thought while sipping my wine. Now that he can cook real food, he’s happier than I’ve ever seen him.

As I thought about him, my mind drifted to the hot tub this morning. The way he fearlessly removed his boxer-briefs and stood in front of me like it was totally normal to be naked. I had never been that comfortable in my nudity, even with my serious boyfriends. Letting Donovan see me in my bra and panties, and bending over in front of the gym window, was a huge step for me. Yet he one-upped me by the hot tub with ease.

Confidence probably came easy when you looked like that. Because everything I saw while he wore his birthday suit made me tingle with unrestrained arousal. Bulging arms, broad chest, abs like buttery dinner rolls leading down to a penis that looked smooth and long, even when he wasn’t hard…

Suddenly the door to the neighboring balcony opened and Donovan walked out. “I changed my mind. The kitchen can wait.”

I couldn’t stop a smile from filling my face. “I’m so glad! I mean, because I didn’t want to drink alone. This is an expensive bottle of wine, and I don’t think I can finish it by myself.”

He leaned his wine glass across the railing toward me and flashed his most charming smile yet. “Happy to help with that.”

His portable speaker chimed to life and began playing classical Italian music. We stood on our balconies and gazed out at the city. Some cats wandered across the plaza and meowed beneath our balcony. Wondering if we were going to accidentally drop more food.

“I wish I was dancing right now,” I said out loud.

“Yeah?”

“It’s the only physical exercise that I actually like. I hate running, and I can tolerate walking but I don’t enjoy it. But dancing? It always takes my mind off things. It gives me a release that I can’t really explain.”

He nodded along. “I get it. That’s how I feel after working out.”

“We had four different clubs we wanted to visit while we were here. I know I sound like a broken record but…” I sighed. “This was supposed to be the day I flew home. The end of my trip. I thought I would return to Indiana with a new perspective on life, refreshed and rejuvenated. But I feel the same as I did a week ago. I know I should be happy that I’m healthy and safe, but…”

“It’s okay to be disappointed,” Donovan said. “Yeah, shit is crazy right now. But you’re still allowed to be sad over the trip that didn’t happen.”

“You don’t think I’m whining too much?”

He gestured with his wine glass. “All things considered? I think you’re whining the perfect amount. It would be weird not to complain about the circumstances.”

“I haven’t heard you complain much,” I said.

“I don’t have much to complain about,” he replied while leaning on the railing. “I’ve got a four-star kitchen and months of food supplies at my disposal. Instead of being stuck in this hotel alone, or with a bunch of assholes, I’m neighbors with a pretty cool girl from Indiana. And she’s gone seven days without yelling at me, which is nice.”

I chuckled and said, “Surely you have something to complain about.”

“Right now? My only complaint is that I’m not dancing with you.”

Before I could respond, Donovan gulped down the rest of his wine and put down his glass. He walked to the edge of the balcony and threw a leg over the railing.

“What are you doing!”

He climbed over the railing until both feet were on the other side, totally open to the ground three stories below. He jumped across to my balcony, clutching the railing with both hands and making the whole structure shake. Then he climbed over until he was standing in front of me.

“I really want to dance with you,” he said. “We’ve been around each other a lot lately. Hell, I even hugged you yesterday. I think this is safe.”

My stomach was a roller coaster of twists and turns. “Okay. If you think so.”

“Besides,” he said, “you said I’m not allowed in your room. But the balcony is outside. No rules are being broken.”

The upbeat music ended and a slower song began, one with violins and soft reedy sounds. Donovan put his hands on my hips, fingers sliding against the waistline of my jeans. Respectful, but on the edge of doing more. After a moment I wrapped my arms around him too.

I knew what Donovan’s body looked like. I’d seen him shirtless plenty of times by now, and he’d stripped totally nude this morning. I felt his body against mine when we hugged yesterday. But this was totally different. Donovan held me against him with strong hands, assertive and commanding, pulling my breasts against his mile-wide chest. Wonderful smells surrounded me—that spicy cologne or aftershave he wore, warm baked bread from the kitchen, and underneath it all, his musky, masculine scent.

He feels better than I ever could have imagined.

My heart raced as Donovan began guiding me back and forth in a slow dance. We didn’t have much room in the small balcony space, but we didn’t need it for our gentle sways. This wasn’t the kind of dancing I meant when I talked about feeling release, but it suited my mood after our candlelight dinner date. And it meant I got to rest against his boulder-hard body.

“You could have walked over through the door separating our rooms,” I said softly.

“Hopping the balcony was more dramatic,” he said. “Plus, this way I’m not breaking your rule about going in each other’s room. Right?”

“Getting off on a technicality. I like the ingenuity.”

“I can be creative when I need to be.” He sighed. “I’m sorry your trip turned into a disaster, Feisty. Hopefully this is almost as good as going to the club with your friends and grinding with random Italian dudes.”

It’s better, I thought while we danced.

His hands moved down a little, until they were dangerously close to the top of my ass. I responded by holding onto him tighter. After a week of little-to-no physical contact, it felt so good to hold onto something steady. Like as long as I was in his arms everything would be okay.

His hands were warm, and his smile was bright, and I surrendered to the gentle, swaying motions. I leaned into his warm body and rested my head against his shoulder. I wanted to cling to him all night long and never let go.

“I’m glad you changed your mind,” I whispered.

One of his hands caressed up my back and laced into my hair, fingertips gently massaging the scalp. “Playing with you is more fun than playing with the kitchen toys.”

“Are you sure?” I asked his shoulder. “I’m not sure I can compete with the big baking oven thing.”

His warm breath stirred my hair. “Good point. You don’t have as many dials and knobs. In fact, I can only think of two, maybe three parts of your body I can twist…”

I giggled and playfully slapped at his arm. It was like hitting a brick wall of muscle.

“Hey, Feisty?”

“Yes?”

“I do have a confession to make.”

He cupped my chin and tilted my head up so that I was facing him. His grey eyes reflected the moonlight, and the edge of his lip twitched in a smirk. I held my breath and waited to hear what he had to confess.

“I didn’t come over here just to dance.”