Craving Scarlett

|3|. Dancing with Marco DeSantis

There was a certain languorous carefree feeling that seemed to have seeped into Tom. He no longer seemed as sad as he was before or near as heartbroken. It was a bit relieving to see him enjoying the party, although I suspected it was partly due to all the alcohol he had consumed. At first, it had been to loosen his tensed nerves but now he was consuming way too much to be just that.

Even now as I eyed him sharply from across the room, he appeared to be swaying on his feet slightly as he asked a woman wearing a white halter dress to dance. Ordinarily, Tom wasn't a drinker in fact he abhorred it but tonight he embraced it willingly in order to forget. To forget her.

I had tried to limit the flow of alcohol intake but there was only so much one could do to deter a full grown adult man from doing whatever he had set his mind to do, even going as far as using my own words against me.

"You told me to enjoy the party or you won't be happy and that's exactly what I'm doing," he had told me while taking another tall glass of sparkly champagne.

I sighed, massaging my temples. I was beginning to have a lightly throbbing headache, what with all the drama going on, it was no great surprise. I couldn't wait for the party to be over, so I could go back to my incredibly soft bed and sleep away this night memories.

"Interesting party, si?" A deep, husky voice said from behind the pillar where I stood, sending shivers down my spine. Of course, I didn't need to turn around to know who it was. My reaction to it alone confirmed who it was.

I arched a well formed elegant brow, even though he could not see it. "Now isn't that a little bit presumptuous of you, considering you are the host of the said party?"

"Touché. Although I think that one can forgive my actions considering that I get to talk with the most beautiful woman I have ever seen at that same party."

I turned fully to look at him, the light playing wonders on his bronzed features. His blue eyes, so close to me, reminded me of the deep blue of the sea right before the sun falls at dusk. It was so fascinating and yet so dangerous, so much so, that one could fall easily in there and lose their minds and souls forever. It made me wonder just how many women had fallen for his charm. "Flattery will get you nowhere with me, Mr. DeSantis."

His eyes sparkled as he raised a hand to tuck a stray curl behind my ear, he said smoothly, "Ah, but I can assure you that I don't say things that I don't mean and I, Miss Jones, would very much like to dance with you."

Without giving me any chance to protest, he took my hand and swept me up to the center of the room that was still occupied by dancing couples. They parted for us as we came near.

His left hand slid to my waist and I shivered, his touch leaving a burning sensation where it rested. The other went up to capture my hand, which left me no choice but to place my free hand on his shoulder. "Relax, Scarlett. Nothing is going to happen." He surveyed me with intense, knowing eyes.

I looked away, uncomfortable. I just couldn't help it.

Relax.

How could I? I scoffed internally. The scrutiny and the constant murmurings of the guests as they saw us dancing in such an intimate position, made me feel restless. He may be used to these sorts of attention but I wasn't. I was a simple girl and I preferred it that way. Coupled with the fact that my body was pressed firmly against his, so close I could smell his cologne—citrus and some unknown mix that was so wholly male—I doubted there was any chance in hell that I could be able to relax.

I dragged in a ragged breath, saying frigidly, "I think that we are dancing a little too close for comfort."

He angled his head quizzically. "You know, I get the feeling that you don't like me all that much, bellisima."