Postcards From…Verses Brides Babies And Billionaires. Rebecca Winters

GYPSY BAR was heaving with people and throbbing with loud music as Max pushed open the front door. Maddy bumped into him as he halted to let a couple of women pass by. He stood to one side to make room for her in the crowded foyer. He watched as she tackled the buttons on her coat, knowing already what was beneath it. He’d stared like a tragic schoolboy when she’d stepped out of the bathroom half an hour ago, her new dress swirling around her legs. Slim straps accentuated the delicate lines of her shoulders, while the tight bodice outlined her breasts. He’d known instantly that she wasn’t wearing a bra. Her breasts moved with each step, and the gentle, pouting outline of her nipples was visible against the silk.

      She was his own personal siren, sent by some higher power to tempt and taunt him. As if it wasn’t tough enough to stare at her naked body half the day, wanting what he could never have. Hell, he could still remember the feel of her when he’d hauled her to him to stop her falling this morning. Soft yet strong, her skin warm and velvety, the curve of her breast just the slide of a hand away.

      It was getting harder and harder to deny his body’s desires. In that respect, her wish to go dancing tonight was a godsend. He needed to let off some steam, release the tension binding him tight.

      On the other hand, there was that dress. And the way her hips were already moving in time with the music. It was highly probable that he’d simply traded one form of torture for another.

      “Where’s the dancing?” she asked, standing on her tiptoes to shout near his ear. The music was so loud the beat reverberated through his heels.

      “Up front,” he said.

      She nodded and immediately began to push her way through the crowd. He followed more slowly and was just in time to watch as she found the edge of the dance floor, filled with gyrating bodies. She didn’t hesitate, she simply slid in amongst them and started to move. She’d piled her hair high on her head, leaving wispy tendrils free to hang around her face and shoulders, and she lifted her hands high and shook her head and shoulders and hips in time with the music.

      It didn’t take long for a man to home in on her, a tall, dark-skinned guy with an appreciative gleam in his eyes. Max watched as they began to salsa together, their bodies locked in rhythm. The other man was smiling with delight at the way Maddy moved in his arms, limber and light and provocative.

      Max turned away. He could watch her and go crazy, or he could find his own release in the steamy darkness of the club. He pushed his way to the bar and ordered a cognac. He downed it in one swallow and slid the glass back onto the bar. Then he turned back to the dance floor and let his eyes find her again.

      She was spinning, her skirt a swirl of silk around her legs. She stopped only when her partner reeled her in, her body slamming into his.

      “Max. What are you doing here?” He felt a tug on his arm and turned to find a tall slim blonde standing beside him, a surprised smile on her face.

      “Marie-Helene,” he said. He leaned close to kiss both her cheeks and she caught his mouth in a third kiss before he could pull away. She tasted of wine, and he realized she was a little drunk.

      “You haven’t called me for an age,” she said, cocking her head assessingly. “Have I done something wrong? Worse, have I been replaced?”

      He forced a laugh. “I’ve been busy.” He shrugged. They had no ties between them, after all. With Marie-Helene, it had always been about sex and nothing else.

      “So you haven’t settled down or anything disgustingly boring like that?” she asked, a suggestive smile curling her mouth.

      “No.”

      “Then come dance with me, Max,” she said.

      She took his hand and led him onto the floor. Eyes holding his, she slid into his arms, their bodies touching from chest to hip. She began to move, and he quickly found the beat.

      She was a good dancer, but nothing compared to Maddy. He pushed the comparison from his mind the moment he registered it. This was about forgetting Maddy, losing himself for a few hours.

      His step sure, he spun Marie-Helene. She laughed with delight, quickly closing the distance between them so that their bodies were once more pressed together. Her full breasts flattened against his chest, and she ground her hips against his.

      If he wanted to, he could go home with her tonight. The invitation was there in every move she made. He could close his eyes and pound into her and find release in her welcoming body.

      She smiled, almost as though she could read his thoughts.

      She was a generous lover, uninhibited, sensual. But she wasn’t Maddy, and he didn’t want her the way he wanted Maddy. He wasn’t a saint, but the idea of using Marie-Helene as a human scratching post held little appeal.

      He wouldn’t be going home with her. More fool him, he suspected.

      Marie-Helene leaned close to be heard.

      “Stop scowling, Max. You look so serious,” she said.

      The music changed to a fast-moving rumba. He stepped up the pace, turning with Marie-Helene, his hips leading hers.

      She laughed with pleasure and at last he felt the music begin to take over, his body following instinctively. This was what he’d wanted, what he’d needed. No thinking, no second-guessing. Just sweat and movement and mindlessness.

      A reprieve only—but he’d take what he could get right now.

      MADDY TRIED TO STOP herself from watching Max dance with the blond woman. They’d been together for over an hour. She told herself she didn’t care what he did, that it was good that he was with another woman. The best thing, in fact. If he went home with her, he’d be well and truly out of bounds. But she couldn’t stop herself from watching them.

      The way Max splayed his hands over the other woman’s hips. The way the blonde pressed her pelvis and her breasts against him. The way she laughed with him, her eyes flashing an unmistakable intimate invitation. There was something about the way they moved together, a certain sure knowledge in their touch that told her they’d been lovers before, that she’d already lain in Max’s arms and felt him inside her.

      Jealousy burned in Maddy’s belly at the thought. Jealousy and envy. Standing on the edge of the dance floor, Maddy toyed with the straw in her drink and tried to make herself look away. Sweat cooled on her skin now that she was no longer dancing, but her body still hummed with the exhilaration of losing herself—even for a short while—in movement. She’d lost her first partner when he’d suggested they go somewhere more private to dance, her second partner when he’d slid his hand down to cup her ass and she’d slid it back up onto her hip again.

      A few years ago, she might have gone home with one of them after a few hours of foreplay on the dance floor. She might have let the excitement and rhythm of moving with a skilled partner spill over into the bedroom. But one-night stands had lost their appeal some time ago. She’d had a series of regular lovers for a while now—successive men who she’d kept at arm’s length for as long as possible, then broken off with when it became clear they wanted more than she was willing or able to give.

      Across the room, the blonde slid a hand behind Max’s neck. Maddy knew what was coming, knew that she should look away, but she couldn’t. She watched, her hands clutching around her glass, as the other woman pressed her lips against his. Maddy held her breath as she waited for Max to take up the invitation. After a few taut seconds, he pulled back. She saw the scowl on the other woman’s face.

       He isn’t interested.

      Maddy experienced a surge of bone-deep satisfaction. Which was so stupid, she didn’t even have the words. But there it was.

      She wanted Max for herself.

      They were talking now, the woman gesturing toward the bar, signaling she wanted a drink. He nodded and followed her as she fought her way off the dance floor.

      The music slid from one song to the next, this one