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“Ariella, but my friends call me Ari,” she answered, cutting through my internal argument.

Ariella. It would roll off my tongue nicely if I moaned it. Fuck.

Like a man possessed, I leaned forward, my mouth so close to her skin that my lips brushed her ear when I spoke.

“Tell me, Ariella, are we friends?”

Her soft gasp went straight to my dick. But, of course, she wouldn’t let me have the upper hand. I’d known this woman all of ten minutes, and that was plenty of time to tell she was a ballbuster.

Without missing a beat, she whispered back, “Well, I don’t know. Being friends usually means we both know each other’s names, and you’ve yet to give me yours.”

We pulled away, both grinning from ear to ear. I didn’t know what it was about her, but somehow, she made me feel at ease. Like the carefully curated person I wore for the public wasn’t needed.

“Dalton, but my friends call me Dalt.”

“Tell me, Dalton—are we friends?” Her brow arched, a teasing smirk tugging at the corners of her lips, playful but daring, as if testing the boundaries between us.

“Yeah, Ari. We are.” My voice was low and steady, nothing like the pounding beat inside my chest as I slid my left hand slowly up her side, tracing the curve of her shoulder. Her toned muscles were warm against my touch. When I reached her hand, I took it in mine and shifted our stance, pressing my thigh between hers to lock us into frame. Her smirk bloomed into a full, radiant smile.

Sunshine.

She tilted her head slightly, her dark eyes sparkling. “Do you know how to dance Bachata, Dalt?”

I chuckled, letting my thumb brush the back of her hand. “My best friend is Dominican. It was pretty much a requirement for me to learn so we could stay friends. You should have seen him teaching me how to dance it properly. I’ve never had another man’s junk that close to mine,” I said, unable to stop the thought from tumbling out.

She barked out a laugh, completely unfazed by the confession. “Alright then. Let’s see what all that junk rubbing taught you.”

“Never should have told you that,” I said, guiding her backward, sliding into the first slow step, thankful that she’d worn heels. It helped even out the height difference between us.

“Oh, come on, I thought we were friends. Aren’t we supposed to share secrets?”

Her body melted into mine effortlessly, her hips swaying to the beat. I let my hand settle at the curve of her waist, fingertips barely grazing her skin as I matched her movements, every shift in her weight a signal I responded to, drudging up the memories of how the dance went—right, left, right, tap.

The bar around us faded. We moved together—push, pull, lean, sway.

“Okay then, Ari. Tell me a secret.”

She stumbled at the request. The easy smile she’d been wearing faltered and shifted into something more guarded. I clocked the way her throat bobbed as she swallowed. “Listen, this is not something I normally do.”

“What’s not something you normally do?”

“This.” She gestured between us with the tilt of her chin. “Pretend to be some stranger’s date. Let him hold me on the dance floor. Honestly, Keith Morrison would be so disappointed in me.”

I laughed, her comment catching me off guard. “The guy from Dateline?”

She arched a brow, the corners of her lips pulling up into a bewitching grin. “What do you know about murder shows?”

“Enough to know that if I were a killer, I wouldn’t be dancing with you in a room full of witnesses.”

“Hmm.” She narrowed her eyes playfully, and I used the moment to spin her out and reel her back into my arms. Her body fit against mine like she belonged there, and my heart kicked up in response.

“You’ve got a point,” she admitted, voice breathier than a second ago. “But we need to go over some rules. No last names, no job titles, no phone numbers, no addresses. Got it?”

I frowned, leaning back slightly. “Why’s that? Am I that bad of company?”

Her gaze softened. “No. You’re too good of company.” She exhaled a soft, bitter laugh. “I can’t afford to be tempted by a handsome man with pretty eyes. If I don’t know anything about you, I won’t contact you later…when I’m feeling weak.”

Her honesty hit me harder than I expected.