Innocent in New York Read Free Page A

for a Mojito tonight."
    His smile widened, and Sophia's heart fluttered. A shove to her side made her inch near James and one of his hands shot out to her hip to steady her, fingers dimpling her flesh. They stood so close she could feel his muscled chest press against her.
    "Th — thanks," she stuttered, shifting her gaze to his. He watched her steadily from beneath fringes of dark, thick lashes. Their closeness sent an electrifying jolt through her bones, making her want to draw nearer. She touched a hand to his chest, torn between staying there or giving him some space after crashing into him.
    "You're welcome, again , Bambi," he said, and she gasped. "I thought you looked familiar. It seems as if you need me to save you from drunken idiots."
    The light laugh behind her told her that it was Agnes who was the drunken idiot . "So it seems," she agreed. She quivered, and the glint in his eyes made her realize he felt the effect he had on her. Everything about him made every ounce of her control escape — his touch, his eyes, his scent, his looks, and his goddamned voice making her knees shake.
    "Miss Margarita!"
    She jumped at the shout and his grip slid off her. She mumbled a thanks and reached for her drink. She took a few sips, in desperate need of something to calm her nerves.
    "Are you supposed to be here?" He touched her arm, his thumb stroking the inner part of her elbow with whisper-light pressure. His question sunk in at last, and she bristled slightly. Of course he'd notice she didn't belong there, but it still stung a bit at the blatant remark.
    "Excuse me?"
    His thumb on the inside of her elbow pressed a hint harder, and her pulse jumped in response. Her gaze met his, and she had to hold onto her drink harder to keep herself in check — to keep from closing the distance between them and kissing him. She shook the daze off, remembering the taunt he had just made.
    "It was a compliment," he said, letting go. "I thought you'd enjoy downstairs; live piano and fine wine, surely a place you'd feel right at home."
    "No," she flicked him a glance from under her lashes, "I'm supposed to be right here."
    He reached his hand out after a longer moment. "I'm James." His handshake was strong and controlled. The way he ran business; the way he ran his life; the way he performed in bed?
    "I'm Sophia."
    "Sophia," he tried her name on his lips and she liked the sound of it. "Well, Sophia — or Miss Margarita if you prefer — if you're sure this is where you belong, you're going to have to follow me." James's hand settled on her hip, scooping her closer to his side and they turned and walked away from the bar.
    She liked this new floor, until she realized they were heading for the thick crowd of dancing people, and horror dawned on her. She couldn't dance and usually avoided it like the plague unless Agnes used her ridiculous persuasion skills. One disarming look from James and her staggering ceased. She followed him into the crowd where the music engulfed them.
    "I really can't," she argued as he put his hands on her hips, heat radiating through her clothes, and the effect from her drinks intensified and made her sway. He cocked an eyebrow and then tugged her close, making her breath hitch. He moved her hips in tune with the music, in tune with him. Or maybe she could.
    She looked up at him, daring to move her hands to his shoulders first, and then looped her arms loosely around his neck. As the beat grew louder, people grew closer. The music vibrated across the floor — through her, the beams of flickering lights growing more intense and making dark silhouettes all around, and she dared to let go, let herself get lost in the sound and James's touch. It was seduction, a way to get closer to someone, and her body reveled in the closeness between them. She'd be out of her mind to seek distance. The tune simmered down a little, a fluent loop of instrumental sounds distancing from the heavier bass for a moment, and in the midst of