“Oh, you want, Zach,” she said, leaning to him, pressing her hip against his groin. “I can tell. And I’ll let your father know if you don’t give me just one little dance.”

Guiltily, Zach glanced at Witt but the old man seemed oblivious to the fact that his son, the one who always gave him so much trouble, was being led to the dance floor like a lamb to slaughter. He couldn’t imagine dancing with Katherine, feeling her body pressed close to his. His blood was already roaring through his system. As they reached the dance floor, she turned, molding her torso to his, beginning to sway in rhythm to the music.

Her hips were pressed intimately to his and her breasts seemed crushed against his chest. “Now, isn’t this better?” she murmured in a husky drawl and he closed his eyes, fighting the lust that burned through his body, feeling his stiffening erection even as he tried to deny it.

“Let me go,” he begged.

“You don’t want to go.” She shifted slightly so that her lower abdomen was hugging his. God, she had to know that he was hard. “I can tell.”

“Don’t-”

Holy Christ, his right hand was on her bare back, feeling the silky texture of her skin, the sleek movement of her muscles. Was it his imagination or did she make some low sort of wanting sound deep in her throat?

“You lied,” she whispered, her breath ruffling the hair covering the tops of his ears.

He was dying inside. So hard he ached, he couldn’t think straight. A part of him warned him to back off, but the other part puffed up by male ego, champagne, and sexual desire, couldn’t stop fantasizing. He wondered what she would do if he rubbed up against her, let his hand slip beneath the black fabric of her dress. What would happen if he slowly let his mouth and tongue wander down the delicate column of her throat?

As if she understood his need, she lolled her head to one side, exposing more of her white skin, showing off just a little more of her gorgeous bosom.