Spencer should be grateful Tristan showed up. It would reinforce that Spencer needed to keep his hands to himself. Which wasn’t going to be easy, given how incredible Trina looked in that dress.

He dragged his gaze from the sway of her hips as they made their way from the restaurant to the club. What Spencer told Tristan was true; he was here to make sure Trina had a safe night. And keep an eye on her. A very close, intent, no-one-had-better-touch-her, eye on her.

The thought caught him off-guard. He was being overprotective, not territorial. That was all.

They reached the club and paid the cover charge. Inside it was almost too loud to think, let alone speak. When Tristan told Trina to go have fun, and made his way to the bar, Spencer didn’t try to stop him. Maybe he wouldn’t be a third wheel after all. Not that it mattered, because this wasn’t a date.

Trina was chewing her bottom lip when Spencer turned his attention back to her. The sight dove straight through him and tugged at his cock. Fuck. He tilted his head until his mouth hovered less than an inch from her ear. There was no way she’d hear him otherwise. The faint scent of her shampoo mingled with the club atmosphere and sparked across his skin.

“Do you want to dance?” he asked.

She spun, eyes wide. She said something, but he only caught a few words. “... here... meet... not...”

He shook his head and pointed to his ear.

She stood on tiptoe and moved closer. “I’m supposed to be here to meet a hook-up. Not dance with you.” Her hot breath fell across his cheek, taunting him along with her words.

“It’s too loud for talking.” He nudged the edge of her ear with his nose. “And no one will see you if you hide in a corner.”

“No one will approach me if I’ve got a bodyguard with me.”

Because she’d asked for his help learning how to meet guys. He should keep that in mind. “Think of me as a filter. This way, you know they’re serious if they still try and talk to you.”

The look she shot him was a mix of confusion and disbelief. She pursed her lips, then moved them back near his ear again. “Or they’re creepy and arrogant enough to ignore the fact I’m here with someone.”

“I can leave you alone.” He couldn’t, really. Saying the words sent an impulse through him to wrap an arm around her waist and tug her close the rest of the evening. There was that possessive feeling again. He glanced toward the bar, but he couldn’t see Tristan through the crowd.

“Are you going to watch me from a distance?” Teasing slipped into her question.

If she was doing a private show. “It’s tempting.”

She grabbed his arm. “You’re not leaving me alone. If you’re not going to the dance floor, neither am I.”

“Do you want to dance with me or not?” He wasn’t sure what to make of the flip in her approach.

“I do, but...” she twisted her mouth into a tantalizing shape, “I don’t dance.”

He was here as a chaperon. To keep an eye on her. Make sure she didn’t get into something she couldn’t get out of.

Except that he didn’t believe himself for a second. He pointed her toward the pit of dancing, writhing bodies, and stepped behind her. Hands on her hips, he pulled her back into him. The curve of her ass against him made him hard, but if he was lucky, his jeans would keep her from noticing.

He moved their bodies to the beat of the music and lowered his head to hers again. “It’s not so much dancing, as it is letting yourself fall into the beat. No one expects drill-team level moves out there.”

“Show me?” She glanced over her shoulder, bringing her mouth close enough to kiss.

“I thought you were worried about me scaring off other guys.”

“Let them be scared.”

He liked the shift in her tone from uncertain to confident. He also appreciated that she swayed with him in time to the music. He guided her into the middle of the throng.

With so many people dancing, he had to keep her close, to avoid either of them being jostled. Not that she seemed to mind any more than he did. When she faced him, she draped her arms around his neck, following his lead. Each time she spun away, her grinding against him made him think he wasn’t hiding his arousal at all, and that she liked making it worse.

It had been ages since he did this. Probably longer than Trina had been an adult–which he so didn’t want to be thinking about. Why did he stop going dancing? Because Mia didn’t care for the noise, and after they divorced, he felt out of place, dancing with a bunch of college kids.

None of that mattered tonight.

Spencer lost track of how long they were on the dance floor, but he felt parched. “Do you want something to drink? Water?” he asked in the breath between songs.

She nodded. “And I should probably make sure Tristan’s all right.”

“Good point.” Spencer had forgotten they had someone with them.

He guided her back to the bar, putting a few inches between them when Tristan came into sight. The absence of her body against his sent a shudder of disappointment through Spencer, as she walked toward her brother.

Spencer ordered two bottles of water, watching Trina. Her exchange with Tristan was brief. He was frowning, and she was flushed and grinning. The simplicity of her joy was alluring.

Tristan squeezed her hand, then headed toward the exit, and Trina joined Spencer again.

“What was that about?” he asked.

“He apologized for being a wet blanket and said he was going to bail. I promised him you’d be a perfect gentleman and make sure I got home safe.”

Possibility spilled through Spencer’s head. No watchful eye meant no holding back. Not that he had been or that he was about to take advantage of Trina. He wouldn’t mind enjoying her company someplace quieter, though. “How perfect?”

“That’s open to interpretation.” Mischief sparkled in her eyes.

“Do you want to follow his lead?”

Her joy wilted. “And go home?”

“Something like that.”

“It’s not even midnight.” Did she realize she was pouting?

He was tempted to lean in and kiss the expression away. “Not your home. Trust me for a little longer?”

“I do.”

The honesty and lack of hesitation in her reply startled him. That felt like a big burden to hold. He shook the serious thought aside and took her hand. “Come on.”

His ears were ringing when they stepped outside, and he still felt the thrum of base in the soles of his feet as they walked back to the car. The scent of the ocean lingered in the night air. Trina intertwined his fingers with his, rather than pulling away. It felt odd that something as simple as holding hands carried a rush.

He liked it.

A cool breeze kissed away the heat of dancing. The streets were still crowded, and neither of them spoke. It didn’t feel awkward, though. That same possessive impulse that lingered all night wanted to save any more talking until it was the two of them.

They reached his car. The Honda Element was old, but he’d kept it in top shape. He held the passenger door open for her. He couldn’t drag his gaze away from her legs, and the way her skirt climbed higher on her thighs when she slid into her seat.

He didn’t try to hide the staring when she looked up. Matching spots of pink appeared on her cheeks, and she ducked her head.

He didn’t know if there was something in the air, if it was the fact that the year was drawing to a close, or if he was simply losing his mind, but the desire to hide his attraction was gone.

There would probably be consequences, but in this moment, it seemed like a good idea to enjoy things for what they were.

He hurried to his side of the car, and a moment later they were on the road, heading away from the noise. The traffic wasn’t flowing as heavily in this direction—most people wanted to get into the city tonight, and it was too early to be getting back out.

“Where are we going?” Her soft question was a soothing shift from the noise they’d left behind.

“The beach.”

“Won’t it be crowded?”

She’d tossed aside the idea of finding another guy when he led her to the dance floor, and, he wasn’t interested in sharing the rest of the evening with anyone else, either. “Not where we’re going.”

“Because you have your own personal spot of beach?” She paused, and then laughed. “Of course you do.”

The beach house was the first piece of property he purchased when he could afford it. Before Mia. Before Ride & Surf went national. It was too far from the office to be practical to live there now, but he was glad he kept it after the divorce.

The house one of those milestones that reminded him he’d made it, and he’d earned every penny. He liked that knowledge.

As they drove, he rested his hand on her bare knee. It didn’t occur to him to second-guess the decision, until she sucked in a breath between her teeth.

Before he could pull away or ask if it was all right, she covered his fingers with hers.

They reached his place and climbed from the car. He found her hand the moment she was by his side again, and led her to the back of the house. “You can leave your shoes on the deck. They’re not going to do well in the sand.”

“Good point.” When she stepped out of the heels, she shrank a few inches. The perfect height to nestle close.

His brain was taking leaps it probably shouldn’t be. He grabbed a blanket from its resting spot on a lounge chair, then led Trina a few hundred yards from the house. He laid out the blanket, and they settled on it.

“It’s pretty out here.” Awe filled her voice.

Freeway noise hummed in the background, but it was easy to block it out and pretend this was the only place that existed. “One of my favorite spots.”

“How did you get into it? The surfing, I mean.”

He chuckled at the awkward memory. “At least you led with a tough question.”

“I didn’t— You don’t have to answer, if it’s bad.”

“It’s not.” Once upon a time, he thought it was. There were pros and cons to growing up with an Olympic hopeful as a best friend. By the time they hit junior high, every girl wanted to know Spencer. Mostly because he knew Tristan, but he was okay with that.

When they added Mischa to the mix, the three of them were the rich jock every girl swooned over, the bad-boy punk no one wanted to be caught with but who somehow got just as much attention, and Spencer. The fat kid who followed them around.

“When I was in high school, we had a pool in the back yard. Not like your parents have, but one of those five-foot, above-ground things that are basically a circle lined with a thick tarp and filled with water.”

“You can’t surf on that.”

“Nope. I sure as hell couldn’t. But for some reason, my grandma bought me a boogie board anyway. She’d heard my friends boarded and didn’t think it was fair I was left out.”

Trina laughed. “I’m guessing you didn’t put wheels on it or take it out in the snow.”

He’d considered it at the time. “I lay on it in the pool, doing nothing, while said friends were at practice. That got boring real fast, so I rigged some motors to create waves. Not that there are big waves to be had from that little water, but I had fun with the design, and it made me realize I needed real waves.”

“And from there you sold your board and built your first theme park?” Her tone was playful, and amusement danced on her face.

“More or less. I got an engineering scholarship to UCLA, nearly drowned a couple dozen times—learning how to ride real waves—and landed an internship for the people I call the competition now.”

“Then what?” She looked captivated, lips slightly parted.

He liked that. Then again, he was fond of most of the evening. “I sold them a scaled-up version of my in-pool wave technology and used the money to buy my first park.”

“I think you missed a few steps.”

He grinned. “A couple. But the rest is the filler material I use to wow investors.”

“I’m wowed anyway. I think they’re demanding too much.”

“Fortunately I don’t have to care what they think anymore.” He didn’t want to be talking about business. Trina was far more intriguing. He dragged a thumb along her bottom lip.

The soft sigh that escaped her throat barely reached his ears.

A sharp BANG cracked through the night, shattering the still and sending his heart into his stomach. What the hell?