She pulled him out onto the dance floor after that, letting the thrill of having a hot man pay attention to only her giving her a buzz to match the alcohol. Maddison could dance the beautiful and complicated ballet and waltz of the world. She was too short to look magestic doing most ballroom, but it didn't matter, when she danced, it was with every fiber of her being in that moment. She felt the music sink into her blood and bones, muscles twitching as she danced and writhed to the sounds. His large hands settled against her waist and she could feel him follow her movements with a predatory grace that had her heart beat racing. She pressed herself back against him, bold on the dance floor where elsewhere she'd have been shy. It was always like this, her mother called it wearing different hats. Maddison would assume a personality role, or hat, for the situation she was in. It was authentic and real for the while she wore it, then she'd discard it and go on to the next one. Or back to her usual state which is playful an random.
                              
Right now Maddison felt like rubbing herself against West like a cat and blushed at the thought, knowing that it had to be the music and the alcohol. If her mood was an actual hat, it would be either feathers and lace, or a little leather and sequins. She felt frisky and outrageous and like getting into some trouble. She pulled his hands up from her waist and turned in his grip, putting her hands to his chest and meeting his lips in a kiss. She could feel him give a throaty chuckle as they kissed, one hand sliding up under her shirt to press against hte skin of her back, the other one cupping her cheek. She could feel where rough scars and callouses marked his skin and it gave her goosebumps.
                              
Somehow when they ended their kiss, Maddison found that they were almost right next to the bar again. Once more West gave someone a look and there was a stool cleared for her to sit on. She caught the look this time, and it was quite a sight to see. He just caught the eyes of whomever was sitting there, and all the humour and happiness, good cheer and patience left his eyes. Once when she was younger, she'd gone camping with her family. The entire trip was an unmitigated disaster, it rained, hailed, snowed and sleeted on them. Maddison couldn't talk anyone to go out to the outhouse with her, so she made the trek alone at 3 am. As she came out of the smelly box, she stopped as she caught the last of a pack of wolves walk by. They moved silently and only one even bothered to glance in her direction. It was the female alpha, she later looked it up, and the rear guard of their pack. The wolf didn't have West's golden eyes, but instead a smokey green that haunted her dreams for weeks afterwards. Because the potential for violence in those eyes was only slightly less astounding by the true neutrality in her gaze. The wolf was more than prepared to tear Maddison to shreds if she posed a threat to the pack. The bitch was old and scarred, and more than willing to die defending the younger pack members. But the wolf was also more than willing to not attack if Maddison posed no threat. It was the human's choice.
                              
West had that look in his eyes. He was willing to make an issue of it, the stool for Maddison to sit on, or he could just let the other man walk away. As the buisnessman shuffled away, looking at his feet, Maddison stared at West, feeling an electric jolt in her gut when his golden eyes dropped down to capture hers. She stared into his eyes as the sarcastic humour and smokey pleasure swirled back into them. It was both the most disturbing and most arousing thing she had ever seen. The strength in his sense of self, his ability to absolutely control his enotions was amazing and she was fascinated by him.
                              
She didn't even have to order her drink this time, the bartender just set it down in front of her. West drank his beer quietly, standing so close behind her stool that she had no other choice but to lean against him, not that she minded. She pulled one of his hands off his beer bottle and ran her finger nails over his callouses, feeling the slickness of scar tissue under her sensitive fingers. She saw goosebumps chase up his arm but then he drew his hand out of hers. She pouted a little, but it vanished the moment she felt his hand trace down the back of her neck, her left shoulder and trace a soft line at her hip. It made her breath catch and she flushed, grateful that West couldn't see how his touch was affecting her. She swallowed the cocktail down, not even tasting it's sweetness anymore. West set his bottle onto the bar, his other hand coming to rest on her other hip. She tried not to focus on how long his fingers were, how strong the hands as they gently kneaded her hips and lower back.