confident in the role for it not
to be anchored deep in her bones.
He hadn’t been able to tell if her attempts to turn their sexually tense moments into
lighter conversation were because she wasn’t interested or because she was
too
interested. Not until he saw the flush that spread from her face down to her chest
when he licked her fingertip and that stumble as she walked away from him.
And if this was what she was like after a couple hours of high-stakes poker, he knew
exactly what he wanted to do next. He was pretty sure he’d end up regretting his choice
to leave his camera back in his room.
This was a big town.
There had to be a salsa night going on at a club somewhere nearby.
* * *
She protested. She dragged her feet. She pretended she wasn’t interested all the way
to the concierge desk where he made his inquiry.
Of course they could find a Latin music night, sir. Right across the street, in fact,
at the nightclub in one of their sister hotels. And the concierge would be happy to
call ahead and put their names on the VIP list.
“You can’t dance,” she argued and waved a hand at his leg. “You’re not even out of
physical therapy. And you’ve been limping since before the restaurant.”
He leaned over and spoke into her ear so that the concierge wouldn’t hear.
“Then I’ll just watch you. I’ll enjoy that immensely.”
In the end, she gave in because she wanted to. Because she’d risked it all at the
card table and won. Because the music spilling out of the club was hot and fast. And
because the thought of J.D. watching her from across the room with those eyes that
stripped the clothes right off her body made heat blossom in her belly.
Besides, she was still stuffed from dinner. The sensible thing to do would be to work
some of that food off with a little dancing.
Right. This was the sensible thing.
Keep dreaming, girl.
Inside the club, women in high heels and short dresses with flippy skirts were steered
and spun around the dance floor by men, old and young, who pulled them close and pushed
them away. Even before she had a chance to sit at the tiny table they were directed
to at the edge of the dance floor, a darkly handsome man who introduced himself as
Diego asked her to dance.
J.D.’s half-smile was just enough of a challenge for her to say
yes.
She felt his eyes like heat on her back as she and Diego walked hand in hand to the
dance floor. It didn’t take long for Diego to notice where her eyes were inexorably
drawn, no matter how smoothly she twisted and shimmied.
He pulled her close until their bodies were pressed together from shoulders to knees.
“
Mira,
you are dancing for him, yes?”
She couldn’t help but nod.
“Then we should give him a show,” he said and bent her back over his arm, running
his free hand between her breasts and down the center of her torso before arcing her
back up against him again, “don’t you think?”
His smile was slow and easy. After a moment, she matched it with one of her own and
snaked a hand up the back of this stranger’s neck to tangle in the damp hair curling
at the nape of his neck.
“Yes
.
I don’t want him getting too comfortable, after all.” She winked.
Her dance partner threw his head back and laughed, teeth glinting in a wicked smile
as he spun her out. He pulled her to him until her bottom was cradled by his hips,
and she let her moves be guided by the shifting of his weight behind her. His hands
clutched her hips, pulling the fabric of her short dress even higher over her thighs.
Facing the edge of the dance floor, she lifted her eyes just high enough to watch
J.D. watching her.
He leaned back in his tiny chair, looking supremely relaxed except for the intensity
of his gaze, which never left her. He had crossed one arm over his chest and was resting
his chin in the V between the thumb and palm of his other hand, his index finger pressed
against the
to be anchored deep in her bones.
He hadn’t been able to tell if her attempts to turn their sexually tense moments into
lighter conversation were because she wasn’t interested or because she was
too
interested. Not until he saw the flush that spread from her face down to her chest
when he licked her fingertip and that stumble as she walked away from him.
And if this was what she was like after a couple hours of high-stakes poker, he knew
exactly what he wanted to do next. He was pretty sure he’d end up regretting his choice
to leave his camera back in his room.
This was a big town.
There had to be a salsa night going on at a club somewhere nearby.
* * *
She protested. She dragged her feet. She pretended she wasn’t interested all the way
to the concierge desk where he made his inquiry.
Of course they could find a Latin music night, sir. Right across the street, in fact,
at the nightclub in one of their sister hotels. And the concierge would be happy to
call ahead and put their names on the VIP list.
“You can’t dance,” she argued and waved a hand at his leg. “You’re not even out of
physical therapy. And you’ve been limping since before the restaurant.”
He leaned over and spoke into her ear so that the concierge wouldn’t hear.
“Then I’ll just watch you. I’ll enjoy that immensely.”
In the end, she gave in because she wanted to. Because she’d risked it all at the
card table and won. Because the music spilling out of the club was hot and fast. And
because the thought of J.D. watching her from across the room with those eyes that
stripped the clothes right off her body made heat blossom in her belly.
Besides, she was still stuffed from dinner. The sensible thing to do would be to work
some of that food off with a little dancing.
Right. This was the sensible thing.
Keep dreaming, girl.
Inside the club, women in high heels and short dresses with flippy skirts were steered
and spun around the dance floor by men, old and young, who pulled them close and pushed
them away. Even before she had a chance to sit at the tiny table they were directed
to at the edge of the dance floor, a darkly handsome man who introduced himself as
Diego asked her to dance.
J.D.’s half-smile was just enough of a challenge for her to say
yes.
She felt his eyes like heat on her back as she and Diego walked hand in hand to the
dance floor. It didn’t take long for Diego to notice where her eyes were inexorably
drawn, no matter how smoothly she twisted and shimmied.
He pulled her close until their bodies were pressed together from shoulders to knees.
“
Mira,
you are dancing for him, yes?”
She couldn’t help but nod.
“Then we should give him a show,” he said and bent her back over his arm, running
his free hand between her breasts and down the center of her torso before arcing her
back up against him again, “don’t you think?”
His smile was slow and easy. After a moment, she matched it with one of her own and
snaked a hand up the back of this stranger’s neck to tangle in the damp hair curling
at the nape of his neck.
“Yes
.
I don’t want him getting too comfortable, after all.” She winked.
Her dance partner threw his head back and laughed, teeth glinting in a wicked smile
as he spun her out. He pulled her to him until her bottom was cradled by his hips,
and she let her moves be guided by the shifting of his weight behind her. His hands
clutched her hips, pulling the fabric of her short dress even higher over her thighs.
Facing the edge of the dance floor, she lifted her eyes just high enough to watch
J.D. watching her.
He leaned back in his tiny chair, looking supremely relaxed except for the intensity
of his gaze, which never left her. He had crossed one arm over his chest and was resting
his chin in the V between the thumb and palm of his other hand, his index finger pressed
against the
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