Save the Last Dance

by Jami Davenport

  “I hope the good outweighs the bad.”

  Rico shrugged. “Sometimes I’m not sure.” He so wasn’t going there.

  “He’s a nice guy. I loved working for him and Carmen. They’re great together.”

  Rico sought to keep the smile on his face, even though that familiar pain of a lost love clenched at his chest.

  “So you used to sing?”

  Rico laughed, but it sounded hollow even to his own ears, singing—another of his lost loves. “That was another life. Long ago.”

  “Was the band one I would have heard of?”

  “It’s doubtful.”

  Suspicion flashed in her eyes. She didn’t buy it, and who could blame her. “Do you miss it?”

  “Not most of it. I hated being on the road all the time. Didn’t like the spotlight. Why do you ask?”

  “Just the expression on your face.”

  He shrugged. She’d struck a nerve. He set his jaw and closed up. She looked away, probably upset by the coldness in his eyes. Her probing questions about his past made him uncomfortable. He’d made a gross error in judgment by admitting that he used to sing. If she put two and two together, she’d figure out that he was a has-been, someone with a lot of regrets and too many ghosts. He didn’t want her to think that of him.

  Mariah absently swirled the wine around in her glass. Rico watched her delicate hand and imagined those fingers wrapped around something other than the stem of a goblet. He could be so lucky. Sometimes, he wondered where his brain was buried;, other times, he was pretty sure he knew. He was his father’s son.

  Sighing with resignation, he raised his eyes to hers. “I’m sorry. I just don’t want to talk about it.”

  “That’s okay. I understand. There are things in my life that I don’t like to talk about either.”

  Rico nodded. She had her secrets, and he had his. Maybe before their time together ended, he’d find out what caused the pain and sadness reflected in her green eyes. She hid it well, but he saw through her brave smile. She hurt, just as he did. They were two lonely people looking for a safe harbor in a storm of past regrets.

  Rico put his arm around the back of the bench and hugged her close to his side, needing comfort as much as giving it. She rewarded him with one of her radiant smiles. Her mercurial changes in mood fascinated him, and her dancing eyes bewitched him.

  She looked out the window at the expansive view. “Do you feel it, Rodrigo? Do you feel the magic of this place? Do you feel as if your cares have just drifted away? As if life slowed down, and you’ve been transported back in time?” She put her hand on his arm and looked up at him.

  Gazing into her eyes reminded him of floating lazily in an emerald lake on a summer day. She made him feel so warm, so content. He could stay there all day and bask in the sunlight.

  She cleared her throat.

  He realized she was waiting for an answer, but he’d forgotten the question. Finally, he pulled it from the murky depths of his memory. “Oh, yeah, I feel it.” He felt it all right. He felt her, and he wanted to feel more of her. As far as her islands went, he could take them or leave them.

  “I knew you did.” She squeezed his arm.

  Man, what a fraud he was in light of her enthusiasm for Mother Nature. Well, if the shoe fit. He’d earned that title in more ways than one. Most of the time, he really didn't know who the real Rico Sanchez was and didn’t care to find out.

  Her hand on his arm excited his body and one part in particular. What was it with her? Most women paled in comparison. Her innocent beauty and unabashed enthusiasm drew him in. No doubt about it. He was in lust. Big time. Of course, that had to be it. His fascination with her had nothing to do with his heart.

  When it came to romantic relationships, he kept his heart out of the deal.

  * * *

  Mariah sipped her wine and chanced a look at Rodrigo. Her heart sped up when their eyes met. She loved the way his slow, sexy smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. The man was lethal, absolutely deadly. His thick, unruly hair gave the impression he’d just gotten out of bed. He didn’t seem to own a comb. A good stylist would have a field day with that hair. As far as his clothes, well, she wasn’t going there. At least, not tonight.

  She wanted to ravish him, whatever that meant. She’d fantasized about learning the meaning of that particular word with the right man. Judging by her physical reactions to Rodrigo, he won her body’s vote. She’d never been one to have a summer affair. Actually, she’d never had an affair any time of the year. Unless, you count sleeping with Warren three times, and she chose not to count it. Maybe Eva was right. Maybe the time had come for her to quit being a good girl and live life on the wild side.

  Throughout dinner, Rodrigo entertained her with stories about his bumbling father, interfering sister, and his business. She wondered about his profession, though. International trade could be anything. He could be a smuggler of drugs or stolen artwork. If his clothes were any indication of his income, he wasn’t very good at whatever he did. As far as the sunglasses and watch, they were probably gifts from clients. Or stolen? Mariah reined in her overactive imagination. Surely, Max and Carmen wouldn’t open up their home to a crook? Yet, the man was hiding something.

  “Do you like to dance, Mariah?” Rodrigo pulled her out of her thoughts.

  She smiled and nodded. “I love to dance.” The thought of dancing after such a long time excited her, especially with this scruffy Latin with the espresso eyes.

  Rodrigo stood and extended his hand to her. “In that case, would you like to dance with me?”

  “Sí, Señor.” She adopted an exaggerated Spanish accent which made him laugh. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  He entwined his fingers with hers. His touch was incredibly intimate for mere hand-holding. She tried to pull away, but his hand tightened. Rodrigo’s eyes traveled a meandering path down her body and back up again. This man made love with his eyes better than Warren had with his entire body. Her nipples hardened, and she felt a funny feeling between her legs.

  Rodrigo led her to the dance floor and steered her to the darkest corner. Once his arms circled her waist, Mariah melted into his warmth. He molded her to the length of his lean body. She pressed her breasts against his solid chest. Her arms locked around his neck. Lifting her eyes to his, she slipped into those mocha depths. She felt warm and safe, cradled in his arms. In truth, she was probably anything but safe.

  They danced as if they’d been partners their entire life. Rodrigo provided an excellent lead. Mariah followed his every move with ease. They glided across the dance floor, their bodies in unison. She brushed her face against his cheek and inhaled his masculine scent. He smelled of tobacco, soap, and cologne. Was it Calvin Klein? She’d have to ask him. He’d worn that same expensive cologne a few days ago.

  For the remainder of the evening, they danced almost every dance together. The last dance happened to be one of her favorite songs, a romantic ballad and the infamous Rico Sanchez’s biggest hit. Content, she snuggled into Rodrigo’s arms and whispered in his ear. “I adore this song.”

  “You do, love?” He held her tighter. He sounded pleased.

  “Oh, yes,” She laid her head on his shoulder. He’d called her “love”. She suspected that endearment didn’t mean anything to him, but it made her feel good. He probably used it like some people used “honey”.

  “Were you a Rico Sanchez fan?”

  “I don’t know if I’d call myself a fan, but I have a couple of his CDs. He had an incredible talent. Too bad he’s not singing or writing songs anymore.”

  “Yeah. I know.” He buried his face in her silky brown hair. Why did he sound so melancholy? A nagging suspicion tickled the back of her mind, but she tamped it down, warning herself not to tread that dangerous path. Rodrigo was Rodrigo. That was it.

  The stubble on his face chafed her neck like sandpaper on silk. His roughness against her smoothness did strange things to her insides. He tickled her neck with his breath t
hen his lips followed. His tongue traced a path down to her collarbone, teasing and enticing. A whimper escaped from deep in her throat.

  “Rigo. Please. The song’s ended.” She stepped out of his arms and back to sanity. He felt so good, so male, so dark and dangerous and sexy, so...so...Latin. Yes, Latin. Most women were suckers for Latin men. Why should she be an exception?

  His hands rubbed her hips. She stared at his throat; any higher would be asking for trouble. One look in those eyes and she’d deny him nothing.

  “That was the last song.”

  “Hmmm, I know, but that doesn’t mean the night has to end here.” His husky voice promised rumpled sheets, sweaty bodies, and Spanish sex-talk. The images alone were enough to make a smart girl do dumb things.

  Mariah pulled away from him. She walked a little unsteadily to their table with Rodrigo on her heels. Wisely, she ignored his invitation even though she wanted to accept. It wasn’t like her to sleep with a man she’d just met and barely knew. Unfortunately, with this man, her strongest convictions flew out the window. Her feelings for him were a confused jumble. She wanted to do wild things to him, and she wanted him to do wilder things to her. Yet, she also wanted to run as far away from him as she could. He had no idea what he was getting into with her. She couldn’t stand the thought of disappointing him.

  Rodrigo paid their bill—a definite point in his favor—and they walked to the parking lot. He reached for her hand and wove his fingers around hers. A thrill of excitement pulsated through her body. She didn’t pull away this time. Dancing closely to him for several dances made his touch familiar and welcome. Squeezing his hand, she gazed up at him. His heated look coated her body like warm syrup on pancakes.

  They walked slowly, reluctant for the night to end. Neither spoke for fear of ruining the mood of the evening. His hand engulfed hers with a firm, gentle strength. Mariah stopped in front of her car then turned to face him.

  “I had a great time tonight.”

  “So did I. You’re a fantastic dancer, Mariah. Have you ever done any dancing professionally?”

  Mariah found that funny, and her laughter rang through the still night. “No, not hardly, but I could ask the same of you.”

  “Actually, I have.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, I’ll tell you about it sometime.”

  “Well, it’s a pleasure to have a dance partner like you.”

  Rodrigo raised his eyebrows. “You haven’t seen pleasure yet. That was just foreplay.”

  She’d asked for that one with her innocent remark. Rodrigo moved closer. His large hands slipped around her slim waist, and he pulled her to him until her hips were cradled against his. She shifted slightly to avoid the proof of his arousal.

  “Uh uh, bella,” he whispered in her ear. “Feel what you’ve done to me.” He readjusted her hips so he once more rested against hers.

  “Rigo, don’t...”

  One hand cupped her jaw as he compelled her to look up at him. His eyes stripped away layers of emotional barriers and found her very soul. She quivered, making another feeble attempt to put a comfortable distance between them. Desire and determination blazed in his eyes. He was going to kiss her. The thought terrified and exhilarated her. His eyes grew darker. His breathing heavier. His intent clearer. His body harder. He bent his head, taking his time. Those chocolate eyes handcuffed her common sense and stuffed it out of the way. His warm breath feathered her lips, as he groaned and drew her closer. That sexy mouth touched hers and melted the last of her resolve. She curled her arms around his neck and leaned into him. Her tension faded away as he slid his lips back and forth across hers in a gentle motion. Mariah gripped him tighter. Shutting her eyes, she lost herself in the sensations caused by the man’s mouth, hands, and body heating her from the outside in. He sucked on her lower lip, drawing it into his mouth and caressing it with a clever, persuading tongue. When her lips parted, his tongue slid inside. The moist sensuality of his mouth enticed her to follow his lead.

  No longer in control of her body or brain, Mariah’s world tipped on its axis. He held her up, or she’d have flowed like molten lava down his long legs to form a steaming puddle at his feet.

  Tentatively, she touched her tongue to his. The answering stroke of his tongue seared her insides. His hands kneaded her bottom as he pulled her closer, his hips pressing against hers. Feelings she didn’t know she was capable of flared within her.

  His gentle persuasiveness took on a demanding insistence. She clutched his broad shoulders, swept along for the ride. The wild ride. Rubbing against him like a cat, her body responded to his with an intense longing for fulfillment. No, not just a longing, but a demand for fulfillment. It built in degrees until that demand became too great to control. She followed wherever he led, just like when they’d danced.

  She felt caught in an emotional kaleidoscope of ever-changing feelings. The intensity of his kiss increased several notches, demanding then taking. She met his hot, Latin passion with a wild innocence of her own, matching him stroke for stroke.

  Did kissing this man offer a preview of what sex with him would be like? If so, she wanted more. No man had ever elicited such blistering desire in her before. She’d always been scared of not measuring up to their expectations, too worried to enjoy herself. Her insecurities dissolved with Rodrigo. Amazed, she realized she really could kiss—the right man. Who would’ve guessed it? Not Warren. He swore kissing her was as exciting as kissing a hunk of raw liver, not a romantic thought.

  Maybe the right man part was debatable. Maybe Rodrigo was the wrong man in every way except a physical sense. At this point, she didn’t care. Besides, he seemed to like her kisses judging by the way his body rubbed against hers like he wanted to crawl inside. A seed of confidence took root within her. She could do this. She could enjoy it with him.

  He slipped his hand under her short top. He hesitated, waiting for permission. He didn’t need to ask. She burned for his touch. Surely, he felt her aroused nipples through the thin layers of clothing. So much for her good-girl convictions. Being Rodrigo’s bad girl would be a heck of a lot more fun.

  Taking his hand in hers, she guided it upward until it was a fraction of an inch from her bra. He didn’t need any additional encouragement. She gripped his waist and wrapped a leg around his muscled thigh, desperate to get closer, to burrow under his skin. They broke the kiss at the same time. Stifling a moan, she opened her mouth against his shoulder. Rodrigo nipped at the tender skin on her neck.

  Like a marauder, he took what he wanted and left chaos in his wake. She whimpered and pressed more insistently against him. He pushed her bra up to release her breasts, not taking the time to unfasten it. Mariah should have been uncomfortable, but she didn’t notice. She needed him to scratch her itch, light her torch, burn her house down.

  “Oh, God, Rigo.”

  He dragged his mouth away from her neck. “What do you want, querida?” He caressed the bare skin around one breast. She hungered for more of him, but he avoided touching her where she ached.

  “Touch me,” she begged, so much for pride.

  “Where? Rye, tell me where?” he whispered hoarsely, his fingers not quite hitting the target. Her fingernails dug into his back. Her leg tightened around his thigh. Licking his neck, she teased him and listened to him moan her name.

  “Mariah, tell me what you....”

  Their world exploded with a loud crash followed by several bangs and thumps. They leapt apart. Mariah’s leg tangled in his thigh, and she stumbled backwards into a bush. She caught the startled look on Rodrigo’s face. Yanking her out of the bush, he cemented her to his side. His eyes darted around, scanning the bushes. If Mariah hadn’t been so overwhelmed by lust, she might have considered his reaction funny, even odd. Did he have reason to believe someone was watching him?

  Rodrigo’s face displayed visible relief when the cause of the disturbance presented itself. A large tabby cat strutted by as if nothing had happened.

 
The spell broken, Mariah stepped away a few feet. She rearranged her clothes into a semblance of order. Rodrigo let her go and inspected their surroundings. He seemed disconcerted, even rattled. Finally satisfied nothing was amiss, he turned back to her and visibly gathered his composure.

  “Come home with me tonight, Mariah,” he coaxed, slipping smoothly back into the role of a seducer, though his convictions didn’t seem as strong. Maybe the guy was married and feared a private investigator was on his heels. That thought poured cold water on any plans she’d had for the night. After all, he was obviously hiding something.

  “No.”

  “What?” Rodrigo couldn’t conceal his astonishment.

  “I said no.”

  Rodrigo grinned lazily. “You cannot mean that.”

  Irritation raced through her. “No means no.” Who did this insufferable, conceited man think he was? Actually, she knew the answer to that. He was the same guy who just had his tongue halfway down her throat. He was also the same guy she’d brazenly encouraged to fondle her in a public parking lot. She’d gone mad, taken temporary leave of her sanity. She needed to get away now and get away fast.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Rodrigo sounded insulted.

  She couldn’t blame him for thinking he was about to score, considering the way her body had latched onto his and abandoned all common sense. “It means, Señor Perez, I’m not going to be another notch on your already crowded bedpost.”

  “How do you know my bedpost is crowded?”

  She couldn’t answer that question. She just knew. She may not know much about him, but she knew this. The man was supremely confident regarding his prowess with women, also stubborn, but so was she. She wouldn’t do this. As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t. It had to be special to both of them, or she wanted no part of it. She had more pride than to be another conquest for him. It meant nothing to him. It meant everything to her.