Save the Last Dance

by Jami Davenport

  “Where are we going?”

  “I don’t know.” He offered a one-shoulder shrug.

  Mariah stared at him. She certainly didn’t know where they were going either; on the road or in their relationship, if you could even call it a relationship at this stage.

  “Do you want to go home?” Rodrigo reached for her hand and pried it off the dashboard.

  “No. It’s still early unless you’re tired. Eva and Jamal wear a person out.”

  “I’m not tired, not at all.”

  “How about a walk? Rosario has some great walking trails.”

  “Okay.” Rodrigo whipped the SUV around in the middle of the road and stepped on it.

  “Do you always drive like this?” Mariah croaked, gripping her seat.

  Rodrigo grinned recklessly. “No, I’m trying to keep it tame so I don’t scare you.”

  Mariah leaned her head against the leather seat. “Thanks for small favors, Rigo.”

  “Hey, I aim to please.”

  Rodrigo parked by the marina. They strolled hand-in-hand down a dimly lit path that skirted the edge of a man-made pond shaped like a figure eight. A small overgrown island sat in the center of each half. Low stone walls prevented guests from accidentally taking a dip and doubled as flower planters. Back in the 1920’s, lovers rowed their sweethearts around the pond in canoes. No longer used, the murky waters and overgrown vegetation stood as a silent testament to a simpler era.

  They walked in silence, each lost in his or her own thoughts. His hand felt warm and strong in hers. She remembered Eva’s words regarding what she would regret the most. Rodrigo said he’d be on the island a month. Was a month with this man worth a broken heart? The alternative was not seeing him. That didn’t appeal to her at all.

  Rodrigo stopped under one of the willow trees. He tugged on Mariah’s hand to pull her around to face him. She didn’t resist. Instead she gazed up at him. The moonlight illuminated his strong features making the hard planes and contours of his face more visible. His arms slipped around her waist. He moved a step closer to her. Mariah wrapped her arms around his neck and gave in to the moment.

  Water lapped against the nearby marina breakwater and frogs croaked in the pond. Stars twinkled in the twilight sky like silver sequins on black velvet. A romantic scene, and Mariah was in the mood for romance.

  Rodrigo gathered her closer. Her heart pounded against his chest. His hand slipped under her sweater and stroked the bare skin on her back. Not a single protest spilled from her lips. When his glance slid to her mouth, she shuddered with delicious anticipation.

  With an unsteady hand, Mariah touched the caramel skin bared by his open collar. She raked her fingernails lightly through his wiry chest hair. He stood still, allowing her fingers to go where they wanted. All the while, he traced circles on the small of her back.

  She lifted her head. His eyes glittered dangerously, promising things she could barely imagine. If only she had the guts to take him up on those promises. Yet, the vulnerability that came with such intimacy terrified her.

  But, one kiss couldn’t hurt. She tilted her head in invitation. Rodrigo didn’t hesitate; he met her halfway. Their tongues entwined. His lips caressed hers. An erotic fever rushed through her bloodstream. The ability to reason escaped out her pores. There was nothing but the taste of him, the smell of him, and the feel of his body against hers. The world twirled around and around underneath her. She clung to him because her legs no longer functioned.

  Greedy for his touch, she wanted more, needed more. He deepened the kiss, while his mouth devoured and his tongue conquered.

  Rodrigo tunneled his fingers in her hair and pulled her closer as his tongue plunged deeper. One hand crept under the waistband of her capris and stroked bare skin. His kisses demanded more in their intensity. His other hand snaked up her back and expertly undid her bra clasp with a flick of his fingers. He unbuttoned her fly and started to lower the zipper. A small rational section of her mind registered the action. Sanity reared its ugly head.

  No. No. No.

  Apprehension overrode her desire. Her survival instincts kicked in. She jerked away so abruptly that he let her go.

  Dazed, Rodrigo stared at her. He raked one hand through his hair and flexed his fingers as if he couldn’t believe they were empty. His labored breathing and dilated pupils testified to how shamelessly she’d led him on. She was the worst kind of tease. Her actions had promised something she couldn’t deliver. Not tonight, not yet. If ever.

  “You were messing up my hair.” She offered as an excuse for her abrupt change in attitude.

  “I’d like to mess up more than your hair if you’d give me the chance.” He pulled her to him and nuzzled her neck, obviously ready for Round Two.

  “Is that all you think about?” She put her hands between them and pushed on his chest.

  “It’s a guy thing.”

  “Believe me, I’ve noticed.”

  He loosened his hold slightly so he could look down at her.

  “You have lipstick smeared on your cheek.” She made a feeble attempt to lighten the mood.

  “Baby, you can leave lipstick smears on any part of my body anytime you want.”

  Mariah frowned. “I wish I could take you up on that.”

  “Then do it.” His dark eyes turned a shade darker.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Tonight.”

  “I’m not what you’re used to. You don’t understand.”

  “I don’t know how to take that.” Rodrigo stared down into her troubled eyes. “What is it, bella?” He smoothed the loose strands of hair away from her face with amazing tenderness.

  Mariah looked away, unable to meet his eyes. She tried to break free, but he held her to him. “Please. This is stupid. I shouldn’t have accepted your first invitation. I’m so confused right now. I don’t know what to do with you.”

  “I could give you a few hints.”

  Mariah didn’t take the bait. “Rodrigo, I need time.”

  “Take all the time you need. Just make it quick.” One corner of his sinfully sexy mouth kicked up in a panty-dropping half-smile. Only she wasn’t dropping her panties, not yet, not tonight.

  Chapter 6—The Godfather

  Rico swam with slow, lazy strokes around the pool then flipped onto his back. Bathed by the afternoon sun, he floated in the warm water. His thoughts drifted to Mariah, her smile, her eyes, her hair, her contagious laughter, and that luscious body. Every part of her pretty much did something to every part of him.

  Yet, one thing confused him. Her touch seemed tentative, inexperienced. Was he reading her correctly? She was beautiful. Surely, she’d had her share of lovers. If she hadn’t, well, he was certainly game for tutoring her. Now there was a thought to make his day and his nights.

  His cell phone began its incessant ringing and interrupted his musing. He swam to the edge of the pool and grabbed the obnoxious thing. Its intrusion into his daydreams annoyed him. For once, he’d actually been successful in his attempt to relax. Now this instrument of torture created by modern society slammed him back to reality. He should have switched off the damn thing.

  “Hello,” he said, out of breath.

  “Rico? Did I interrupt something? You’re breathless.”

  He hoisted himself to sit on the edge of the pool, dangling his feet in the water. “Car,” he spoke into the phone, willing his voice to sound even. Despite his best efforts, his heart sped up and his body responded as it always did to his former lover. Damn, just when he was doing a decent job of putting her out of his mind. “How are you, baby?”

  “I’m fine. Wonderful. I couldn’t be better.”

  The happiness in her voice twisted his gut. He was no longer the man who made her days or her nights or even counted in her thoughts. His earlier contentment did a cannonball to the bottom of the pool.

  “That’s great.” He forced cheerfulness into his voice.

  “Are you alone?” she asked again, as if she d
idn’t want to inconvenience him. As if that woman could ever inconvenience him. Break his heart into a thousand pieces, yeah, but inconvenience, not a chance in hell.

  “Yeah, I’m alone. I’ve been swimming.” He didn’t have to see her to imagine how she looked with her golden blond hair and deep blue eyes.

  “Well, I don’t want to keep you long, but Max and I agreed you needed to be the first to know.” Her voice took on that high pitch of excitement he knew so well and brought the old memories flooding back, like the night he won his first Grammy, or the time his first song hit number one, or when he’d gotten his first big recording contract. She’d been there every step of the way from the moment he’d stepped on the stage of So You Wannabe a Star, through the weeks of grueling competition, and all the crazy things that happened since.

  Only this time her excitement wasn’t related to him. “Tell me. Don’t keep me waiting.” There, did he sound suitably excited? Hell, no.

  “Oh, Rico. I’m pregnant!”

  Pregnant? Something died inside him, the last ember of his lost love. A door slammed shut and a lock clicked, sealing his fate. Since she’d married Max over a year ago, he’d known they’d never have another chance together. Yet, deep down he’d harbored a small flicker of hope. His heart ached for his loss, and he couldn’t bring himself to be happy for her, which made him the worst kind of heel. She needed a guy like Max, and Max deserved a woman like her. All he’d ever given her was grief.

  “Rico? Are you still there?” Her sexily husky voice was laced with concern. Once, he’d loved to hear that voice whispering to him in the middle of the night. Now it haunted his dreams and lived in his soul.

  “Yeah, I’m shocked. Wow. That’s incredible. I’m so happy for you.” And the gossip rags had claimed he couldn’t act. What the hell did they know?

  “Max and I want you to be the baby’s godfather.”

  “I’m speechless.” That was an understatement. “I’m also honored.” There, he’d been noble and gracious, just like a good ex-boyfriend. He listened politely as she shared the details of her pregnancy. Every word she said drove a spike deeper into his heart. He blamed himself, even though he wanted to blame her. This baby could have been his if life had been different. If he had been different.

  “How are you, Rico? Max and I are worried about you. So is your family.”

  “They’re worried about the gravy train running out of gravy.”

  “You need to learn to say no.”

  “Easier said than done.”

  “You’re not responsible for them. They are all capable of holding a job and supporting themselves.”

  He’d heard this before. Along with the drugs and the drinking, his freeloader family had driven a wedge between them. Except for Angel. She actually worked for her paycheck. “Let’s not go there.”

  “Let’s not. How are you doing?”

  “I’m enjoying my time here.”

  “I understand you’ve met a woman who dances with horses.” She laughed. The sound made him ache with loneliness and regret.

  “You’ve been talking to my sister.”

  “Of course, when could Angel ever keep her mouth shut where you’re concerned?”

  “She’s just a—a friend. Lots of fun. You know, a summer fling.” Nothing like you and I had together, he thought, downplaying his confused feelings toward Mariah.

  “Oh, Rico. I pray every day that you’ll find the happiness that I’ve found.”

  “I will. Someday.” Even as he said it, he knew he lied. He found it hard to believe he could ever love again like he’d loved Carmen. “Mariah doesn’t know who I am. I told her I’m in the international trade business, which is true. She probably thinks I sell drugs.”

  “Rico, dishonesty is asking for trouble.”

  “It’s nice to be with someone who doesn’t have any pre-conceived notions about me.”

  “Wait a minute.” Carmen hesitated as what he’d said earlier clicked. “Mariah? Our neighbor? The interior designer?”

  “Yeah, that’s the one.”

  “Rico, she’s a nice girl. She’s been through enough tragedy. Please don’t break her heart.”

  “Car, I hate to cut this short, but I must go. Congratulations and thanks for the honor.” He felt a lecture coming on, and he wasn’t in the mood.

  Rico hung up the phone. He wasn’t like his father who turned love on and off like a water faucet. Years ago he’d trusted Carmen with his heart. Later, in his darkest hour, she’d fled, leaving him to flounder on his own. She might as well have ripped his heart out of his chest. Never would anyone get that close to him again. Never.

  Rico sprang to his feet and paced like a caged lion. He’d been loyal to a fault to his friends and family. Yet when it all played out in the end, his father deceived him and stole his money. Carmen abandoned him, not wanting any part of the scandal. His brother played him for a fool, using the situation to his advantage. His mother, who’d always been there, eloped with her boss and moved to Italy. All of them in their own way betrayed him. Some deliberately, some not.

  Something snapped inside him. Powerful emotions, smoldering for too long, ignited an uncontrollable inferno. The injustice of the situation enraged him and stoked that wildfire. Raw fury he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in four years exploded in his gut, sliced his soul, and ripped open old wounds.

  “FUCK YOU!” Rico bellowed over and over at the top of his lungs. He unleashed all the anger and frustration he’d kept locked inside. “Screw you! All of you. Mierda! I trusted you, Carmen! Gave you everything. Why? Why did you dump me when I needed you most? Ramon, you bastard! I saved you from yourself. Look at the thanks I got, little brother. Dad. Oh, God, Dad. You, most of all. You lied to me then let me suffer the consequences of your lies. Dios! Damn you! DAMN YOU ALL!”

  Rico ranted like a hellfire-and-brimstone TV preacher on a tirade, and he was just getting warmed up. He continued to yell until he was so hoarse his voice was barely a croak.

  Trembling with rage, he searched for a new release. He snatched a beer bottle from a nearby table and smashed it against the patio. Spinning around, the Gibson guitar caught his eye.

  The Gibson.

  The thing symbolized loyalty, trust, friendship, and all that garbage he used to cherish and give so freely to his friends and family. Oh, yeah, and love. Don’t forget love. The biggest crock of all.

  “This is for you, Max. Yeah, you. You stuck with me through thick and thin. You have no faults. You’re so frigging perfect. No wonder Carmen loves you. You asshole!”

  Rico stalked toward the guitar, a big cat ready to pounce. The worthless piece of crap, he couldn’t even write decent music with it anymore. Instead, its presence tortured him by reminding him of what he’d lost.

  A predatory smile crept across his face.

  No more.

  His prized possession was about to embark on a new career as driftwood.

  Grabbing the Gibson by its neck, he whirled around. Like a javelin thrower, he sprinted down to the water’s edge by the dock. With a triumphant roar and every ounce of strength his body possessed, he hurled the guitar through the air. It slammed against a piling, bounced twice on the dock, and dove into the water.

  Rico’s chest heaved from the exertion. He gulped for air. His eyes burned. His body shook. He clenched and unclenched his fists, digging his fingernails into his palm. He’d just shown them all. Yes, he had. Hadn’t he? They’d be sorry they’d hurt him. Yes, they would. Every one of them. Oh, yeah, he’d gotten his revenge.

  He stood there, legs slightly apart, hands on hips and stared. The Gibson floated toward the opening of the peaceful cove as if setting sail out to sea. The sight of it extinguished his anger as if someone had thrown ice water on him. As he watched, a strong current swept the guitar into the inlet. It bobbed frantically as if calling for help. After several seconds, it disappeared from sight.

  At first, Rico felt nothing. Numb. Empty. Indifferent. Disconnected. Then
it sank in.

  The Gibson was gone.

  Destroyed. One of a kind. Irreplaceable. He’d lost a faithful old friend. His indifference gave way to bitter regret. A profound sadness invaded his senses.

  Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Dios. What had he done? His stomach clenched and knotted. Sweat broke out on his forehead. His breath came in gasps. Frantic, Rico tore into the house. He grabbed the binoculars and ran down to the dock, scanning the inlet for the Gibson. Nothing. It had vanished into thin air in the strong current.

  He sank to the ground and buried his face in his hands.

  That guitar had been with him since the beginning. He’d coveted it in the window of that pawn shop every day. Max had bought it for him, spending every last penny they had. When Rico tried to refuse the expensive gift, Max wouldn’t listen. The guitar was priceless, like their friendship. They called it Rico’s good-luck guitar because things changed for them after that. Rico got selected for the TV talent show. He won it, and the breaks started happening, the money started coming in. Years later on the night it all came crashing down, Rico had been on the road. He’d forgotten the guitar at home. Not that he believed in that good luck crap or was superstitious.

  To him, the guitar had symbolized unwavering friendship and faith in the face of insurmountable odds. Now, he’d destroyed it in a fit of temper. What an idiot. Max would never forgive him. Or would he? Max had forgiven him a lot of things over the years.

  Feeling lost and helpless, Rico did the only thing he could think of doing. He went in search of Mariah in hopes she could exorcise the demons that haunted him.

  * * *

  Mariah found it hard to focus that afternoon as she rode Sueño. Thinking about Rodrigo did that to a woman.

  Eva believed in fate. You meet the people you are supposed to meet in your life if you let it happen. There are no coincidences. Was she meant to be with Rodrigo on this island at this time in her life? Should she accept her destiny, and blindly go wherever fate chose to take her?

  Mariah loosened Sueño’s reins. She shut her eyes and tried to clear her mind of the conflicting emotions ping-ponging off the walls of her skull. Without guidance Sueño wandered aimlessly, swerving around the arena as if he’d had too much tequila.