Save the Last Dance

by Jami Davenport

  She’d bought it last year at a trendy boutique, as shopping therapy, shortly after she’d broken off her engagement. A bargain on sale, it looked so good on her she couldn’t resist it. It made her feel daring and rebellious, but having the guts to buy it and having the guts to wear it were two different things.

  Rodrigo tapped on the door. “Mariah, what are you doing in there? It’s almost 8:00. Let’s get going, or we won’t get a seat.” He sounded exasperated.

  Mariah sighed, staring at the myriad of dresses strewn all over the bed. The moment of truth crashed down upon her like a fly swatter on a fly. Wear the man-killer dress, and she all but sealed her fate for the night. Sex was written all over that dress in BIG, BOLD letters. She’d be branded the worst kind of tease in her own mind if she didn’t put out after subjecting him to that dress.

  She chewed on a fingernail and fingered the slinky material. She needed to get beyond her fears and learn to be a confident woman. If she couldn’t enjoy sex with Rodrigo, chances were she’d never enjoy it with anyone.

  That was the problem.

  Before she lost her nerve, she slipped the hooker dress over her head. She kept her back to the mirror until she pulled and tugged the tight little number into place. Turning slowly, she studied her reflection with the critical eye of a woman who made her living in design. Her mouth dropped open at the sight of the sexy vamp in the mirror. That stranger couldn’t be her. She’d overdone it. She couldn’t go through with this. She couldn’t be something she wasn’t. And this she wasn’t.

  Fear crept down her throat and settled in her stomach, leaving a hard lump of indecision.

  “Mariah?” A sharp rap on the door. Rodrigo sounded as if he was exercising an iron control on his Latin/Irish temper. She suspected that iron might start corroding pretty soon. “Are you almost ready?”

  The dress clung to her body like a wet T-shirt. The shimmering, satiny material took on different colors of the rainbow depending on which curve or valley of her body it nestled against. The skin-tight skirt ended a few inches below her rear with a six-inch fringe around the bottom. The bodice was cut like a clingy camisole with lace along the neck and spaghetti straps. The neckline plunged low enough to offer a tantalizing view of her cleavage. At least it wasn’t obscenely revealing, depending on a woman’s definition of obscene. Other than a g-string, she couldn’t wear any other underwear or Rodrigo would be subjected to looking at panty and bra lines all night. Instead he’d be treated to her nipples and her bare butt if she bent over.

  What the heck did she think she was doing?

  The clock had run out on his patience. He pounded on the door.

  She didn’t have time to change—her mind or her dress. Using the small bathroom mirror, she refreshed her makeup and checked her hair one last time.

  With a deep breath, she opened the stateroom door and ascended the four stairs that led to the main salon. Rodrigo stood with his back to her. He tapped his foot impatiently and stared out the window. She froze. If her feet hadn’t been anchored to the floor, she would have fled back to the stateroom to change.

  Whatever possessed her to wear this dress? Even as she asked herself that question, she knew the answer in her heart. Her suspicions regarding his background compelled her to do it. Despite his scruffiness, she suspected Rodrigo dated glamorous, sexy women. She needed to prove to him, and herself, that she could hold her own with the best of them. She couldn’t be shy, insecure Mariah tonight.

  She knew him so well yet didn’t know him at all. He’d semi-cleaned up tonight. He wore black jeans that hugged his narrow hips, long legs, and great butt. He turned slightly, giving her a glimpse of his front. His bronzed chest sported a white cotton shirt, unbuttoned at least four buttons. The man had a great chest, and he knew it.

  She wanted to slip her hands underneath that shirt and feel those strong muscles rippling under her fingers. To complete the whole sexy picture, his rolled-up sleeves revealed his tanned, corded arms.

  She forced her eyes up to his face. He hadn’t noticed her yet. His hair still did its own thing. The ever-present stubble darkened his skin. His appearance embodied a dangerous—and very Latin—male. Any woman in her right mind would salivate in the presence of that sizzling man.

  Taking a deep breath, she gathered up her nerve like a shield around her, squared her shoulders, and sauntered toward him in her best Marilyn Monroe imitation.

  She was face-to-face with the defining moment in their relationship. Maybe in her life.

  * * *

  Rico heard her soft footsteps on the teak flooring. Irritated with her for making him wait so damn long, he kept his back to her. Let her suffer a little.

  “Rigo?” Her melodic voice floated to him, sounding uncertain and nervous.

  He turned, ready to give her a taste of his displeasure. His mouth opened but nothing came out except a squeak. He’d never squeaked over a woman in his life.

  His lungs forgot how to operate at the sight of her in that dress. Somebody get the oxygen tank. His heart, on the other hand, increased its pace to warp speed. His mute mouth fell open. He consciously anchored his tongue to the roof of his mouth so it didn’t hang down to his knees. Down south, another part of his anatomy sprang to attention.

  Ay yi yi...Holy shit. Who is this?

  “I’m sorry it took so long. I couldn’t decide what to wear. Do I look okay?” She spun around slowly to give him the full effect, stumbling slightly as she turned.

  Rico swallowed and mopped his brow. What did a woman wear under a dress like that, if anything?

  He called upon all his years of experience in the spotlight and under the microscope to regain some composure. Outwardly, he might appear calm, inside he declared himself a major disaster area. Earthquake, volcano, tornado, hurricane, you name it, they all raged inside him.

  She moved away to pick up her purse from the couch. The skirt’s fringe accentuated every movement of her hips and lush little behind.

  “You look very erotic...uh, I mean exotic.” With a great effort he heaved his sex-deprived brain out of the gutter it had once again fallen into.

  Glancing around for a distraction, he plucked a red rose from a glass of water on the nearby counter. “This is for you, amor.” He placed the single red rose in her hand. The damn thing had cost him seventy-five bucks—$50 to bribe the dock boy to find a rose after hours in Friday Harbor and $25 to placate an irate homeowner for the rose stolen from his garden.

  Mariah took the single red rose and tucked it behind her ear. Her emerald eyes sparkled. “Do I look like a señorita now?”

  He laughed and took her hand, sweeping downward in an exaggerated bow. “Sí, your beauty is incomparable.” It’d be a miracle if he made it through the evening alive considering how hot she looked. What a way to die, though. “Why don’t we stay here instead of going out tonight?”

  She laughed and ran a finger down his bare arm. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

  “Sounds like a fucking good idea to me.” And he meant every word of it. Mariah shook her head and took his hand, practically pulling him out the door.

  The bar reminded him of the Mexican Restaurant on Orcas Island, same cheesy décor and same dark, smoke-saturated atmosphere. This bar was bigger with a small hardwood dance floor. He led Mariah to a private table for two in the corner. One of the few tables left, they were lucky to get it.

  Rico didn’t have to worry about being recognized. Every man in the place gawked at Mariah like pit bulls eying prime rib, and every woman wanted to be her. Mariah ignored them all, totally oblivious to the attention she attracted. She was a breath of fresh air in a room full of stale beer and cheap perfume.

  “There isn’t a man in this place that doesn’t have his eyes on you.” He glared at one particularly bold jerk who hadn’t quit staring at her legs since they’d walked in.

  Mariah looked around. As she did, several men quickly averted their eyes. She looked back at Rico, somewhat embarra
ssed. “There’s only one man in this place that I want to have his eyes on me.”

  “Believe me, sweetheart, they are.” Rico allowed himself another leisurely tour of her body. That dress should be put in the Smithsonian or declared cruel and unusual punishment for hapless males, he wasn’t sure which. She’d shocked him by wearing it, but then his little Gemini brimmed with surprises. Every time he thought he had her figured her out, she threw him another curve ball.

  The bar lights dimmed, leaving only a candle to illuminate their table. Rico slid his chair next to hers and put his hand on her knee, rubbing it absently as he studied her face in the flickering candlelight. She gnawed on her lower lip, concentrating her attention on his chest.

  Tonight she was his. No more playing by the rules. He planned on bringing out the big guns. Or would that be big gun? He’d use every weapon of seduction available to him. She didn’t stand a fighting chance. He hoped.

  He picked up a lock of her mahogany hair and wrapped it around his finger. Bringing his hand toward his chest, her hair slid off his finger to nestle in her cleavage. His eyes followed it downward and stayed there. Her rounded breasts peeked out over the lace bodice. The movement caused by her labored breathing only made them more desirable.

  Starting at the inside of her knee, Rico’s hand did a tango up her leg, stopping short of the spot he longed to touch. Soon she’d beg him to touch her there. He’d just keep stoking that fire.

  He caressed and teased the inside of her silky thigh, making small, lazy, deliberate circles. Her eyes grew heavy, lidded, hypnotized by his touch. Mariah’s hand hovered near his chest as if she was considering unbuttoning another button. Rico captured her graceful hand in his. He held it up to his mouth and kissed the tip of each red fingernail. Turning the heat up a notch, he wrapped his fingers gently around her index finger and slipped it in his mouth, sucking gently. She rolled her head back, unable to suppress a groan of pleasure. He slid it in and out a few times. After licking her fingertip, he studied the moisture left by his tongue then ran her palm across his stubbled cheek.

  Mariah pried her hand from his. Those emerald eyes searched his face. A small, nervous smile lifted the corners of her luscious mouth. She licked her lips.

  Leaning forward, her breath tickled his ear. “My turn, cowboy.” Her voice slid over him like satin. He shifted his position to relieve some pressure.

  Bring it on, baby. Take your turn.

  She fingered the exposed skin by his collarbone. Her emerald eyes seared a path downward from his neck to his belt. The contoured muscles under his shirt flexed involuntarily under her curious gaze. She unbuttoned one more button on his shirt then hesitated. Her fingers played with the curly hair on his chest.

  Rico held his breath, and an involuntary shiver ran through him. He fought for control of the situation, irritated by his own weaknesses. This was his playing field, and he played to win, at least to score. He couldn’t let an amateur beat him at his own game.

  Somehow, he mustered the inner strength to put together a coherent string of words. Leaning forward, he whispered in her ear. “I’m all yours, baby. I’m a generous man. You can have whatever you want.”

  He captured her earlobe between his teeth and tugged on it. She tried to move away, but he held her head still. He released her earlobe and blazed a fiery trail down her jaw to her neck. His other hand crept higher up her skirt. She clamped her legs tightly together, trapping his fingers, so close to paradise and yet so far.

  Her eyes flew open, as if she just realized where they were and what they were doing. Startled, she leapt to her feet. “I...I need to use the ladies room.” She didn’t wait for a response but literally ran away from their table. Rico didn’t know whether to smile in triumph or bellow in frustration.

  That was a close one. His seduction of her had almost turned into her seduction of him. She had this maddening way of turning the tables on him just when he thought he had the upper hand. While letting her take the lead might prove interesting, he needed to stay in control. This incredible woman was sucking him deeper into this relationship than he intended. His aching need for her went beyond the physical. Not a good thing for a man who swore he’d never get emotionally attached to another woman.

  Rico looked up as the waiter cleaned off their table and deposited two more drinks. The stocky Hispanic smiled at him. “If you don’t mind my saying, your woman is very hot, and she seems devoted to you. You’re one lucky man—the envy of every man here.”

  Rico glanced in the direction Mariah had gone. “Sí, I know.”

  * * *

  Mariah leaned against the bathroom door in an effort to compose herself. If she hadn’t left when she had, she’d be spread-eagled on top of the table by now, giving the entire room a show. She stared in the mirror at her painstakingly applied makeup, wishing she dared to splash cold water on her face. Instead, with an unsteady hand, she refreshed her lipstick.

  Taking deep breaths, she attempted to rein in her emotions, but she was riding a runaway horse. The man made her crazed. She didn’t even recognize herself. Never in her life had a man touched her in such a private manner in a public place. In fact, she’d rarely been touched like that in any place.

  The only way to describe how she felt right now came down to one word: horny. The man was a master. The two margaritas hadn’t hurt his cause either. What did she expect after wearing a dress like that one? “Jump my bones and make me scream” was embedded in every skimpy fiber. Dabbing her chest with a wet paper towel, she resolved to make it through the night in one piece.

  Her wanton behavior disgusted her on one level and thrilled her on another. Maybe it hadn’t been all her fault with Warren. Maybe she wasn’t such a cold fish, after all. Tossing the towel in the wastebasket, she marched with determination back to their table.

  Avoiding his gaze, she sat down in her chair and slid it a respectable distance from him. Undeterred, he scooted his chair against hers, wrapped his arm around her and bound her to his side. The heat from his body melted her earlier resolve faster than ice in the Sahara.

  “So tell me, why do they call this Friday Harbor? I’ve been meaning to ask you, but I keep getting distracted.” He winked at her.

  Mariah embraced the light conversation, even if it was the calm before the next sensual storm. “No one knows for sure, but this is the story I like the best. A ship mapping the area pulled into the harbor. The captain spotted a man on shore and called out to him ‘what bay is this?’ The man on shore said Friday, thinking the captain had asked him, ‘what day is this?’”

  Rodrigo smiled. “So it became Friday Harbor.”

  “So they say. Anyway, that’s the most popular story.”

  “It works for me. Let’s dance, amor.” He flashed one of his broad grins and enslaved her heart once again. His warm mocha eyes heated her body down to her toes like hot fudge drizzling down a scoop of vanilla ice cream.

  He stood and held his hand out to her. Mariah hung back. Had she recovered enough to brave another sexual onslaught? Salsa dancing with him in her skimpy little dress could be hazardous to both of them.

  “Are you okay?” Concern for her gentled his brown eyes.

  “I...I don’t know why, but I’m nervous about dancing with you.”

  “Mariah. There’s nothing to worry about. You dance well, very well.”

  “We’ve never done this kind of dancing together. What if I suck?”

  “Well, bella, you can suck, just not at dancing.” He whooped with laughter at her shocked look. “You’ll be fine. We’ll burn up that dance floor.”

  “I don’t doubt that; I already am burning.”

  “Sí, so am I.”

  “I’m not comfortable dancing like that.” She pointed at the women moving seductively on the dance floor.

  A slow, amused smile crossed his face. “Mariah, you have no reason to feel insecure about your dancing. When you move, your body flows with this easy grace I could watch forever.” He bent down
, speaking only for her to hear. “I want to feel your body moving against me, underneath me. I want to feel all that passion you keep locked up inside, except for those few times I’ve unleashed a portion of it.” He touched his lips to hers. “Give me a chance.”

  Empowered by his trust in her abilities, the fear fell away little by little. She banished the remaining uncertainties from her mind. Their gazes lingered for a few more seconds, leaving both of them awed by what had just passed between them.

  Taking a calming breath, Mariah ignored her residual doubts. A sassy, though nervous, smile lit up her face. “So big guy, show me your stuff.” Rising to her feet, she took his hand.

  He grinned and pinched her rear, causing her to squeal in surprise. She slapped at his hand, and a deep chuckle resonated through his chest. “What stuff would you like to see? I thought you wanted to dance? But, hey, you know me? I’m game for whatever you have in mind.”

  Mariah glared at him and stuck out her tongue.

  “Oooooh, baby, don’t tempt me.”

  “You’re incorrigible.

  “But I’m cute.” Rodrigo smiled his awarding-winning smile—the one that came with the guarantee to make a woman go from solid to liquid in three seconds. He tried to pull her against him. She wiggled away and danced onto the dance floor. Her body swayed in time to the music.

  The fast salsa beat vibrated with tango undertones. Standing face to face, Mariah looped her arms around Rodrigo’s neck. Her hips moved from side to side, inviting him to step closer. Once he did, she moved back a step. He caught her in his arms, binding her to his body. His eyes burned into hers, scorching everything in their path. He moved his hips against hers in a slow, sensuous motion. She anticipated every move he made and followed suit. Caught up in the music, she forgot her inhibitions and gave herself up to the beat.