His jaw hardens. Oh, he doesn’t like that.
“With all due respect,” I say, “I didn’t have to make this trip, Señor Suarez. There are other avenues I can take to get through to the Mexicans. Yours is simply the fastest, and I’d like to expedite these new business developments.” I shrug. “Mi madre also accused me of being impatient.” I lower my voice. “But getting bombita when you have none is not so easy.”
His eyes grow flinty at that. “Don’t make the mistake of assuming I need anything from you just because I agreed to this meeting, and I’m being hospitable. I don’t need anyone.”
Dial it back, Romano. We need his cooperation.
“Nor do I,” I retort. “As long as we both understand each other.” I pull a pen from my jacket pocket and scribble a number on one of the cocktail napkins. “This is my price for your first shipment. You will only receive that shipment after I’ve made contact with your people in Mexico and have secured safe trade access for my product. After that, we can re-negotiate terms.”
His jaw hardens as he glances down at the number. I can’t tell if it’s in displeasure or contemplation. After another minute, he huffs out a breath and grins.
“Mi madre always used to say that I was too cautious. I never jump in with both feet.”
I return his grin. Got him. He’s locked in. “A smart man never does.”
He tips his head in agreement. “The curse of being a shrewd businessman.” He pulls a fat cigar out of his jacket and rolls it between his fingers. “Lower your price by twenty percent, and we’ve got a deal.”
I pretend to consider this because I don’t give a flying fuck. I just have to make it look real.
“Ten percent.”
He holds the cigar under his nose and slowly inhales. “Deal.”
“I’ve got shipments ready to go out in three weeks,” I state firmly. “Can your contacts down South be ready by then to provide safe transpo?”
His features twist. So cocky. “They’ll be ready in two.”
That should give me time to gather enough concrete evidence that will put him behind bars for three lifetimes. No trumped-up conspiracy to distribute drugs charges. No getting off on technicalities. I want to get him on everything. And as long as I can stay in his good graces, there’s a decent chance I’ll become privy to his Miami business. Maybe even be present at one of his product shipments at the port. Catch the bastard red-headed.
“Can I expect that first bombita shipment in two weeks, as well?” he asks.
“That shouldn’t be a problem.”
He takes out a gold-plated cigar cutter and snips off the end of the cigar. “Then, Señor Ramirez, I think you were right.” He lifts the cigar to his mouth, puffs once, twice, and blows out a plume of smoke that drifts in the air between us. “I think this arrangement will be immensely beneficial for both of us.”
He pours each of us another glass of the clear cat piss and raises his to me.
I salute him for a second time. “I’ll drink to that.”
I revel in the slow burn of the alcohol when it slides down my throat, my muscles slowly loosening as it works its magic on my tension.
I just made a deal with the devil.
And I couldn’t be happier.
Two weeks and Diego Suarez will be finished.
You’re going down, cabrón.
Chapter 4
Sophie
I don’t like to admit it when I’m frazzled. In fact, I don’t even really like that word. I’ve survived working for el diablo all these years by maintaining my control at all times and never allowing my emotions to take over and make decisions for me.
But I am so frazzled right now.
I can’t stop thinking about my gorgeous savior from the hallway. The tall, swarthy hunk with dark stubble on his cheeks, a square jawline, and impossibly broad shoulders. Oh yeah, and he has the voice of every woman’s dirtiest fantasy. A mix between Batman and Dermot Mulroney. Gawd.
He stopped that cretin from taking what wasn’t his and…I can’t figure out why.
The characters that frequent Calor aren’t exactly the noble or honorable type. If they saw some shady business going down anywhere, they weren’t the Good Samaritans to step in and stop it. Hell, most of what goes on at the club is shady. So, why did this guy? He looked the part of every other creep I’ve seen in this place before. Mostly. He was way sexier. But the expensive suit, the gaudy jewelry—that all fits the description of one of the many goons Diego often does business with.
But if he’s such a bad person, why did he save me?
I have to shake off these thoughts. I only have half an hour left of my shift, and then I can go home to Mamá and Manny. Trying to solve the enigma of one random man isn’t going to solve any of my problems.
I only get about a three minute break after my last customer before I feel an imposing presence behind me in my “pick-up” area on the floor. Pasting on my usual seductive smile, I turn around to greet—
Him.
My gorgeous savior.
Dammit, I don’t even know his name. But he knows mine.
The corner of his mouth twitches as he…bows? Like a gentleman?
“May I have the next dance?”
My mouth is suddenly filled with a million cotton balls. All I can do is nod and take his offered hand. His big, strong hand that surprisingly isn’t smooth like Diego’s. My savior’s hand is rough and callused, which I find comforting somehow. A guy who might actually work for a living.
Maybe his work is knocking people off and burying the bodies in undisclosed locations.
Oh, shit.
His presence at the club isn’t a good sign for him. He might be a drug dealer, an enforcer for a drug dealer, or your average every day junkie murderer.
But why does he have to be so hot?
“I’m not sure I can keep up with you, but I’ll give it a shot,” he muses as we find a place on the floor and start to move in a relaxed rumba.
“How do you know I can dance?”
He lifts one shoulder in a careless shrug. “I was watching you earlier.”
Something coils low in belly at the thought of him watching me. Something that feels strangely like excitement. Maybe even arousal? God, what is wrong with me? This man is most likely a dangerous criminal. I don’t get turned on by criminals.
“I’m not sure if that’s creepy or…very creepy.”
He belts out a laugh and oh, it’s a good one. He’s got a great laugh. Deep and guttural.
“Take it as a compliment,” he says. “You tend to catch the eye of every man in the room when you dance. It’s sort of mesmerizing.”
I flush at his praise, but still feel the need to admit, “I don’t really notice.”
His eyes spark with something I can’t name. “I know. You don’t do it for the attention.”
Needing to break the spell he puts me under every time he looks at me that way, I avert my gaze as he slowly spins me around his body. He’s surprisingly light on his feet and seems to have at least a rudimentary knowledge of the proper technique, which is refreshing. I don’t usually dance with anyone who’s so competent in skill.
I have to wonder how far those skills stretch.
As a test, I perform a triple turn, which is usually followed by some sort of lift in this dance. Right when I expect him to take us back into closed position, he wraps his steely arm around my waist, pulls me against him, and easily lifts me off my feet. I’m so shocked, I can’t help but wordlessly stare down at him. His expression is smug, but not arrogant, if that makes any sense. It’s like he’s pleased he’s impressed me, but he’s not the type who would sing his own praises.
I’m unaware of my own movements as he carefully sets me back down on my feet. These dances are so familiar to me, I never have to think about the correct steps and partner connections. They just come naturally. And even if I needed to concentrate I couldn’t. Not when he’s spearing me with that piercing gaze of his, those eyes tracking my ever
y move, like a predator anticipating his prey.
Then the song ends, and a spicy samba number immediately ensues.
The need to take advantage of the music claws within me, desperate to break free. I raise a challenging eyebrow at him.
His answering smile is devious.
“Let’s see what you got, Sophie.”
He asked for it.
Never breaking eye contact, I stand alone and provoke him with my favorite hip rolls. I know the slit in my dress rides up my thigh as I bend my knees, reveling in his heated gaze. His eyes find that slit and don’t stray until I start taking slow, measured steps toward him on my toes. Recognizing my challenge, that devious smile reappears as he grabs my wrist and hauls me into him.
He doesn’t wait for me to take his hand.
He doesn’t ease into the motions.
The slow rumba is gone.
Now, his aggression comes out. And I freaking love it. That’s what a samba is. It’s aggression, it’s passion, it’s lust and desire on the dance floor with some quick footwork thrown in.
He takes the dominant role as he leads us around the floor in the forward basic steps. I’m following with no problem, but if he wants me to spin, he grabs my hips and makes me spin. If he wants me to dip, he grabs me by the back of my neck and pulls me down into a dip. And if he wants to lift me, he doesn’t hesitate to boldly grab my hips or just below my ass and lift me as he pleases.
God, this feels good.
Dancing with a man who knows how to take charge. Who knows exactly what he wants and just fucking takes it without asking for permission. I have a sense that he would ask if he felt even the slightest hesitation on my part, but he doesn’t have to wonder about that.
I’m so damn willing in his arms it’s almost embarrassing.
I’m so desperate to experience passion with another person that I’m pathetically throwing myself at this guy.
It doesn’t stop me, though.
A light sheen of sweat covers my skin as he presses our bodies close together. So close that I can’t tell where my body stops and his begins. Our feet are completely in sync. Our breaths come out in the same staccato rhythm. It’s like we were born to dance together.
“What do you think?” he murmurs. “Do I meet your standards?”
Our faces are only inches apart, our eyes locked together in a battle I didn’t realize was ever started. I feel his warm breath skate across my cheek. His features cloud with lust and without giving it a second thought, I know mine do, too. I can’t control my visceral reactions to this man.
“I’ve seen worse.”
When the song hits the slower beats of the bridge, he abruptly spins me around so my back is against his front. Shoving my mane of hair off my shoulder, he buries his face in my neck and thrusts his hips against my ass. My breath catches in my throat at the noticeable bulge he’s grinding against me.
“Funny, because I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything better than you,” he whispers into my ear.
I tip my head back until it’s resting on his shoulder. “I find that hard to believe.”
His hands drift down to my thighs and slowly inch my dress up, exploring my bare skin. He’s still controlling our movements, and I’m still letting him.
It’s fucking thrilling.
“Why?” he breathes. Then he forcefully drives his hips against me, placing his cock right at the crevice of my thighs, drawing a gasp from me. “Is this not proof enough?”
Dios. His dancing is like sex.
And I’m sure he’s equally phenomenal at both activities.
Just the feeling of having his demanding hands on me causes my pulse to spike. My heart is already beating out of control. Judging by his ragged breaths, his is also.
Like a flash, he spins me around once again to face him. His pupils are so dilated, his chocolate irises have disappeared.
“What about you, Sophie?” he asks. “Are you feeling this, too?”
I don’t get the chance to answer. He lifts my leg up and wraps it around his waist, effectively placing my sex right over his growing erection. I can’t breathe as he drags his erection over my center, back and forth. My dress is thin and my panties are a scrap of nothing, so I know he can feel how hot I am down there.
I get my answer when his brows furrow. He lets out a long groan. “Christ. You’re wet for me aren’t you? I can feel it.”
I don’t know how to answer that, so I don’t. All I get out is a muffled whimper as I delight in the delicious friction.
When the final beats of the song ring out, he dips me backward and runs his callused palm down my chest, right between my heaving breasts. My head is thrown back, my eyes closed, but I can feel him breathing against my stomach, telling me his head is dipped into my body. Savoring, perhaps?
He brings me back up to face him when the song is over. I think we’re both too stunned to say anything. We just stare at each other, panting, fighting to catch our breath. He’s looking at me like he’s trying to figure out the quickest way to get my dress off. And I’m looking at him like he’s an alien from a planet billions of miles away.
But damn, do I want him.
Bad.
I want his mouth on me. Immediately.
He must see it in my eyes because he snatches my hand up and drags me off the dance floor without a word. I follow, teetering a few times on my stiletto heels. He takes me to the same hallway where we met earlier, not stopping until we’re hidden from prying eyes by the shadows.
I don’t think.
I can hardly breathe.
All I want to do is lose myself to the moment. To him.
This doesn’t happen to me. Ever.
I just want one moment that isn’t consumed by fear and responsibility and conflicted morals. One brief window where I can pretend like none of it matters.
In this hallway, with the sexiest man I’ve ever seen in my life, I want to be a completely different person. Someone who isn’t afraid to go after what she wants.
He takes me by the shoulders and slams me up against the wall.
Yes.
His hands frame my face. I have a brief glimpse of his heavy-lidded eyes before our mouths meet in a frenzy. His lips are soft but insistent as they ease my own open, allowing his tongue to thrust inside and stroke mine. Our hands are frantic, groping, squeezing, getting as much of each other as we can before we have to go back to reality.
He rips his mouth away. “Do you have any idea how fucking sexy you are?” His lips trail down my throat, sensuously tasting my fevered skin. “Fuck. I’d do anything to be inside you right now.”
It seems the desperation is mutual.
I arch into his hands when they fall on my breasts, massaging, his fingers running across my raised nipples. I hear a snap and feel the small chain around my neck give way. I know he’s just broken my necklace, but I don’t pay attention. I don’t care about anything as long as he keeps his hands where they’re at.
Which is why I say—and do—the inconceivable.
“Take your cock out,” I whisper.
He tenses. Panic flares to life inside me. He can’t stop now. I need this.
My hands fly to his zipper and slide it down.
I can’t believe I’m doing this.
But I’m supposed to be a different person, right? So, I’m going to let this random stranger fuck me right here in this dirty hallway in the pits of my own personal hell.
“You can fuck me.”
He lets out a low moan and attacks my throat with his hungry mouth.
“Goddammit, Sophie. Don’t say things like that.”
Why not?
“You don’t want to encourage a man like me.”
What will a man like you do?
His hips are torturously grinding against mine, but our bodies are still restrained by our clothing. I snap open his button. But just as I’m reaching inside his pants and simultaneously lifting up my leg for easier access, he freezes.
“Wait, stop,” he grunts. “I can’t.”
He pulls on my wrists until they’re no longer anywhere near his manhood, and my whole body stills.
Oh my God. Did I read all of the signals wrong?
He said he wants to be inside me, right? But he can’t?
Mortification rolls over me in tsunami-sized waves.
I yank my arms back, gluing them to my sides. He has a look of regret stamped on his face as he steps away and discreetly zips himself back up.
“I’m sorry,” he says in a low voice. “I didn’t mean to take it this far.”
Gee, that makes me feel so much better.
I run my trembling hands through my hair and straighten my dress, needing something to do other than just stare at him, dumbfounded. This situation is too humiliating. The one time I try to escape and experience a few seconds of ecstasy and it backfires horribly.
Should have known, Sophie. Life is never that easy.
“Y-yeah, me either,” I stutter, sounding completely lame. “I should go.”
I need to get away and hopefully never see him again. Part of me is crushed at the idea that I’ll never have another dance like that again. Or have another kiss like that. But it’s for the best. In this life, I don’t have the benefit of relationships. Or even quickies, apparently.
He looks conflicted as I turn away, clenching his jaw, but he doesn’t stop me.
Until he says in an almost angry voice, “I think you forgot something.”
My blood turns to ice.
Everything suddenly clicks into place. His presence at the club, his reason for approaching me and asking for a dance. Hell, he even asked me about my “work” earlier.
He’s a customer.
He’s only after the product he paid for. Which currently rests in the swell of my cleavage. I never even thought to check his hand earlier because I was too enthralled in his masculine magnetism. It’s the first time I’ve ever slipped up on the job. Stupid, stupid, stupid!
And the humiliation just keeps on coming.
He must have just been horny and saw an opportunity with a woman who looked easy. Like Slick in the hallway earlier. That’s the only reason I can come up with for the way he just mauled my mouth like a starving man. Only unlike Slick, this guy isn’t drunk and didn’t force himself on me. But I guess he didn’t have to. I was humping his leg like an animal in heat.
Salsa (Sultry Nights Book 1) Page 4
