by Sabrina York
Then a friend had tried to arrange a blind date with someone perfect within the industry. They shared a common passion for dance and their Latin heritage. Except, he never showed or called to apologize for standing her up. Raul had left her waiting at the restaurant’s bar. At the time, she promised no more setups, until now. Coincidence?
She fiddled with a few wrinkles on her dress, smoothing out the vibrant purple fabric, giving her time to think. The lovely new dress gave her confidence. From the corner of her eye, she checked out her companion for the evening. Well, if the service forced her to spend an evening with a slave to popular culture, she wouldn’t throw Raul Silva out of bed. The past few years she’d been so dedicated to her creative craft, it had taken all her passion. Hell. Her entire friggin’ life. When Isabella was in high school, her mama hadn’t wanted her going out because it would be a distraction. Isabella practiced so much, she missed participating in school activities, and once she’d gone to college…. Well, the men who took dance classes were either gay or they slept with every female on the team. The few outside guys she’d gone out with ended in disaster. They met her base physical demands, but didn’t understand her schedule.
With his muscular build and suave attitude, Raul oozed sexual confidence. Every music video he produced featured the hottest dancers and most alluring songs. A man like that knew how to please a woman. Hopefully.
“Can we begin again?” he asked, reaching toward her. “Hello, I’m Raul, and you are?”
She’d signed up for the evening, no matter what lay in store for her. She might as well roll with it.
“Isabella Romano. Ballerina.”
The moment their hands touched, his cool palm sent a shiver through her. His firm grip made her imagine them—nude—between the sheets.
She blushed, turning away. “You’re freezing.”
“Sorry. It’s windy out there.”
“Do you have a bag you’d like to put away?”
The question seemed to throw him, and he glanced down. “No. I guess I didn’t think I would need anything.”
“I got here a bit earlier, and you should see some of the items in the closet—pajama bottoms—his and hers—robes, and the bathroom’s full of toiletries, so you made the right choice.”
A black and white scheme dominated the room. Rich black bedspread with satin black sheets. Bright yellow pillows accented the classic style.
She sat on the edge of the bed and dug into the faux diamond Minx black throw. So luxurious. Something one would find in a fine hotel. Who could keep all that black clean and lint-free in real life? She wanted to ditch her clothes and roll up naked in its softness. In fact, she almost had while waiting for her date to arrive.
If Raul had met Isabella before that moment, he would have remembered her. She moved with the gait of a lifelong dancer. Elegant. No wonder ballerinas were described with terminology such as a gazelle. He worked with pop stars and modern artists so often, he’d forgotten the beauty of the more simple pleasures. Isabella seemed to shun simple. She embodied grace, refined and fragile.
Where had that thought come from? Despite being in dance—way back in the day—and working as a choreographer and producer, Raul’s image of himself was tilted, off-centered. He lacked agility—an ogre, a brute who would break the porcelain figurine the minute he got her between the sheets. His hard-on raged at the thought of her lithe body stripped bare, wriggling beneath him. Oh, he’d have to go slowly and gently, but she’d scream his name before the night ended. He could use the little ego boost and extracurricular activity.
She watched him, and he grew tired of the stalemate. Time slipped away, too precious to waste on the monotony of hard feelings.
“You need to loosen up.”
She opened her mouth, a line creased her forehead, and he moved, kissing her.
Full lips. His arm slipped around her waist and held her firm against him. She squirmed in his embrace, but soon her lips became more pliant, she leaned into his body, and let out a soft moan.
“That’s more like it,” he said, releasing her. “We need to spend more time kissing than arguing. Deal?”
She blinked at him, silent.
Her stomach growled, breaking the quiet, and she covered the offensive part with her palms.
He laughed at her expression of surprise. “Hungry? I think it’s about time for dinner.”
He’d laid his lips on her. One minute they were talking, and the next, smack. Raul unlocked the sliding glass door leading to the balcony and escorted her to the outdoor dining area. He rested his hand on her lower back, and she leaned into his touch. The truth was, she hadn’t minded the kiss one bit. She wanted more, right away.
The combination of smells wafting from the food and nerves flipped her stomach so much, she didn’t know if she could eat. But, if she didn’t, he would think her one of those picky dancers who feared packing on the pounds. At the worst, anorexic. She’d been thin most of her life, which worked in her favor with the choice of profession. Some people thought thin meant she starved herself. Just the opposite. She burned so many calories through the daily hours of exercise and practice, she needed to eat more often to keep up her energy.
They approached a recessed sitting area in the corner of the balcony, featuring a table shimmering with crystal, silverware, and two brilliant red chargers showcasing the smaller white plates. The rich aroma came from a few domed platters, where their dinner waited. Bay windows bordered three sides, with a stunning view of the Pacific Ocean. A hot tub steamed in the corner of the balcony. Isabella took in the swaying palm trees and closed her eyes as the light breeze kissed her face.
She opened them, and gazed at the explosion of the setting sun, warm tones of orange, yellow, and purple where the sky touched the water.
“You’re gorgeous in the sunset,” Raul said. “Your dark hair is afire with flames of red streaking through.”
Isabella patted her hair. She never wore it down. Usually, she pulled it back tight on her head in a bun, her body all streamlined.
“Thank you.”
“Would you like some wine?” Raul gestured with the bottle. “It’s Brunello, an Italian Toscana.”
“A bit. I don’t drink a lot.”
He tilted the glass, lifting the bottle of wine and it poured in arch. She held up the fine crystal glass, catching a kaleidoscope of the retreating sunlight, and inhaled the bouquet. Rich. Dizzy-making.
“To a magical evening,” her date toasted.
The clink of their glasses felt as if they had shaken hands and come to a mutual understanding. At that point, there would be no turning back.
With a flourish, Raul removed the lid of the first serving dish: bruschetta. Isabella took one, and the tangy combination of tomatoes and balsamic vinegar exploded on her tongue. She swallowed, and the light bread appetizer left a lingering aftertaste of basil.
“Mmmm, pretty good. Did you know they were going to serve us dinner?”
“I think the whole idea was for us to spend the evening in, alone, without any distractions,” Raul said.
A wash of heat spread across her chest. How much did the blush redden her face? From anger to a sexual yearning, he’d elicited a lot of emotions from her. Would the skill play out in the bedroom, too?
“So you’re a dancer?”
She swallowed. “Ballet Folklorico is my specialty. You didn’t stand me up only once, you know. Besides the video I was cut from…we were supposed to go on a date, and you never showed.” She might as well clear the air before the night began.
“I’m sorry.” He choked on his wine. “That’s not like me. Something must have happened ….”
She waved off his apology. Did it matter?
“No, really,” he said. “When did this happen?”
“About nine months ago.”
Nine months earlier he’d missed a date when he received a phone call about a drive-by shooting in South L.A. Marcus and Justin, two of the kids who helped out at his st
udio had been shot and killed, and another left with loss of movement in one of her legs. He’d gone to the hospital that afternoon, and didn’t leave for twenty-four hours, having forgotten about his earlier plans. His life had catapulted into a downward spiral of depression. He’d been clawing his way out recently.
As he explained, Isabella paled, and tears welled.
“I didn’t mean to bring the night down,” he said. He reached across the table, and wiped away wetness on her cheek. “I wanted you to know the circumstances were…extraordinary. I forgot everything else.”
“And the survivor? How is she?”
“Maria? She’s a fighter. It doesn’t look like she’ll ever regain full movement, but she’s training in makeup now. If she could move out of the neighborhood, it would be better. From all reports, violence continues to escalate.”
She grasped his hand. “You can only do so much. It’s not like you can have these kids come live with you. And here I thought you were a stuck-up celebrity choreographer.”
“That’s the surface level,” he joked. “I’ve got depth. Wait ’til you see how deep I can go.”
His soul lifted at her laughter.
Good lord, is she blushing? Gorgeous. Energy flowed off Isabella. He didn’t consider himself a metaphysical person, but she emitted a glow, an aura. She’d be stunning on stage, gliding, and in some other man’s arms. Jealousy rose. What the hell? He squashed the feeling. He barely knew her, and yet, all of a sudden he didn’t want to think of another dancer holding her?
Distracted, he lifted another silver lid, exposing delicate slices of beef mixed with garlic and spinach.
“May I serve you?”
“Yes, please.” As she ate, she moaned. If she sounded like that while eating, what would she be like in bed? The tip of her tongue snuck out, licking the juice from the corners of her mouth.
Passion overtook his self-control. “Let me help you.” He stood and leaned toward her, capturing her mouth with his, nibbling at her bottom lip. A sense of want, need rocked his body. Their tongues touched, dancing in an age-old lover’s tango. He dug his fingers into her thick hair, wanting to drink in her taste and drag her off to the bedroom that very minute.
Forget about eating. He broke contact, almost as roughly as they’d begun kissing, and held her at arm’s length while he studied her.
They both breathed heavily, and his chest expanded with desire. Her flawless skin and the tightening of her nipples through the thin material of her dress turned him on even more. His kiss had reddened her perfect lips, and her eyes glittered with stars. Damn.
“What’s that all about?” she asked.
“If you’re going to tease me, you’re going to have to pay the consequences, and that was just the start.”
Chapter Three
After his declaration, Raul returned to his seat. Small talk monopolized the rest of their dinner conversation. Although the meal proved to be quite tasty, Isabella didn’t want to be too full for the night’s main activities.
He pushed his unfinished plate aside. “Are you ready to go back inside?”
As one, they rose and moved into the living room. The oversized bed in the adjoining room kept catching her attention.
“Will you dance for me?” Arms bent and tucked behind his head, Raul reclined on the burgundy chaise lounge. He crossed his legs at the ankles. Complete relaxation.
“Is this some sort of test? Or maybe living out a fantasy?”
“What? A beautiful ballet dancer who’s required to obey my every command? Why on earth would I have a fantasy like that?” His eyes darkened. “Do you need some sort of incentive, or excuse, to dance?”
“No…I didn’t expect the request.” Isabella kicked off her heels in the corner and stood barefoot. If he wanted a show, she’d give him one he’d have a very hard time forgetting—or resisting.
Running her hands over her stomach, she caressed her body through the silky material to cup her breasts and imagined it was a lover—Raul—stroking her flesh. She wanted him to take her, but even more…she wanted him to want her.
She thrust her hips, rocking to the internal beat of a slow burlesque playing through her mind. Dance fueled her creative spirit and infused her soul with confidence. After laying her palms flat on the floor, she flexed the muscles on the backs of her calves, reveling in his sharp intake of breath. She rolled up, going on half-pointe, feeling the familiar pull in the muscles along the bottoms of her feet.
Isabella twisted away from him, bending and grabbing the backs of her calves, her ass jutting. The back of her dress lifted as she leaned over, giving him a glimpse of her thong underwear. Why wear it, unless she planned on showing it?
He hissed, pushing upright to a sitting position, enraptured.
“Don’t move,” she ordered, swishing her backside a little bit more, “or the show is over. Those are my rules.”
After a few more warm-up poses, she faced him again, crossed her arms to grab the bottom of the dress’s hem, and pulled upward, stripping off the garment in one fell swoop.
Underneath, she wore a lacy bra that matched the thong. She wanted to feel desirable outside and in. That pre-planning paid off.
“Honey, you better hurry things up there, because my control’s just about shot.”
She held him on the edge of control, and better yet, she figured what would put him over. She raised her right leg up, braced it against the wall in a standing split, then reached down and touched the floor.
“Have mercy on me.” The chaise creaked as he stood, and she angled her head to watch him. He came into her immediate view. “I wa-want to to-touch you, but I don’t kn-know how to touch you,” he stammered.
Exhaling, she brought her leg back down.
“Where did you learn to move so sensually? That’s not your everyday ballet.”
“I’m classically trained, but I take pole-dancing classes in Newport Beach. Those are the warm-ups. It’s a good workout and fun for so many different reasons. Didn’t you watch the reality dance competition where the ballet dancer did the burlesque number? It’s quite the trend.”
He moved in closer. “All I know is, if I ever see you on stage, I won’t ever be able to get this private viewing out of my mind.”
As their eyes met, a spark of excitement bolted through her. Sizzle. The game was on, and it started now. Next, she needed him to shed his clothes.
“Sort of the idea,” she said.
“Plus, you gave me so many ideas of how I want to take you,” he said, his voice growing deeper.
He skated his palm up her arm, and goose bumps followed. “Cold? Let me warm you up.”
He pressed her against the wall, his body flush to hers. As his mouth brushed hers, she appreciated the support. She couldn’t move away, even if she wanted to. With his tongue, he sought entrance to her mouth, and she acquiesced. Opening, and breathing in his essence, all the while losing herself in the intoxication of the moment.
Cupping her ass, he held her firm against his pelvis, and his hard cock made itself known, loud and more than clear. She wanted every inch he could give her, and wrapped her legs around his waist.
“Must. Have. More. Of. You.” After carrying her to the lounge, he laid her against the lush pillows.
She stretched out, bent one knee up, and batted her eyelashes. “Something wrong?"
“Oh, two can play at that game, my dear.” Raul yanked his shirt off, baring a lean, muscular chest, his skin tone a few shades darker than her olive complexion. More of a latte with a dollop of milk mixed in. She ached for him to return to her, touch her, and lay his body against hers again. Instead, he dropped his pants, revealing gray briefs. Her eyes widened at the bulge in his cotton drawers. A small drop of wetness darkened the front and a throbbing ache began between her legs.
He trailed his hands up and over her waistline, marveling at the smoothness of her skin. She wore an orange bra with demi cups covering her nipples. She’d call the color something fancy
like tangerine or cantaloupe. His mouth watered at the thought of tasting her ripe fruit.
Although slender, she possessed muscles from a lifetime of dancing. Isabella might not be built like a hip-hop dancer or Lakers Girl. No abundant, overflowing bustline, but she rocked the curves she had with dignity and style and poise that made her even more attractive.
Here he was attempting to woo her and thinking words like poise. She elevated him to new levels.
As he traversed his fingers over her body, she arched up into him. He used his weight to hold her down, his knees on either side of her hips. If she questioned his being all that into her, she shouldn’t doubt his intentions now. His cock sought escape from his briefs, and he longed to push into the seam of her sex.
“You going to keep teasing me with that bad boy of yours?” she asked.
“Until you’re begging for it.”
With his teeth, he pulled down the bra, and laved his tongue over her hardening nipples. She moaned, sliding her fingers through his hair, and holding him firm against her chest. He popped the clasp of the bra and removing the straps off her shoulders to free her chest. He gave a final lick and blew warm air onto her nipple, watching in wonder as the skin puckered and grew tight. With his thumb, he flicked the other side, before moving and administering the same type of loving. He could fit her breast in his palm, and he felt like his cup runneth over.
The skin on her stomach goosebumped, as his tongue streamed down the center, playing in her belly button. He often saw more on the performers in his music videos, but the contrast of Isabella’s slightness turned him on. She came off so tough and independent, and yet she had a delicate side—physically and emotionally—calling for a protector. His heart surged. He wanted to make her laugh again. He wanted to make up for the past hurt he’d inadvertently caused.
