One Night in Buenos Aires

by Amanda K. Byrne

  Their order arrived, and she flashed a delighted smile at the server as he set down her cup of gelato. The first bite sent a shock of pain through her teeth. The cream melted over her tongue, and she swallowed a moan.

  He watched her with half-hooded eyes. “I’d rather lick that off you.”

  The thought of an icy treat on various parts of her body, slowly disappearing under his tongue, suddenly made it very difficult to swallow. With shaking hands, she spooned up more gelato and held it out.

  He leaned forward, and she slipped the spoon into his mouth. Then, before she could lose her nerve, she kissed him, tasting the melting sweetness on his lips. On his tongue. He cupped her head with his hands, holding her in place, drawing the kiss out. His eyes were cloudy with desire when he pulled back. “Finish your ice cream, Drea.”

  She finished her ice cream.

  Much, much later they were heading into the small restaurant where the show was. “You never answered my earlier question,” she said.

  He brushed a kiss over her temple. “I was distracted. Which question was that?”

  “Have you ever seen a tango?”

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Probably. Maybe. It’s still a dance. Do you want me lumbering around and knocking into people?”

  She huffed out a breath in frustration. “If you really don’t want to stay for the lesson, we can leave after dinner.”

  The small stage where the dancers would be performing was in the middle of the room, tables lining the edges. She regarded the stage with trepidation. It was so tiny, and she’d always thought the tango, while a close, close dance, moved. It took up space.

  They ordered steaks and wine. “I’m going to miss the meat here.” He gazed after the server wistfully. “Easily the best steaks I’ve ever had.”

  She was going to miss a lot more than dead cow. The wine. The gelato. Joe. She’d managed to lose herself a few times in fuzzy dreams of making this thing between them real, giving it a go, and wrenching herself out of the gauzy state had been a vise on her lungs. It literally knocked the breath out of her. Stupid to forget.

  Those moments were firmly lodged in her memory. She couldn’t remember ever feeling more content, more desired.

  Reality was a cold bucket of water, drenching her mushy heart in ice. Another lesson, she told herself. After long years of dating disasters, Zach had come along and proven there were good men out there. Joe had done the same and taken it a step further: shown her good men weren’t afraid of affection. She’d find one. She just had to be patient.

  The lights dimmed, signaling the start of the performance. She was grateful. Tears wanted to leak out, and under the cover of the shadows, she was able to focus on the stage and blink them away.

  Joe was her friend. First, last, and always. He wasn’t boyfriend material. At least, not her kind of boyfriend.

  So she’d take what she could tonight, lock it away, and remind herself it wasn’t possible to fall in love in a week.

  The opening notes of “Libertango” slunk out into the air, and the dancers began. Sleek, sinful, it was sex on a dance floor, a seduction. The fluid, heated movements, skin pressed to skin. Quick steps followed by slow glides.

  Her dinner sat abandoned in front of her as the dancers changed, sliding from one variation to the next. Each dance conveyed a sense of longing so painful her chest ached.

  The touch on the back of her hand jerked her attention away from the stage. He watched her with a questioning expression, the candle in the center of the table sending flickering shadows across his face. “Not hungry?”

  “Distracted.” She cut into her steak. “So?”

  “It’s pretty hot.” He took a long sip of wine, his gaze cutting to the stage. “You do know there’s no way we’ll be able to do that after one lesson, right?”

  “That’s also not the point. I think it would be fun. It’s our last night here. I didn’t think I’d get a chance to do this, but we’re here, so I want to.”

  He frowned, brows scrunching together. “Didn’t think we’d get a chance to do what? I knew you wanted to see one of these shows. I wouldn’t have said no.”

  Crap. Had she said that out loud? She dropped her gaze to her plate, busying herself cutting up the rest of her steak. Popping a bite into her mouth, she stalled some more, taking her time chewing the tender beef, then washing it down with wine. “I didn’t think we’d get a chance to take the lesson afterward. And the dancing.” She gestured to the stage. “Look at them. It’s too intimate, what they’re doing, and we probably would have been uncomfortable.”

  He studied the dancers, fork forgotten in his hand. “Yeah,” he said at last. “You’re right.” Metal clanked against the porcelain of the plate. “We can stay. Take the lesson.”

  “Really?”

  He leaned over the table and nipped her bottom lip. “Any chance I get to put my hands on you, I’ll take. Especially if I can put them in slightly inappropriate places in public.”

  Heat raced through her to pool between her legs even as her stomach sank. Take it. Take what he’s offering. It wouldn’t be there in twenty-four hours.

  Dinner was cleared away and the tables pushed to the sides of the room. Several instructors began circling. The diners who’d chosen to stay arranged themselves around the small space, and two dancers moved to the stage to demonstrate. Slow, slow, fast, chests together, hips apart. Stay centered over your hips.

  His hand flexed at the curve of her back, the tips of his fingers digging in as they tried to master the “walk.” They stumbled, feet tangling together, and she almost fell over as he stopped.

  “No. Here.” One of the dancers, a tall, slim woman with black hair so straight Drea was convinced there had to be some sort of relaxer in it, placed her hands on their backs. “The dance is about the eye contact. You must trust he will lead you and not let you fall.” She nodded at Drea. “And you must trust she will get her feet out of the way before you step again.” She backed away. “Again.”

  He pulled her a little closer than was necessary, and she tilted her head back to keep her eyes locked on his. The woman counted to eight and on the one, he stepped forward and she stepped back.

  Slow, slow, extend the leg, no, don’t look down. Head up, body centered. Step, step, together.

  Gradually, the dancer’s voice faded away, taking the room with it. They weren’t perfect by any means, but they were moving in sync, their hesitations growing smaller as they continued to move around the floor. His hand relaxed on her back, moving lower, their thighs brushing against each other with every other step.

  His eyes never left hers. Determination gave way to something else, something far more intense. It was a look that said he wasn’t going to let her go. For tonight, she’d allow herself to believe it.

  The miniscule distance between them shrank to nothing as he pressed her to him, bringing their hips together and she rose on tiptoe. His breath tickled her ear.

  But when she thought he’d say something, something to make her think she wasn’t alone in this, that what they’d started this week was only the beginning and not a break from reality, he didn’t. He pressed a kiss into her hair and dropped her hand, wrapping both arms around her.

  She struggled to swallow past the lump in her throat. They’d had their fun. Tomorrow they’d fly home, go back to work, go back to their lunches and happy hours and their usual types. She’d go back to her cautious ways and take her time, and if the sex didn’t happen, she’d be fine with that. Just like she’d be fine with seeing the next willow-slim woman Joe dated. She eased back and forced a smile. “Ready to go?”

  He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, a slight frown marring his features. His gaze searched hers, and she held her breath. Maybe…she was wrong. Maybe he’d say something. Should she? Would he listen? Not just listen, but consider it?

  “Can’t believe we go home tomorrow,” he said quietly, that frown still in place. Her heart threatened to thump out of her c
hest as she waited for him to continue. He was going to say something. He had to. Then he smiled, and the moment broke. “Let’s go.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The space next to him was empty when he woke. Flipping onto his back, he squinted into the shadowed room. No Drea. Damn.

  He stared at the ceiling. Last night had been intense. Her playful, teasing moments had seemed forced, and there were times she’d been bordering on frantic, clawing at him, writhing, squirming, like she’d been trying to climb inside him.

  The scary thing was she’d already succeeded. He didn’t think he could go back to Boston without knowing she’d be next to him when he woke up in the morning. But that meant he’d have to talk to her, and he’d probably just fuck it up. Best to leave it here, in this room, instead of letting it follow them home.

  The shower turned on, and he frowned. He rolled out of bed and stumbled toward the bathroom.

  Steam was rapidly filling the small room when he stepped inside and shut the door. Her voice rang out. “Thought I’d have to drag you out of bed.”

  He nudged the curtain aside and climbed in behind her. “Nope. Although you should have woken me before you got in the shower.” She sidestepped him, reaching around for the shampoo. “D?”

  “Did you see what time it was when you got up? Our flight leaves in two hours, and we’ve got to pack and check out.” She made a noise of protest when he took the bottle from her. “Joe, I mean it. We really don’t have time for this.”

  “Shut up, woman.” He wasn’t about the pass up the opportunity to kiss her while she was all naked and wet. Her mouth softened and parted under his. Tangling his fingers in her hair, he kissed her slowly, determined to remember every second of it.

  Soft and warm and dark. He could spend hours making love to her mouth.

  He had to break the kiss before he forgot they needed to get out of there. After giving her lips another quick peck, he released her. Then he snagged the soap and lathered up.

  Twenty minutes later they were dressed and packing up the rest of their stuff. The heat would make their winter clothes uncomfortable, but showing up in snowy Boston in flip-flops and bare legs was a bad, bad idea.

  She didn’t say much as they hurried around the room, finding wayward shirts and triple checking the bathroom. Checkout was a blur of forms and handshakes and Drea dashing off down the street for coffee and pastries while he assured the manager their room had been more than adequate. His attempts to engage her in conversation were met with vague responses as the cab rumbled through the city out to the airport, and then they were fighting their way through security checkpoints and trying to find their gate, winding through slow-moving travelers.

  She pulled out a book as soon as they settled into their seats, giving him an absent smile when he took her hand. She ignored him through taxi and takeoff, her fingers tightening as they hit a patch of turbulence shortly after the wheels retracted.

  The moment the fasten seat belt sign went off, he shoved the armrest between their seats up and slid an arm around her waist. She stiffened. “Joe.” Her voice carried a hint of warning, which made no sense. Warning him about what? He’d had his hands on her in some way or another most of the week. He pulled his arm back. Good thing he hadn’t tried to talk to her earlier, because that was a pretty clear sign their friendship was going back to the way it used to be.

  Except she shifted forward and eased his arm around her waist. Right where he’d had it a minute ago.

  He stroked up her back, wishing she’d left her hair down. He wanted to feel the warm, silky waves of it again. A few minutes of stroking and the tension in her body drained bit by bit. She shifted closer, bringing her knees up so she could curl into his side better.

  This was almost better than the sex. It was better than sex. He could do this as much as he wanted, for as long as he wanted, and not get arrested.

  Then add in how well they already knew each other, how well they fit together, how she already nagged him like they were a couple. Her kisses were the softest, sweetest things he’d ever tasted, the curve of her waist a natural resting spot for his hand.

  Now that he’d had her, he was going to keep her. All he had to do was find the words to get her to agree.

  She fell asleep about halfway through the flight, her head resting on his shoulder. After a thirteen-hour flight, he was stiff and feeling sore by the time they touched down in Boston, but he hadn’t wanted to disturb her.

  They trudged through the airport to the baggage claim, retrieved their suitcases, and hailed a cab. Instead of cuddling into his side, she hunched in her seat, holding herself rigid, fingers twisting around each other as she stared out the window. He stared at her. He should do it now. Talk to her. He swallowed and tried to find the words to tell her he wanted this to continue. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He snapped it shut, opened it again. Shit. This was going to be harder than he thought.

  The cab slowed as it rolled up in front of her apartment building, the street quiet. He drew in a breath and opened his mouth. “Drea.”

  “It was a good trip, wasn’t it? Too bad we couldn’t bring the warm weather back with us.” Oh, he hated that false cheer in her voice. Almost as much as he hated the smile on her lips. She reached for the door.

  “Hold on, let me help you with your suitcase.” He fumbled with the door handle.

  “No, don’t. I’ll get it. You should get home.” Before he could say anything, she mumbled a good-bye and climbed out, knocking on the trunk to get the driver to open it. She hefted the case onto the sidewalk and dug out her wallet, avoiding his gaze the entire time.

  He debated letting her go inside, alone, to her cracked and tiny apartment, where it would probably be freezing. But if he’d learned anything from his failed relationships, it was not to procrastinate. Letting Drea walk away without talking to her first could mean she walked away from him for good.

  He rolled down the window. “D, hold up a second.” He climbed out of the cab and shut the door. His boots squelched over the sidewalk as he approached. “Something’s bugging you, and don’t try to tell me everything’s fine.”

  She shivered as a gust of wind blew down the street. “I am fine. I’m tired, it’s freezing, and we both have to work tomorrow. I just want to go pass out.” He hesitated. She had a point. He was pretty fucking tired, stiff, and sore from all the hours spent cramped in his seat.

  Silence stretched between them as her fingers closed around the handle of her suitcase. The smile she gave him was small and strangely sad. “Good night. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  He caught her wrist as she turned away, then pulled her against him. Her lips were already cool. They parted on a moan as she looped her arms around his neck. He licked into her mouth, cupped the back of her head, deepening the kiss.

  She kissed him back, the heat and the fury of it spinning through him. Her mouth was incredible, a perfect fit for his, lush and seductive and somehow innocent. And she was kissing him like she couldn’t get enough, like she’d never get enough.

  Like it was the last time.

  Another whip of wind swirled around them, and she tore her mouth away. “You need to go. The cab’s waiting.” She gave him a little shove.

  He held up his hand and said, “Wait. I’ll be right back.” He hurried back to the cab idling at the curb.

  He motioned for the driver to pop the trunk again. After grabbing his suitcase, he stuck his hand in through the front passenger-side window and dropped a wad of bills on the seat, not bothering to count them. She was already up the stairs and struggling to find her keys when the cab drove off.

  She dropped her keys when she saw him coming up the stairs, suitcase in hand. “Why aren’t you in the cab?”

  He scooped up her keys. “Why didn’t you wait for me?”

  Her nose scrunched as she peered up at him, and he had to stop himself from kissing her again. “What do you want, Joe?”

  He fitted the key for t
he front door of the building into the lock. “You didn’t answer my question, and I don’t want to spend the whole night wondering.” He held the door for her as she walked through, punching the button into the decrepit elevator. “They get this thing fixed properly the last time?” It had a nasty habit of stalling between floors and had been out of service more often than in the entire time he’d known her.

  The doors slid open, and they stepped inside. “Mostly. Of course, it could have crapped out again while I was gone and I wouldn’t know.” The building maintenance crew also wasn’t very forthcoming with the Out of Order sign.

  To his relief, the car shuddered and rose. Her apartment was on the sixth floor, and the thought of carrying his bag, and hers, up all those stairs wasn’t appealing. Though she’d probably have insisted on carrying her bag herself.

  The elevator whined to a halt on the sixth floor, and she led the way to her apartment. He glanced down the hall as he waited for her to unlock the door. The fitful lights spaced along the length did nothing to chase the shadows away. The hallway creeped him out, big-time. She made enough money. She could afford a better place than this.

  He shut the door behind them as she flopped onto the couch, not bothering to take off her coat. “Tell me again why you aren’t in the cab?”

  Her apartment was roughly ten degrees warmer than it was outside. He shed his coat and grabbed the afghan draped over the back of a chair. The cushion gave under his ass as he sat next to her on the couch. He gestured to her coat, waiting until she’d shrugged free of it before wrapping the blanket around them both. “Because you’ve been quiet and weird since we left Buenos Aires.” Working a hand free, he traced the line of her jaw with his fingers. “So what’s up?”

  Instead of answering, she lowered her head to the crook of his neck. “You remember what I said when you first suggested we sleep together?”

  He remembered what she’d said when she decided to go along with it. And he damn well remembered the kiss she’d used to punctuate the statement. He rubbed idle circles over her back as he tried to recall the conversation they’d had before she’d run off. “No,” he admitted.