Melissa Bourbon Ramirez - Lola Cruz 01 - Living the Vida Lola

by Melissa Bourbon Ramirez

  Dios mío, was it hot in here? To hell with dancing. To hell with lack of privacy. To hell with ensuring he had good intentions that included more than one night. I couldn’t resist him another second. I moved my hands to the sides of his face and pressed up against him. A small groan slipped out as one of his hands slid from my hip downward, his fingers pressing against the outer side of my leg. He got with the program real quick and edged his knee between my legs, fitting our bodies together like puzzle pieces. His roving hand slid to my backside and then to my lower back. He pulled me closer until the tantalizing ache in my inner thighs spread upward. I moved to brush my lips across his and—

  The music stopped, and chills of disappointment circled through me. “It is time for a break, bailadores,” Soledad said into her microphone.

  Damn it! Didn’t that woman know I was on fire here? I needed sultry music. Now. Jack and I stayed frozen, my lips against his, my insides melting, until the dance floor cleared. He finally let out a breath and released me. “Timing is everything.”

  Damn straight. My legs felt weak and my heart threatened to beat right out of my chest as he took my hand and led me back to our table. Antonio looked miserable. Reilly looked ecstatic. I didn’t care at the moment. All I wanted to do was pull Jack into a dark corner somewhere and be ravished by him.

  I curled my lip. What happened to the independent, kick-ass part of my personality? I tried to channel it, tried to imagine myself as the one doing the ravishing. Impossible. I wanted him in charge, exploring me, tasting me… I buried my head in my hands. Oh God, I had it bad.

  When I raised my head, Jack looked like he’d completely recovered from our moment on the dance floor. Didn’t he need a cold shower or something? Maybe he was just working his tail off to mask his frustration. I watched him, trying to glimpse the lust I’d felt from him. Nada. Unbelievable. I tried not to be offended by how quickly he’d gotten over our near-orgasmic moment by concentrating on the original reason I was here. I scooted my chair closer to Reilly. “How’s it going? Everything okay?” I asked.

  She beamed. “Fabuloso.”

  I cringed at her accent.

  “We’re going to go out to Denny’s after we’re done here. Won’t that be fun? I mean, I’ve always heard it’s a blast to go out and order breakfast at two in the morning, but I’ve never actually done it—”

  I could think of a hundred more exciting things to do at two in the morning, every one of them involving Jack and none of them involving Denny’s. Waffles or sex? No contest. I wondered again about those handcuffs. Jack’s laughter broke into my thoughts. He leaned back in his chair, grinning at something Antonio had said. Hmph. He didn’t seem to have sex on the brain.

  So maybe waffles would be the more rational choice.

  “We’ve only been here an hour and a half,” I said after glancing at my watch. “Let’s dance some more before we start making after party plans.”

  When the band came back twenty minutes later, Jack had gone to the bar for more drinks, Reilly had dragged Antonio out to the dance floor (but not before he’d shot another payback look my way), and I joined Coco and her crew.

  “How’s it going with el guapo?” Coco asked when she caught me sneaking a look at Jack perched at the bar. “You looked pretty cozy. You need a bedroom?”

  I flipped my hair behind my shoulder and smiled, determined not to let a little lust, and the fact that Jack seemed to be over his, get in the way of my good time. “Fabuloso,” I said with way too much perk. Except that now I sounded like Reilly. I distracted myself with conversation, laughing and joking with Coco and company.

  Eventually, I saw Jack head back to the table, fresh drinks in hand. Antonio and Reilly ended their dance session and joined him. Finally I went back, too. “Let’s dance,” I said to Jack just as Soledad announced another short recess for the band.

  Double damn. Sinking into my chair, I propped my chin on my fist. “That band takes way too many breaks.”

  Reilly gazed adoringly at Antonio. “But they’re fantastic.” Then she looked at me and winked. “Just like penne.” Her eyes grew wide. “Or macaroni. Oh, hell, they’re both fabulous. Don’t you love pasta?”

  Antonio frowned and checked his wrist. No watch. “Is it two yet?”

  “Oh, you’re excited to go to Denny’s, too? How sweet,” Reilly gushed. “Are we simpatico, or what?”

  “Or what,” Antonio muttered.

  I gave Reilly a chill out look. “It’s ten after ten. You’ll have to wait for your waffles,” I murmured to her.

  If she heard me, she didn’t let on. She jumped up and grinned at Antonio. “I’ll get you a fresh drink.” And before he could tell her what he wanted, and before I could tell her to let him buy her a drink, she hobbled off to the bar, her ankles angling in directions that didn’t look natural.

  Antonio watched her for a second before snarling at me. “Does she think she’s Jennifer Lopez, for Christ’s sake? You owe me big, Lola.”

  Jack took a swallow of his Corona. “She’s not exactly your type.”

  I bristled. Reilly was a sweet woman with killer boobs who only wanted to please Antonio. He’d never wanted much more than that before. “What’s wrong with her?”

  One of Jack’s eyebrows arched. “Her hair’s purple.”

  The red wash over the blue did give it a purple hue. “So?”

  “She’s too short for me,” Antonio said.

  Not with those stilettos on. Jeez. Did he have no appreciation for the trouble Reilly’d gone to so she’d look hot for him? “Have you even tried talking to her?”

  He smirked. “I’ll have plenty of time to talk to her over waffles at Denny’s.” Then he wagged a finger at me. “Which you’re paying for, by the way.”

  “Ooh. You’re such a gentleman.”

  He looked at me a beat too long. “You have some pictures you wanted to share tonight, didn’t you, Lola?” He slapped his leg. “Or are they still at home?” He looked at Jack. “Dude, did I show you—?”

  “¡Cállate, Antonio!”

  Jack looked from Antonio to me and back. “What am I missing here?”

  “Nothing,” I snapped.

  Thank God he ignored my attitude. He looked back to Antonio. “Why’d you go out with Reilly?”

  “Payback. And Lola owes me. Double.”

  “We’re even.” I crossed my legs and caught Jack’s gaze following the movement. At least I still held his attention.

  “Not even close. That dinner—”

  I’d already told him to shut up once. Did he just want to humiliate me? “¡Cállate, Tonio!” I snapped again. Jack didn’t need to hear that I’d agreed to Sunday dinner only if Antonio went out with Reilly. I shifted, letting my dress slide up my leg a bit more, wondering how I could distract Jack. Maybe a lap dance?

  But damn it if Jack couldn’t multitask. He checked my legs out again as he asked in a thick voice, “What’s the payback for?”

  I shot Antonio the sternest expression I could.

  He ignored it. “You didn’t even stay for the whole dinner, Lola, so it doesn’t count. You left to go—” Antonio made air quotes with his fingers. “—‘undercover.’ ”

  Jack’s face grew stony. “Dinner on Sunday?” He looked at me, his eyes like lasers that were intent on penetrating my guilty conscience. “You didn’t want to be there, so you made a bargain—”

  “I’m ba-ack.” Reilly stumbled as she set a tall drink down in front of Antonio. She teetered, lost her balance, and fell into his lap.

  Poor thing, but I had my own problems at the moment. I let Antonio deal with her and turned to Jack. All his good cheer had vanished. My humiliation over spying on him, and his playboy past, had made me hesitant to see him five days ago, but I was over it now.

  “So what is this?” His usually playful dimple had an angry edge to it, and the planes of his face were shadowed. “I’m a bargaining tool?”

  “That’s just how it started—” Gloria Gaynor�
�s “I Will Survive” queued up on the club’s speakers, music piped in while the band was still on break. Come on, Soledad. I needed salsa to get Jack back in the mood, not disco. But nobody else was disappointed. Squeals came from all directions—this was the broken-hearted girl’s therapy song.

  Before I could elaborate on what exactly this thing that Jack and I were doing was, someone grabbed me from behind and yanked me out of my chair. I nearly pulled a Reilly, toppling onto Jack.

  “Come on!” Coco shouted in my ear. She took hold of my hand and dragged me onto the dance floor. Apparently all the women in Club Ambrosía had had broken hearts. They were singing at the top of their lungs, arms swinging above their heads, and of course, I joined in. Why not? I’d been broken-hearted once upon a time. And who knows. If I fell hard enough for Jack, I might be again. Singing “I Will Survive” now might just give me a leg up on the recovery process.

  I was laughing by the time the song was over. The disco extravaganza continued with “Boogie Shoes” and then a Bee Gees revelry.

  Jack came up beside me and put his hand on my elbow. His mouth moved, but I couldn’t hear what he said. “What?”

  “I want to talk to you!” he shouted in my ear.

  My backside bumped up against him, at first by accident, the next time deliciously not. “Dance with me.”

  He laid one hand on my hip and slipped the other around to my stomach, his fingers dangerously splayed and angled downward. Pulling me hard against him, I could tell that he was back in the mood. Thank God. All was not lost.

  The band came on again, and I turned and wrapped myself around him. I shivered as he spread his fingers along my lower back. He was so much more than a bargaining tool. I fitted my body up against his, spreading my legs so one of his edged between them. Oh God, finally. Music I could really touch him to. I pressed closer. Oh, yeah. I definitely had his attention. Ay, Dios. I had no willpower.

  But then the song ended, and Jack had apparently had enough torture. He grabbed me by the hand and pulled me toward the back hallway that led to the restrooms.

  “Where are we going?” I asked, stumbling behind him.

  His voice came out in a growl. “Somewhere private.”

  We passed the restrooms and rounded the corner. Dead end. My heart raced when he stopped, pushed me up against the wall, and flattened his palms against the wall on either side of my head. “This isn’t a game, Lola. Stop messing with me.”

  “I’m not—” I started to say, but he moved a finger against my lips.

  “Why’d you call me?”

  “Because your card was in Emily’s—”

  “And we’re here tonight so Antonio would go out with Reilly—?”

  “That’s how it started—” His finger slid along my lower lip, slipping inside my mouth, the tip of it brushing against my tongue. I caught my breath.

  “You didn’t want to see me.”

  Yes, I did! “It’s not like you were calling me—”

  His jaw tightened, and his hand dropped to his side. In the dim light of the hallway, his fingers managed to find mine and brushed the tips of them. “I’ve wanted you since I was sixteen years old.”

  My breath caught in my throat. I stopped myself from grabbing his hand; I knew I had to tread carefully. I had to confess. To tell him that I’d wanted him longer than that. “It’s just—I have some pic—” Damn. I couldn’t get the words out. I felt my face flush and my knees go weak, and I pressed my palms against the wall to brace myself. All this was just from the touch of his hand and the briefest tease of his lips on the dance floor. Imagine a full-blown kiss. Ay, Dios.

  He leaned closer, talking low into my lips. “I can’t get you out of my head.”

  I nearly jumped out of my skin when his lips touched mine, soft and warm and moist. “Does it hurt?”

  Somehow I managed to whisper, “No.”

  “Good,” he murmured, and then he worked his tongue between my lips. He brought one hand around to the back of my neck and shivers flew up my spine.

  He pressed his body up against mine. A quiet moan slipped from me as he took his tongue back—no!—and his mouth moved down to my arched neck—yes!

  My fingers wove through his silky hair as he nudged down the neckline of my top with his lips. If he kept this up, Jack’s kisses alone were going to take me into the multiple-orgasm realm. What would happen when he used all the resources at his disposal?

  Squeals of tipsy women echoed in the hall. No! I knocked the back of my head against the wall just as Coco and her pals tripped down the hall toward us. “Lola!”

  Jack buried his face into the crook of my neck “Shit,” he murmured into my hair.

  I pasted a heavy smile on my face, barely able to keep my eyes focused as she came into view. “Coco.”

  She looked at us with bleary eyes. “Ah, Jack Callaghan, I presume.”

  He raised his head, and my skin chilled. “Coco Sandoval,” he said, looking royally pissed on top of hot and bothered. “It’s been a long time.”

  He dropped his hand from the wall, and I moved away from him. As frustrated as I was, I was also relieved. Another few minutes, and Jack might have had undressed me right there in the hallway. I was twenty-eight. He was thirty-one. Coco had been right. We needed a bedroom.

  I took her by the arm and guided her to the ladies’ room, the girls in tow, then made a beeline for our table. A minute later, Jack came up behind me. A quiver shot through me as he put an arm around my waist.

  “Where have you been!” Reilly screeched, her lips trembling. “I’ve been waiting for you. Penne. Um, macaroni. Oh hell.” She frowned. “We have to go.”

  Red alert. I wasn’t going anywhere. “It’s not even close to two o’clock.”

  She pulled out her ponytail and fluffed out her hair. “I’ve been sitting here alone. I—I don’t know what happened to—to your—” She heaved a sigh. “—your brother.”

  I looked around for Antonio. If he’d bailed and left me to pick up the pieces, I’d kill him.

  “He went to get a drink,” Reilly said.

  “How long ago?”

  Her bottom lip puffed out, but before she could answer, Jack let go of me and held his hand out to her. “Let’s dance, Reilly.”

  I sat and watched Jack and Reilly do a chaste salsa—if there is such a thing—impressed with how quickly he’d stepped up to the plate for her. His gaze caught mine a few times, and I smiled, batted my eyelashes, let him know that I couldn’t stop thinking about him either.

  As they wrapped up the dance, Antonio sauntered back to the table, two drinks in hand. Ah, good man! He hadn’t bailed. He set the drinks down, glared at me, but went to take Jack’s place on the dance floor.

  An hour and a half, and about a hundred mental cold showers later, Jack and I left Antonio and Reilly with their Denny’s waffles.

  “I’ll follow you home,” Jack said, “to make sure you get there safely.”

  I wasn’t going to argue with that. A little while later, I unlocked my front door, dropped my purse on the couch, and turned to face him. “You’ve got some good moves, Callaghan.”

  “So do you, Cruz.” His lips curved up in a slow smile. “How’s the belly button?”

  I shrugged, impressively coy. “Waiting for inspection.”

  His grin widened, then fell when his cell phone rang. He checked the caller ID and shook his head, muttering something under his breath. “I have to take this, Lola.”

  Who the hell was calling him at almost two o’clock in the morning? “O-kay.”

  He turned his back to me and flipped open his phone. “What?”

  I took a tiny bit of comfort in his tone. He didn’t sound happy to get the call, whoever it was. After all, he had my belly button to check out.

  Eavesdropping is second nature to me, what with my PI training and my love of chisme. He spoke softly, though, and I was distracted by the way his black shirt hung from his shoulders, the clean-shaven skin on the back of his n
eck, the shape of his legs under his gray pants. He’d grown leaner and stronger and more attractive over the years, and I couldn’t wait to experience more of him.

  His voice rose slightly, and I thought he said, “Not now, Sarah.” Then he lowered his voice again, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t make out any more of his conversation. A few seconds later, he ended the call, sliding his phone into his pocket. He turned back to me. “I have to go.”

  I balked. “You’re kidding, right?”

  His gaze dragged over me, and I felt desire pulse from him. He raked his hand through his hair, disheveling it in a delicious way, but his jaw pulsed with frustration. “I wish I was.”

  He came closer, put his hands on either side of my face, and kissed me, long and deep and full of promise. “Right now.”

  No! I had pent-up lust. I had an orgasm waiting in the wings. “Jack—” I panted as he pulled away. He couldn’t leave me in this condition. He wouldn’t.

  “I’ll take a rain check on the belly button inspection.” And he walked out the door.

  Alone in bed a little while later, one question buzzed relentlessly through my mind: Who the hell was Sarah?

  Chapter 14

  Iwoke up the next morning in pain. I sat up, squinted one eye, and peered at my stomach. “Oh. My. God.” My hand clamped over my mouth. A small area of my skin was pea green, the shiny silver post the only thing remotely attractive about my midsection. So much for sexy. Holy shit. I better not get a heart infection and die. At least not before I lived my fantasy with Jack Callaghan.

  I rolled onto my back, my hand slipping under my pillow as I fluffed it under my head. My fingers brushed against the slick surface of—my breathing hitched—the pictures of Jack. Antonio had put them back! But now I had the real McCoy. What did I need two-dimensional images for?

  I pulled the pictures out and looked at them anyway. Really, Jack hadn’t changed much. He was broader in the chest now, more muscular and leaner overall, but he had the same blue eyes, same chestnut hair, same taunting dimple.