by Rita Henuber
Where is this guy? A quick glance around the room showed no new faces. Her instructions had been to arrive by 8:00 and he would approach her by 8:15. Olivia checked her cell. 8:20 and no missed calls. Damn it. The tequila arrived and she swallowed it down. The band started playing and they weren’t bad. She turned to watch, the hell with keeping her back to the door. She put her elbows on the bar, brought an ankle to a knee and leaned back. With a twinge of envy she watched a couple move around the floor. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been on a date. All her spare time was spent going over evidence and notes from Miami detectives. Hoping she’d find something that would reveal how the cartel discovered Danny was an undercover.
The detectives assured her they were on it. After all, he was one of their own. She wasn’t so sure. Lately, she felt she was the only one who cared. Even her older brother Sam told her to let it go; move on. He didn’t understand and she couldn’t explain. Letting go wasn’t an option and moving on wasn’t possible until she found the man responsible.
“Dance?”
Olivia turned to see the old guy who’d saluted her.
“No thanks.”
“Come on. A pretty lady like you shouldn’t be sitting here when you could be dancing.”
“No.”
His gaze went to her breasts, to her lap and stayed. “You look like you want to.”
Fuck. The way she had her legs spread, you could probably see her panties.
“I don’t.” She swiveled to face the bar. “Go away.”
“I’ll go away after we dance.”
He came closer, grinning. His yellow teeth and bad breath showed him to be in desperate need of a dentist and mints.
“Just one dance. You’ll make an old man happy.” He grinned again, and she could see the chew stuck in his teeth. Lovely.
Olivia searched the bar for a new face and found none.
“Please.”
She weighed her options. He wasn’t going to take no for an answer. She couldn’t risk creating a scene that would chase off the contact. Reluctantly she agreed, “Okay. Just one and that’s it.” He graced her with another toxic grin.
She slid off the stool and allowed him to guide her to the dance floor. Quickly his arm snaked around her, hauling their bodies together. The old guy was a lot stronger than he looked.
“I been waitin’ for you.”
“What?” He’s the contact?
He turned her, crammed his knee between her legs and grabbed her ass. Her hand instantly covered his, yanking it away.
“Excuse me.” She leaned back and looked into his leering face. To her surprise he tightened his grip, crushing her breasts into his chest. His hand once again groped her ass and he pressed his hips into her.
“What are you doing?”
“Exactly what ya think I’m doing.” He wheezed.
“Look, you old goat, let me go or I’m—”
He jerked back.
“Mister, I don’t appreciate you feeling my wife up,” a deep voice said.
A tall, dark and divinely good looking man held a fistful of the old goat’s plaid shirt, giving him a wicked hard look.
“Eh…Sorry. I—I didn’t mean anything,” the man stammered.
Mr. Tall, Dark and Heavenly squared his shoulders and towered menacingly over him. “Sure you did. You meant everything.”
The old guy looked stricken. Olivia gave him her own hard look. “What did you mean when you said you’d been waiting for me?”
After a couple of wheezing gasps he muttered, “I’ve been waiting for a woman who looked like you to come in here. I thought you were a ho—”
“I think it’s time you leave,” Tall, Dark and Heavenly interrupted. “It’s probably after your bedtime anyway,” he added, taking a quick look at his watch.
Olivia pinched her eyes closed and let out a loud breath. The pervert wasn’t the contact.
Without another word, the man turned and scurried to the door. Olivia didn’t know who she was angrier with, the old goat or Mr. Heavenly, whose gaze cruised over her. He wore the standard good ole boy uniform. T-shirt covered by an unbuttoned shirt flapping loose around his hips. Tight jeans that covered long legs and showed off what appeared to be a nice package. Quickly she returned her gaze to his deeply tanned face.
Thick sun-bleached lashes framed ordinary brown eyes bracketed with lines. His nose appeared to have been broken at some time giving him a rough look. Full lips spread across his face in a boyish smile, and a chiseled jaw line ending in a strong chin with a dent completed a damn handsome face. Tall, at least six-three, with unruly dark hair hanging to his shoulders, he dressed like one of the boys but definitely wasn’t one of them. No matter what clothes he chose they wouldn’t cover his cocky confidence and sexy charisma.
He stood motionless, grinning, waiting for something. Did he think she would melt into his arms like butter on a hot biscuit and smother him with kisses of thanks?
“Look, I do not appreciate,” she mimicked his words, “you interfering. I can take care of myself.”
Mr. Tall, Dark and Heavenly’s grin faded, replaced by a quizzical look. “I saw what I thought was a damsel in distress. I stepped in to help. I had no—”
“For future reference,” she interrupted, “this is the twenty-first century. There are no damsels in distress. If you thought I needed help you should have asked. You should never lie when the truth works just as well.” She absolutely hated it when a man thought a woman couldn’t take care of herself. “And, that last crack about his bedtime was mean.”
The corners of his mouth turned up and a full-blown smile spread across his face. He definitely didn’t need a dentist. Crap. He was laughing at her. How infuriating. Not only that, but he could be scaring off her contact.
Could he be the contact? She gave him an up and down look. No. Not likely.
He was pissing her off. Maybe she should take him down right here, right now. Wipe that smile off his face and teach him a lesson. He was tall, but so was she. She could drop to the floor, do a sweep kick knocking him off his feet, roll him over and twist his arm back until he yelled. Maybe break a finger for good measure, then go home. Nobody in this place would even bat an eyelash.
Olivia watched him do a slow 360 turn in front of her. What was he doing? Coming full circle he flashed a smile and stuck his hand out.
“Hello. I’m Rico, can we start again?” His voice sent a tiny thrill through her.
She pulled her lower lip between her teeth to prevent him knowing he’d affected her. Okay. Mr. Tall, Dark and Heavenly was also funny and charming. Oh what the hell, she returned the smile and thrust her hand out.
“Rico, I’m Olivia.” She grimaced, instantly regretting using her real name.
His warm hand closed around hers.
“Okay, Olivia, dance with me?”
His grip tightened and he fanned his thumb gently over the back of her hand, causing an almost forgotten sensation to run through her. Pleasure.
He bent, bringing his lips close to her ear. “Well?”
He smelled good. What the hell is wrong with me? Ten seconds ago she’d wanted to break his bones.
“Hell no,” she sputtered, coming to her senses. She yanked out of his grip, walked back to the bar, sat and asked for tequila. He followed.
“Come on, just one dance.”
“That’s exactly what the old pervert said.” She gave him a hard look. “I’ve had all the excitement I can handle for one night. Now go away.”
“What’s it going to take to get you to dance with me?”
She crooked her index finger and motioned him to come close. “A million in your bank account and seven inches in your pants.”
Without missing a beat he replied, “The million I have, but even for a woman as beautiful as you, I won’t cut off three inches.”
Olivia’s eyes went wide and she burst out laughing.
Rico rested his arm on the bar in front of her and leaned until his
face was even with hers. “Does that laugh mean yes?”
She stole a glance at his watch. 9:00, the guy wasn’t going to show. She checked the third finger of Rico’s left hand. No ring, no indentation or pale skin where one had recently been. The bartender brought her tequila and she downed it quickly.
“Okay, one dance.” Why not? Even if he couldn’t dance she could enjoy being in his arms and feeling up that great body. It had been too long since she’d been in a man’s arms. Not counting the old guy, that is. And it was her birthday.
The band pounded out its version of the Creedence Clearwater Revival song “Travelin’ Band.” He put a warm hand to her back, pulling her close. Placing her hand on the curve of his shoulder she pressed in as much as she dared. His body was tight, muscular and felt damn good. He took her other hand in his and moved them to the music. He could dance. Even better, he was a great dancer. For the moment she forgot why she was here. She even laughed—out loud.
The music ended and Olivia rested against him, savoring the feel of his body for a few more moments. “Thanks for the dance. Can I buy you a beer or whatever you’re drinking?”
Rico froze, his arm draped around her, staring. “Hello.” She waved her hand in Rico’s face. “Are you going to answer me?”
“Huh?”
“That drink?”
“Uh? Yeah, sure. Then I’m out of here.” He released her and stepped back.
“Stay and dance,” she blurted. Why was he in such a hurry? He’d been so insistent they dance. Her brain said let him go. To get away while she could. Her body, encouraged by the tequila, told her to press in and hold on. She held on and it felt good.
“Please don’t abandon me to the old guys.”
His lips twitched and he winked. “Okay.”
He actually winked at her. Who did that anymore? The band played “Mustang Sally,” and Rico hauled her against him so close the snap of his jeans pressed into her stomach. His knee slipped between her legs and they were moving, dancing. Dirty dancing.
“I’ve died and gone to heaven.” She laughed, swaying in his arms.
Three dances later they were both glistening with perspiration and breathing fast. Rico made a time out sign. “How ’bout we sit the next one out and you buy me that drink? Then, I really have to go.”
“Sure.” Her stomach did a complete rollover. She didn’t want him to go. She wanted to dance all night. And she wanted him. She hadn’t felt this attracted to a man in…Hell, she’d never felt this attracted to a man. Was it the tequila? Maybe that saying “tequila makes your clothes fall off” was true. She ordered another and they took their drinks to a table in the back.
“You’re good. Where did you learn to dance like that?” she asked, patting her neck and chest with a napkin.
“Thanks.” He took a long pull on his drink. “You’re damn good yourself.”
“Thank you. You didn’t answer my question though.” Rarely this curious, she wanted to know.
“Grew up in Miami. Spent a lot of time in South Beach.”
Miami? She sat up straight. Could he be the contact after all? He hadn’t asked about the money.
“Cuban?” Keeping her voice calm, she waited for a sign he wanted the money.
He leaned, resting his arms on the table, and his long hair fell forward framing his face. She resisted the urge to push it back, run her fingers over his cheek. Kiss him. The attraction was overwhelming. Shit. She was in trouble here.
“That obvious?” He raised an eyebrow. “And you?”
“Dancing is my second love. My daddy says I started wiggling to music when I was a tiny thing.” She shrugged. “I never stopped.”
He raised that eyebrow again. “And your first love?”
“Flying.” The word tumbled out of her mouth.
Both Rico’s eyebrows shot up. “Flying? Like a pilot?”
“Eh…No. I mean I like to fly and travel.” She hoped her face didn’t give away the lie. She sure as hell wasn’t going to scare him off. Olivia used to tell guys what she did. At first they were turned on. They’d ask questions. She’d answer. Talk about cruise speed, rate of climb, armament, what it was like to rescue souls from a sinking ship in high winds, or swoop down on the bad guys. Then she’d watch them disappear. She’d come to learn guys didn’t want to be out-manned by a woman.
Shaking his head, Rico let out a loud breath. This night was not going as planned. He’d decided not to contact her inside, and instead follow her to the parking lot, warn her off and take the money. Use his size to intimidate. An iffy plan at best. She was a military officer, crazy or ballsy enough to go into the worst parts of Miami alone to talk to drug dealers and street whores. A woman who regularly harassed Miami P.D. about their ineffectiveness. She was messing with his investigation, and that had to stop.
Olivia excused herself to go to the ladies’ room. Those mile-long legs hanging out from her short dress were spectacular. But it was her lovely derrière under the soft cloth that held his attention.
He went to the bar and bought another round. Waiting for the drinks, he checked the customers. Though sure she’d come alone, a partner could have slipped in while they danced. Her body rubbing against his was all he could think about, imagining how she would feel naked. The Marine Corps band could have come in playing a march and he wouldn’t have noticed. No one gave him a second look or was overly friendly.
Returning to the table he caught sight of Olivia doing the same. Men on bar stools turned to watch her pass. Couldn’t blame them. The way that dress showed her curves every man in the room was probably thinking what he could do to her in bed. And damn him, even though she wasn’t what usually attracted him, so was he. He had a thing for young petite women with olive skin and long brown hair who didn’t ask a lot of questions. A plus for someone in his line of work. He guessed she was mid-thirties, close to his age. A brunette, but with short curly hair. Great eyes, big and beer bottle brown. Sexy lips. Lean and tall, with a tight athletic body. He licked his lips and smiled. His taste in women just changed to what was walking toward him.
She sat and gave him a smile as clear as any engraved invitation. And he was thinking about RSVPing. Christ Almighty. What had gotten into him? He should’ve left after the first dance, but when she leaned in, asking him to save her from the old guys, the blood draining from his head to other places had slowed his thinking. He couldn’t afford to get involved, not even for a single night. He didn’t need another complication in his already complicated life.
Olivia downed the tequila he’d brought to the table.
“You live near here?”
She tilted her head to the side, giving him a puzzled look. “Why?”
Too late he realized it sounded like a sleazy line and felt like a horse’s ass. He looked at the empty glass and back at her.
“You’ve had a few shots and if you’re driving…” He left the conclusion to her.
“Oh.”
Was that disappointment in her voice?
“I live on the other side of town. And you’re right, I shouldn’t have any more. I’ll be all right to drive in a half an hour. I can handle my liquor.” She gave him a killer smile.
“You come here a lot?” Shit. Could he have said anything dumber?
His usual glib tongue abandoned him.
“That’s a really sad line.” She laughed. “And your timing is off. I already agreed to dance and let you buy me a drink.”
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Then how did you mean it?”
“I figured you for a classier place, like a country club. Why come to a joint like this?” Yeah, Olivia, tell me what you’re doing here.
“To meet a friend.” She blinked several times and sucked in her upper lip.
Rico struggled to keep a smile from breaking out. She was a lousy liar. “A guy stood you up?” He looked around.
“I was meeting a girlfriend.” She pulled back and sat straighter.
Her lip w
as going to be swollen if she didn’t stop.
“It’s a good thing you aren’t a puppet ’cause your nose would be out to here by now.” He held a hand in front of her face and winked.
She pushed it away. A smile animated her face, causing his heart to jump and a new threat of draining blood. Slowly and deliberately she placed her elbow on the table and rested her chin in her hand. Another smile followed a slow, dreamy blink.
“If this is such a low class place, what does that say about you?”
She used what he called a last call voice. Deep and sexy. “Touché.”
“Why did you come here? Hmm?”
It had been a long time since he’d done any flirting and admittedly was out of practice, but he was getting into this.
“To dance with you,” he lied.
“I see. You don’t want to tell either.”
“Okay.” He leaned across the little table close to her face. “I’m a secret agent sent here to shut down a gang of spies and a smuggling ring, and arrest any over-ninety perverts I come across.” A little of the truth never hurt.
She moved back, sitting very straight, arms crossed, eyes wide and alert.
“Are you some kind of police officer?”
The smoky voice vanished, replaced with one that was all business. The one he imagined she used at work. “No.” It wasn’t a lie. Technically DEA agents were not police officers.
She swiveled to watch the band. In undercover work he’d learned to pay attention to body language, the eyes, lips and different tones of the voice. But, it didn’t take much training to know he’d managed to flip her switch from let’s get it on to fuck you, asshole. Rico settled back in his chair. She turned, caught him staring, and gave him a look that told him he was done for the night.
The warning tickle in the back of his throat damn near choked him. She agreed to meet an anonymous contact and wasn’t afraid of drug dealers, yet she worried he was a—Shit! Did she think the informant was a cop? Greer said she had connections. Shit! Shit! Shit!
