by Orton, D. L.
I’m unsure if she’s going to hit me or hug me, and for once, I don’t think she knows either. So I kiss her again, the frat guys in my head still whooping.
Chapter 36
Tego: Wrapped Around Her Finger
Beto and my friends show up right at nine, and we join them in the café, which has been transformed into a nightclub with a live band and a dance floor. A short while later, Isabel’s friends arrive in a wave of bright colors and eclectic scents. We do introductions all around and, in a matter of minutes, everyone is chatting or dancing. As I help push tables together and collect chairs, Beto offers Isabel a seat next to him, and she accepts. I glare at my soon-to-be-ex-best friend and sit down across from them.
Beto turns his chair around and leans against the back, facing her. “Isabel, right?”
“You have a good memory.”
“You’re worth remembering.” He grins like a shark.
She glances down at her hands, and he gives me a sly wink.
I’m going to kill him.
“Beto short for Alberto?” she asks.
“Uh huh.” He wraps his arms around the back of the chair and flexes his muscles. “Can I buy you a drink?”
Goddamn him.
“Yes, please. Is there a local beer you recommend?”
“Yeah, but it’s a German-style amber ale. Still want to try it?”
“Sure,” she says. “That sounds great.”
“Tego—” He knows I’m listening in. “—you want to go in on a pitcher?”
He also knows I don’t like dark beer. “Yeah, sure.”
Beto orders a pitcher of Bavaria just as the band starts playing “La Bamba.” He hops up and grabs Isabel by the hand, pulling her to her feet and then bowing like a matador. She responds with a flourish of her skirt. I feel a sharp stab in my gut.
I’m going to kill him—slow and painfully.
I look around. The place is packed with people enjoying the warm tropical evening. “Not such a bad idea she had,” I say to no one in particular. One of Isabel’s friends catches my eye and nods toward the dance floor. Without even thinking, I shake my head. “Sorry, but I don’t dance.”
Tomás sticks his head into our line of sight and animatedly points to himself, and the girl nods. They head up to the dance floor while I sit, brooding, and try to figure out a way to get Isabel back.
The next song is a medley of Latin Golden Oldies traditionally requiring a partner change at each segue. At the first change, Tomás takes Isabel away from Beto, and then gives her an injured look when another guy cuts in on the next switch.
Isabel catches my eye and mouths, “Dance with me?”
But before I can respond, Beto takes her hand and whirls her around. They stand on the dance floor chatting while the band decides on the next song, which turns out to be a slow ballad. Beto takes her into his arms as the guitar player sings about how much he wants to boff his best friend’s girl.
Mierda.
I drink my beer, feeling sullen, until I notice that Isabel is looking at me. Every time she’s facing me, we lock eyes, and I feel my insides twist.
When the song ends, she motions with her head toward the dance floor, and my desire to be with her wins out over my trepidation about dancing. She takes my hand, fingering the pearls she’s wearing with the other. “I’m flattered. I know you don’t like to dance.”
Was it that obvious?
The lively music starts, but she refuses to release me, and instead, places my palm flat against the small of her back.
“Dancing is easy if you remember three things.” She ticks them off on her fingertips. “One, stay on your toes. That way you won’t step on anyone’s foot with your heel. Two, maintain a strong frame, so I can trust your lead.” She pushes my shoulders back and raises my arm, bending it like a wooden soldier’s, and then tests to make sure it’s solid.
I pull her closer, enjoying her attentions.
“And three, make sure you keep at least one hand on me at all times, so I know how to get back to you.”
“Sounds like good advice for life in general.”
She kisses me—right there in front of everyone—and then walks me through a couple of dance steps, showing me how to lead with my right hand and slide my left palm across her back when she turns away. I follow her advice as best I can and discover that dancing is not that difficult, maybe even fun. She steps around me, swaying her hips seductively and wrapping herself in my arms, making it seem as though I’m a good dancer.
When the music stops, she leans against me, and I am flattered by her public display of affection until I realize that she is feeling faint. I put my arms around her waist, supporting her, and she grabs on to my shoulders. Her heart is racing, but her hands are icy cold.
I touch my head to her forehead. “Are you okay?”
She nods but says nothing, still leaning on me. After holding her for a few moments, I take her arm and help her back to the table. I have her sit in my chair while I go scrounge up another one.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask when I get back.
“Yes, thanks for catching me. I turned my ankle, but it feels much better now.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“Really, Tego, I’m fine.”
The band takes a break, and I lead her back to the table.
She scoots her chair closer to mine and places her hand on my thigh. The soft fragrance of her skin and hair settles around me.
Beto calls across to Isabel, “So I hear you go to school with Tego’s brother. What are you studying?”
I scowl at him, but he ignores me.
“Yes. He’s in my calc class. I’m majoring in Biomolecular Engineering.” Under the table, she slides her hand up the inside of my thigh, causing ripples of pleasure to wash over my body. “How about you?”
“Law at the University of Costa Rica.”
Tomás, who’s sitting on the other side of Beto, scoots his chair in and calls out, “He comes from a long line of sharks. I mean, attorneys. Be careful because he bites.”
The whole group laughs.
The blonde next to Beto leans forward. “How do you tell if a lawyer is lying?”
Tomás pats Beto on the back. “His lips are moving.”
“How do you tell if a lawyer is well hung?” Isabel pins her eyes on Beto.
Tomás snickers, and Beto gives Isabel a wry smile, enjoying the innuendo. “How?”
“You can’t get your finger between…” She draws out the silence, “the rope and his neck.”
Everyone groans, and Beto breaks out laughing and mock-tips his hat to Iz. “You know, it’s the ninety-eight percent of the lawyers who give us two percent a bad name.”
The whole table laughs.
Beto glances at me and shrugs, and then winks at the macha sitting next to him.
A moment later, Isabel and a couple of her friends get up to use the bathroom.
Beto slides across a couple of empty chairs, pours more beer into my mug, and leans in. “I like her. Not that you need my approval or anything, but she’s smart and a great dancer. Too bad she lives half a continent away.” The band starts to play, and one of Isabel’s friends taps Beto on the shoulder. He grins. “Excuse me.”
I nod and sip my beer.
When Isabel comes back, she stops to speak to the drummer and then tosses her shoes under my chair. “Dance with me?” Without waiting for an answer, she pulls me up and leads me to the dance floor.
When the music starts, I rest my hands lightly on her hips, unsure of her intentions or her health.
♪ Oh, my love, my darling. I hunger for your touch... ♪
She wraps her arms around my neck, her body pressing against mine. When she slides her thigh in between mine, something sharp pokes me in the leg.
She p
ulls her head away and frowns at me.
I start to release her, but she grabs my shoulders. “Keep your hands right where they are, Tego Nadales.” She reaches down between us, and Beto gives me a lecherous grin.
She works the shell out of my pocket, the intimacy of her hand so close to my swelling erection causing me to hold my breath. She leans back in my arms, holding up the shell and singing with the music.
♪ Lonely rivers flow to the sea, to the sea… ♪
She shuts her eyes, still shifting her hips with the music. I stare as she undoes two buttons on her dress, rose-colored lace visible below the soft curve of her smooth, white skin. She nestles the shell between her breasts and melts back into me, her lips tickling my neck as she snuggles against my chest and sings with the music.
♪ I’ve hungered for your touch a long, lonely time… ♪
I close my eyes, electricity coursing through me.
She presses her thigh against my hardness and brushes her lips against my ear.
♪ I need your love… ♪
I exhale, my whole body wound so tightly, it takes a conscious effort to breathe. She is a creature of the sea, but not a mermaid. She is a Siren. And I am her very willing prey.
∞
The moon moves across the dark sky and threatens to disappear in the wispy clouds hanging above the edge of the ocean. The crowd thins—a couple of my friends disappearing with her friends, including Beto and the macha. As the palm trees and surf settle into darkness, the music dies and the band starts packing up.
We continue talking until the band walks out. As we leave, Isabel wraps her arms around my waist and leans her head against my shoulder. “Walk me back to my cabana?”
“I’d love to.” Anticipation pulses through my veins like electric current, filling me with euphoria. I have never felt this way before.
The waiter gives me a knowing nod. “Goodnight.”
We meander along the beach back to her cottage. Earlier, I was content just to be close to her, but now I’m aching for more. I know I’m rushing things, wanting too much too soon, but I can’t seem to resist her.
If I seem too eager, will she lose interest? Or will she think I’m trying to take advantage of her?
She’s been teasing me all night, but still.
Mierda, girls are so complicated.
At the steps to her cabana, she stops and turns to face me. Before I have a chance to feel awkward, she takes both my hands and wraps my arms around her waist. Then she swivels around, pressing her back against my chest and looking out at the sea. She tightens my arms around her waist and leans her head against my shoulder. I savor her exotic scent and let the sublime pleasure of holding her in my arms wash over me.
We stand in silence, watching the last of the moonlight dance on the waves.
She snuggles against me, and when she speaks, her voice is full of emotion. “Right now, at this very moment, the universe is…” She hesitates. “Perfect.”
With one hand, I brush a strand of hair out of her face and then wrap my arms back around her, feeling exhilarated by everything about her.
She glances over her shoulder at me. “Standing here in the moonlight, with your arms around me, everything still possible.”
I kiss her lightly on her temple, not sure about the everything still possible part.
She shudders and grabs onto me.
“Isabel—” I hold onto her. “What’s wrong?”
She shakes her head, sliding her hands along my forearms, but doesn’t speak.
I can feel her heart pounding. “I know you didn’t twist your ankle earlier, and I want to know what’s really going on.” All sorts of horrible thoughts race through my mind—cancer, brain tumors, debilitating diseases.
She leans her head against my cheek, her hair tickling my nose and lips. “I’m fine, Tego. Just tired. Really. I’m sorry I worried you.”
I twist her shoulders around to face me. “Why won’t you tell me the truth?”
She places her arms loosely around my neck. “I got up way too early, spent far too long traveling inside a metal cylinder, and I’m beat. Okay?”
“Beat.”
“Yeah. That means tired as opposed to—oh, never mind.” She’s quiet for a minute, studying my face.
“I don’t believe you.”
“Oh, Tego, there’s nothing wrong with me that a little medicinal-only kiss won’t cure.” She gives a fake cough, catching it daintily, and then places her hands on my shoulders, lifts her chin, and closes her eyes.
I don’t know if I should kiss her or call a doctor. I feel manipulated, frustrated by her endless games—but still very aroused.
I stare at her mouth, trying hard not to think with my dick.
She peeks at me with one eye and then runs her hands across my chest. “Mmm. You feel so good.” She slips her thigh between mine and presses her hip against me.
It’s as if she knows more about teasing me than I know about myself—and she’s taking every opportunity to use it against me.
Just as I’m about to protest, she moves her hands back over my chest, flicking her fingernails against my nipples and causing bursts of hot pleasure to explode across my body and collect in my cock.
Mierda that feels good.
She slides her body against me, checking to see if her touch has produced the desired result. “A hard man is good to find.”
I give up and lean in to kiss her.
But when our lips are almost touching, she turns her head away, denying me.
Annoyance erupts inside me, mixing icy frustration with pent-up desire and trapping me in the middle. I know she’s teasing, and I know there’s not much I can do to keep my body from responding, but it still makes me feel manipulated.
But in a very pleasurable sort of way.
Her eyes pop open, and she puts her hands flat on my chest, pushing me away. Then talking to my chin and playing with my shirt buttons, she says with mock seriousness, “Gosh, I don’t want to talk you into something you don’t like. Medicinal kissing can be very demanding. Are you sure it isn’t too hard?” She looks up, feigning innocence. “Do you have the proper stiffness training?”
Two can play at this game.
“Madam,” I say, “although I have not yet received my advanced degree, I am well versed in the ins and outs of therapeutic osculation.”
Ay, I hope I have that word right.
“So I believe my standard is up to yours.” I hold her more tightly around the waist and lean in, for the second time, to kiss her.
Giggling now, she pulls away at the last minute. Each time I try to kiss her, she moves aside, until I’m forced to release her waist and take her head in my hands. Overflowing with the need to kiss her, I force her to hold still and then place my mouth against hers, my whole body focused on the meeting of our lips.
She grabs onto my hair and kisses me hard, like she’s trying to take all of me inside her.
A minute later, she slides her hands across my shoulders, puts her head against my chest, and kisses me in the hollow under my jaw. “God, you smell good.” Her voice is like a striptease.
I play with the curls around her ear and temple, crazy thoughts bouncing around in my brain. And then I notice that her hands are trembling. “Please, Isabel, tell me what’s going on. Are you ill? Maybe I can help.”
She doesn’t respond, and a minute later, she pulls away and slides her fingertips down my arm and takes my hand. “Thank you for a wonderful evening.”
I look down at the dark, sandy path, searching for words to express the emotions raging around inside my head. I try to find something to tell her that will bring her back, convince her she can trust me, but I am unable to speak.
She lifts my chin, the gesture subtle and yet intense. “Thank you, Tego.” She glances back and forth between m
y eyes. “I did have a fantastic time.” She pokes me in the chest. “But it’s been a very long day for me, and I’ll die if I don’t get some sleep.”
The biting cold steel of her dismissal stabs me in the chest, and I fall back.
She squeezes my hand, not letting go, and we stand there in the cool breeze. The moon has set, and the night is dark, the only light a weak glow from the porch of the neighboring cabana.
I can hear the sound of her breathing interspersed with the barely audible ticks of the breeze snapping the fabric of her dress. The smell of her skin and hair lingers on my skin, and the scent of her makes my heart race.
She turns, still holding my hand, and moves up the steps, releasing my fingers at the very last moment.
I watch her ascend the stairs, her long, pale legs moving seductively in and out of the shadows.
She opens the door without looking back.
“Isabel.” My voice is laden with accusations. “Please?”
She wheels around, her movements no longer sensuous. “If I could, I would, Tego. Believe me. I’m feeling the same way you are.”
I stare at her, unable to speak.
And then the volcano erupts, fiery magma pouring out through the wound she has inflicted. “Shit, Isabel, stop treating me like a child. I can handle whatever it is—whatever is wrong with you. You’re more to me than just another girl, so don’t just blow me off.” I look up at her, frustrated and hurt. And in love. “Please.”
She gazes down at me, the breeze tousling her hair and dress. “Meet me here tomorrow at two. If for some reason, I’m not here... Oh never mind. It won’t matter.” She starts to turn. “And please don’t call me a girl again.” Nothing but sadness remains in her voice. “It’s important.”
She disappears behind the heavy wooden door.
Stunned and demoralized, I walk away, loneliness settling around me like a cold, dense fog.
