Aida hugged me and whispered in my ear, “El Tango te espera.” I didn’t know what that meant, and I didn’t have time to ask, because she shooed me down the hallway.
Tito stood at the front door, wearing a suit, no less, with his arms tucked behind his back. “Damn, girl.” He shook his head. “For the first time in my life, I’m speechless.”
Heat batted my cheeks.
I started to speak, again to be cut off.
“No talking,” Tito ordered with a scowl, then cracked a smile. “Here, put these on.” Bringing his hands into view, he presented me a pair of silver flip-flops with rubber bottoms bedazzled to the hilt with rows of sparkling, brilliant white stones.
Tito dropped to one knee and helped me slip them on. When he rose, he kissed my cheek, hooked an arm through mine, and guided me out the door.
By the time he settled me in the back seat of the fancy town car parked on the street outside Tucker’s building, I was breathless, giddy, and my cheeks ached from smiling so hard.
Tito pulled a silk scarf, blue, like my dress, from his pocket, and proceeded to wrap it over my eyes and tie it, quite skillfully, at the back of my head.
He smelled like expensive cologne. Whiskers tickled my ear when he whispered, “El Tango te espera.” Then he kissed my cheek and left me alone—blind, warm, and with a tummy full of jitterbug-dancing butterflies.
The car started. Tango music oozed from the speakers—the light twinkling of piano keys, the bandoneons with its airy voice rising above the tug-of-war between the violins and the Spanish guitar, each vying for attention, the bass in the background holding the notes together with its warm embrace.
I sunk into the chair and absorbed the beauty of the music, remembering the times I’d watched Tango glide across his mother’s dance floor, making every woman he partnered with shine, and smile, and feel like Ginger Rogers, no matter their skill level. I remembered our private dances in my bedroom, on his dock, in the hallway between classes, in the bleachers of the football field after every home game.
Seconds after the car stopped, Tito helped me out of the seat, wrapped one arm around my waist, and guided me twenty steps forward, then through a door. His lips brushed my cheek one more time before I heard retreating footsteps.
Chills crept up my arm when a warm hand slid against mine, palm to palm, entwining our fingers. I sucked in a sharp breath when soft lips pressed to my shoulder. The scent of sun-baked skin made my heart skip a beat.
A finger traced my jawline, stopped at my chin, and tilted my head up. Tango’s breath warmed my lips, but he didn’t touch. He breathed, I breathed, and the only sound was a soft Spanish guitar playing on surround sound. His hand slid to the back of my head. I was nothing but gooey, melty girl held together by skin. Skin that sizzled and sparked in the arms of a man who was power, and sex, and muscle, and love.
“Have you danced today?” he whispered, so close his lips tickled mine. I felt a tug at the back of my head and the silk scarf fell to the floor. Tango stood before me in a tuxedo, lips parted, devouring me with those eyes. Those eyes, dear God, they were beauty, sensuality, claiming, adoring.
“Tango te espera,” he said, coiling one arm around my waist, pulling me tight against him.
“What does that mean?” I asked, raising my hands to his shoulders.
“Tango awaits you.” He kissed me. Finally. Deep, hard, and hungry. I opened for him, softened against him, lost myself to the pleasure of his tongue, his lips, his moans. When his arms coiled around me, I was weightless, and airy, and spinning, twirling, flying, dancing. Free and beautiful, and young and carefree, and in the arms of the only man I ever wanted to dance with.
Tango broke the kiss too soon. He stopped spinning and set me back on my feet. And then … And then, I took in my surroundings. We were standing on a black and white checkered floor. Behind me, a red counter stretched almost the entire length of the room. A row of stainless steel stools boasting red, shiny vinyl seats were bolted to the floor. Stacked against the far wall were brand new tables and chairs, and as I looked around the dining room of the Truck Stop, I noticed brand new everything—appliances, windows, trim, paint, napkin holders, everything. Shiny and sparkling. Everything except one table in the corner. Maurice’s table.
“You saved The Stop?” I asked, heading toward the table to get a better look.
A shelf had been mounted next to his booth. On the shelf sat a picture of Maurice and my mom, the photo that used to hang in my office. Next to the photo sat a cup and saucer. Inside the cup, a quarter and three pennies.
“It’s your home. Not a chance in hell I would let anyone take it from you.”
“Our home,” I corrected him, and before I turned to thank him properly, something caught my eye.
In the center of the table sat a ring. A platinum band with a single, oval shaped diamond. Simple, delicate, perfect. When I whirled around to face Tango, he was bent on one knee. Lashes wet, eyes like glass, jaw set tight.
He cleared his throat, and when I swayed, he braced my hips with his strong hands. I’d never seen anything more beautiful than the warmth, the pride, the pure joy on his face as he looked up at me.
“Mikhail Baryshnikov once said, ‘When a body moves, it’s the most revealing thing. Dance for me a minute, and I’ll tell you who you are.’” He slid his hands higher up my waist. “Slade Mason. From the moment I watched you dance on my dock, with your wild hair, and your bright smile, I knew who you were. Carefree, funny, brave, and so fucking in love with life. I knew you. And, even at six years old, I knew that you were my destiny.”
Tango grabbed my hand. I swallowed a sob.
“Life is a dance. There are beautiful, fluid moments, and there are times when limbs get tangled and we trip and fall. The important thing is to keep dancing. And Slade, that’s what I love so much about you. You take hit after hit, blow after blow, and you bounce right back to your feet with that soul-gutting smile, and you fucking dance.”
I half-laughed, half-cried, and wiped a tear off my cheek.
“Marry me, Slade. Dance with me, and only me, forever. Be my wife.”
I bounced on the balls of my feet, and then I pounced, tackling Tango to the floor with my arms around his neck and my thighs squeezing his hips. “Yes. Yes. Yes.” I kissed him hard. Teeth clashing hard. I was ready to rip his tie off, until I heard one of my favorite sounds.
Rocky’s raspy laugh.
Other voices joined in, followed by applause, then whoops and hollers.
I looked up to discover we were surrounded by our loved ones. Rocky, Tucker, Carlos, James, Lettie, Charlie, Margie, Tito, Aida, and best of all, Kim. Everyone was dressed for a ball, in tuxedos and gowns. The best part? Everyone wore flip-flops.
I looked down into the world’s most handsome face, a laughing, happy face, and I thought to myself, suck it, life. And I meant that in the most respectful, gracious, beautiful way. Then I kissed my Tango, in my Truck Stop, one more time, before climbing off him and celebrating with my family.
And we danced.
We danced.
We fucking danced.
Thank you, thank you, thank you for reading Truck Stop Tango. I can’t begin to tell you how much it means to me that you took the time to read my words.
SexyBoyfriend and crazy kiddos, you deserve medals. I am grateful beyond measure for your patience. Thank you for putting up with my crazy schedule. It’s your love and unwavering faith that keeps me going.
Julie Trisolini, thank you for the gorgeous cover. Your beauty is soul deep, and that shines through your work. I adore you.
Rebecca Zanetti, you probably didn’t realize at the time, but you gave me a boost when I needed it most. Our visit meant the world to me. Your encouraging words kept me from crumbling. I still owe you a lunch!
Madison Seidler, you’re a doll. I look forward to many, many more words with you.
Rob Wheeler, you’ll probably never read this book, but thank you for making the best flip-
flops in the world.
Robart flip-flops are real. And they are freaking awesome.
robartflipflops.ecwid.com
Have you danced today?
Coming Soon
Book Two in the Truck Stop Series
TRUCK STOP TRYST
Tucker
I PLOPPED MY ASS onto a stool and watched my sister float across the black and white checkered tile, in the arms of her best friend, and, as of today, her fiancé. It’d been three hours since Tango popped the question in my sister’s newly remodeled diner, The Truck Stop, and we’d all watched from behind the scenes.
She hadn’t stopped smiling since.
I strained to keep my gaze on the happy couple and away from the raven-haired sex goddess laughing and dancing with the other men at the party. Christ, she was a beauty. Eighty percent curves, twenty percent doe-eyes. One hundred percent feminine wiles.
Aida Voltolini had the best laugh. Raspy and deep. Paired with her wicked smile, the woman was downright bewitching.
My nephew, Rocky, squealed. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Aida scoop him into her arms and spin. The little tyke had fallen under her spell, too.
“No. That’s not how you do it,” he said, giggling.
Curiosity got the best of me, and I turned their way, giving them my full attention.
Rocky pulled Aida’s hand into his and held his arm out straight. “Like this, see?”
“Oh. Yes. That’s much better.” Aida straightened her back and spun across the floor, raising up on her toes, then dipping low, laughing, and kissing the little lady-killer on the cheek.
Tango, breathless from dancing, and still wearing a cheesy grin, set one elbow on the counter next to me and leaned close. “Thanks for helping me arrange this shindig.”
Sometimes I hated the guy for taking away my family. Sometimes I wanted to hug him for putting that fucking brilliant smile on my sister’s face.
“No problem,” I said, unable to peel my eyes off the mob princess and my nephew.
Tango leaned close so only I could hear him ask, “The house ready?”
“Good to go.” I pulled a set of keys from my pocket and handed them back to the grinning man. “Slade doesn’t know yet?”
“Doesn’t have a clue.”
My sister’s home had burned to the ground a little over a month ago. She and Rocky had been staying with me until their new house was move-in ready. Unbeknownst to Slade, Tango had hired a crew to speed up the process. He was about to surprise her and their son with their newly remodeled abode. Thank God. I couldn’t wait to head to my condo and get reacquainted with my king bed. The couch had been a killer on my back.
I waved a hand to shoo him off. “Take your dancing queen to her new castle. I’ll help Charlie clean up the mess here and lock up.”
“Do you mind bringing Aida home later?”
Hell yeah, I minded.
“Not at all.” The smile I forced was painful. Last thing I needed was to be alone with the only woman, in years, who’d stirred the blood in my cock. “She all moved in?”
“Yeah. Furniture was delivered day before yesterday. Tito helped her settle in last night. He said she only grumbled for the first three or four hours. Can’t blame her. It’s got to be hard, moving from a castle to a nine-hundred-square-foot basement apartment.”
Poor Spoiled Princess.
With a hard clap to my shoulder, Tango said goodbye. I watched the happy family make their exit. Tango lifted Rocky to his shoulders and tucked Slade under his arm. My chest ached.
I had watched over my sister and nephew for years. Now that they had Tango, I wasn’t sure what to do with my spare time. And the damn hole in my chest only seemed to get bigger. I itched for a hunt. Yeah. That sounded good. I’d hunt. After dropping the mob princess at home.
Mom, Dad, and the rest of the partygoers said their farewells and made their way out the door.
Tango’s cousin, Tito Moretti, wrapped a solid arm around my shoulder. “I’m off. Got a plane to catch. Keep in touch, Tuck. Ever want to visit the Big Apple, I’m your man.” The guy was all beef and smooth talk, layered over a deadly confidence. He nodded toward Aida who was saying goodbye to Tango’s father. “Keep an eye on my girl, over there. She’s got a heart bigger than Texas. Just gotta shovel through a valley of bullshit to find it.”
“My eyes aren’t going anywhere near that vixen.” Let alone any of my other body parts.
“Aw. She isn’t so bad, once you dust the gunpowder off.” Tito strutted toward the door and pulled Aida into a tight embrace, his hands on her hips, his mouth on her cheek, whispering words that made her smile and blush.
I curled my fingers into my palm and headed to the kitchen for a trash bag. Damn. I didn’t like seeing Tito’s arms around her. Not one bit. More disturbing, was the fact that it bothered me. I shook that thought off real quick.
The girl was trouble. Not a chance in hell I was getting close to that drama. Aida was Tango’s problem, not mine.
I lived a carefully designed, drama-free life. Work. Gym. Eat. Sleep. Hunt.
No girlfriend.
No worries.
I made quick work of helping Charlie tidy the kitchen before heading back to the dining area where Aida would no doubt be waiting, all doe-eyes, moist red lips, and attitude. I pushed through the swinging stainless steel doors and damn near fell to my knees at the sight of her, bending over, heart-shaped ass in the air, fiddling with the hem of her gown.
At the sound of the doors clunking, she stood upright and looked over her bare shoulder. The diamond earrings she wore caught the light just right, flashing a bright sparkle across her face.
“Oh, hey Tuck.” She gripped the sides of her bustier and adjusted her breasts. “What can I do to help?”
Christ, that voice. Soft and deep. Seductive. So damn intoxicating. The suit pants I wore were insufficient to hide my growing erection. Thank God I’d untucked my shirt earlier.
After clearing the lust from my throat, I pointed to a stool. “Nothing. I’ve got it. Charlie’s got the kitchen. You relax. Can I get you something to drink?”
Aida quirked a brow at me and rubbed a hand over her small belly. “I’m pregnant. Not helpless.”
And … that took care of the boner problem.
Aida was off limits. Pregnant. Under the protection of Tango, my soon-to-be brother-in-law. Not to mention, the only daughter of one of America’s most elusive criminals, Luciano Voltolini.
Yep. Definitely off limits.
“Didn’t say you were helpless. Just thought you might need a breather after all that dancing.” I plucked red plastic cups off the bar and dropped them into the trash bag.
Aida sauntered around the corner, grabbed a bottle of spray cleaner and a towel, and proceeded to wipe down the counter as I cleared it of debris.
“There,” she said after we finished. “Good as new.”
By the time I’d dumped the trash bag in the bin behind the diner, and returned with the push broom, Aida had made herself comfortable on the new red leather couch in Slade’s office.
Feet perched on a pillow, she smiled up at me and wiggled her bare feet. “Damn, you were right. This feels good.”
I swept, counting my strokes to keep my mind off those naked legs and perfectly manicured toes.
The day couldn’t end soon enough. A few more hours and I’d be home free. Back to my simple, single life.
THE APOTHEOSIS SERIES
Aflame
Aglow
How To Kill Your Boss
If you enjoyed Truck Stop Tango, please share the book with others and don’t forget to leave a review.
www.krissydaniels.com
Facebook: @authorkrissydaniels
Instagram: krissydanielsbooks
Twitter: @kdanielsbooks
ading books on Archive.
Truck Stop Tango Page 28
