Coffee and Cockpits

by Jade Hart

  Dressed, I slinked from my room and descended to the lobby. I sneaked fugitive looks around, hoping Liam and Joslyn wouldn’t catch me. I didn’t have any excuse if they saw me sneaking out.

  Rushing to the concierge, I asked, “Do you have a map? I want to walk to Latin Motion, but don’t know how to get there.”

  The elderly bellhop nodded, his weathered face wrinkling in a grin. “Of course, miss.” Whisking out a map, he circled where I needed to go and gave me directions.

  I thanked him and exited the hotel. Strolling along the harbour, I was immersed in Sydney life—a brighter, more vibrant life than the one I led in New Zealand. The jetties with their fancy-pants boats oozed class and fun. I could see myself in a 1920’s pin-up bathing suit, water skiing behind one of them.

  Soaking in my surroundings, my journey didn’t take long to climb the overpass and head deeper into the city.

  The tang of Greek food and loud music spilled from a café; while scents of burgers and grease teased me from the pub. I was hungry, but the thought of dancing on a full stomach didn’t sit well.

  I’d dance my fill then go back and order room service. I smiled, excited to get down and sweaty with a complete stranger, then curl up in bed in a fluffy robe and eat cheesecake. I loved my life.

  Latin Motion nightclub was pumping, which, considering it was only eight p.m. was relatively early to have such a big crowd. Not that I cared. The more bodies writhing on the dance floor the better.

  My blood sang as the beat soaked into me, and I couldn’t wipe the stupid grin off my face as I paid the fifteen dollar cover charge.

  After ramming the remaining envelope of cash into my little beaded purse, I smoothed my bright yellow dress and made sure the ties were secure behind my neck. It was a rather risky dress, and I couldn’t wear a corset underneath as I needed to be lithe and flexible for dipping and twisting. The entire expanse of my back was on display and most of my legs as well, but the ruffled material at the front hid my cleavage, brushing my flesh mid-thigh. It was a ‘respectable but I like to have fun’ dress.

  My bronzy, chestnut hair was loose and curly from being in my braid all day, and I looked nothing like the flight attendant Nina Poppins. Tonight, my name would be Monica, and I would be mysterious and sexy.

  Ducking and weaving between dancing couples, I headed to the bar. Leaning on the alcohol sticky bench, I yelled over the music, “Do you have a coat check?” I waggled my bag, just in case he couldn’t hear me.

  “I keep personal belongings behind the bar. Here.” The young barman handed me a post-it note with the number seventy-nine scribbled on it.

  It wasn’t a high-tech system, but I guessed it would work. I grabbed the post-it, and he took my bag. Now what the hell was I supposed to do with the neon piece of paper? Shrugging, I stuck it in my bra.

  Pouring myself a glass of water from the carafe on the bar, I sashayed into the crowd with H20 in hand.

  My feet itched to dance; my limbs agonised to sway and spin. But I held my cool; sipping my drink, watching men whisk their partners around. I tried to see who the best dancer was.

  Oh crap.

  24B danced right in front of me, holding onto a woman who was slinky and refined. Her body was encased in a tasselled dress and wrapped around her neck was a black feather boa. My God, she’d strangle herself with that.

  He dipped her and looked up—right into my shocked eyes.

  My body tingled; I took a step back, directly onto someone’s foot.

  Spinning around, I muttered, “Geez, I’m so sorry.” My heels would’ve done a nasty number to his toe. Damn Nikolai. What the hell was he doing here anyway?

  The man I’d trampled on was good looking. Eurasian, I guessed, and was around my height.

  “No problem.” He cocked his head at me and then the dance floor. “Wanna dance?”

  My heart leapt. Hell yes. This was the best part. I could say yes to a complete stranger as he would remain a complete stranger. Sure we’d dance for a bit, and let’s face it, Salsa was like sex except vertical. But at the end of the night he’d go his way, I’d go mine. No complications. No expectations. Just dance.

  “Yes.” I put my water on the nearest table and held out my hand; hoping Nikolai had disappeared into the throng of dancers, and I wouldn’t see him again.

  The handsome stranger’s lips smirked, and he tugged me to the dance floor. I looked over my shoulder at his group of friends who were all smiling. But it wasn’t a ‘he’s gonna get laid’ smile. It was a ‘have a good dance’ smile. Dancers—we’re a different breed. Dancing was fun—pure and simple. It wasn’t about trying to hook up. Or at least it wasn’t for most of us.

  My partner spun me suddenly and captured my waist, pulling me closer to his hips.

  I shivered with delight—not from the contact, but because any moment now we would dance like crazy.

  “What’s your name?” Mr. Stranger asked.

  “Monica.”

  “Lee.” He grinned and tilted his head, listening to the beat then raised an eyebrow.

  I knew what he was thinking: Merengue over Lambada. The tempo would work for both, but a Merengue guaranteed us to be hot and sweaty by the time it finished. I nodded to his silent question.

  And that was the last time I thought.

  My body took over. My hips, pulsating to the music, moved with Lee’s every step. His grip was firm as we both panted and danced, keeping perfect rhythm. He smiled halfway through the song. “You’ve done Salsa for a while?”

  “A few years,” I said breathlessly. Closing my eyes, I allowed the music to thrill through my blood.

  Lee breathed hard. “Are you up for some serious moves?”

  “Hell yes.” That’s what I’d gambled on—picking a partner, or in my case, stepping on one, who knew their stuff. I was in luck.

  Just as Lee threw me out for a triple spin, someone put themselves in my trajectory, and I crashed against them. Air exploded from my lungs, and I lost my grip on Lee’s fingers. He threw me an apologetic smile, but it wasn’t his fault. He wasn’t the one who spun me into oncoming traffic. A douche-canoe had planted himself squarely in my path.

  “What do you want?” I asked Nikolai, looking around for the slinky woman who’d been in his arms only moments before. They’d been dancing not far from us. Not that I noticed or anything.

  “I told you we’d see each other again, but I had no idea it would be so soon. And I had no clue you could Salsa.” He grinned. His hazel eyes reflected the yellow and blue gaudy flashing lights, making them seem green then blue—a mixture of sea tints.

  I rubbed my brow, hating that I was a sweating mess. Not that I care. Right, Nina? I cocked my hip. “Why would you know I dance? We met for all of three hours up at ten thousand feet.”

  I turned to go back to Lee, but Nikolai’s fingers latched around my elbow. “Well, perhaps I don’t want to just know you for three hours. Can I buy you a drink?”

  I waved around us. “We’re in a Salsa club; drinks consist of water.”

  Again, dancers were a strange breed. Alcohol wasn’t fun on a night out. It ruined coordination and the excitement of music pumping in our veins. “Plus, I don’t drink as a rule.” With men as sexy as him anyway—way too dangerous to let my inhibitions go.

  Nikolai looked over my shoulder, narrowing his eyes. “Who are you dancing with?”

  I craned my neck to look for Lee. He stood with his friends again; his brow creased and hands on his hips. If I didn’t go back to him, he’d find another partner, and I’d lose my opportunity to get jiggy, sweaty, and gloriously tired through dancing.

  “I have to go. Nice bumping into you,” I said, although that was a lie. He ruined my spin. I didn’t come here to be recognised. I came to be incognito. I conveniently ignored the slight buzz my body had around Nikolai. Memories of his exposed stomach and happy trail when he reached for the overhead locker made me flush. He was rather gorgeous, despite being an inconvenience.


  “Hey, wait,” Nikolai shouted over the music. “Did you get my napkin?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Yes, I got your scribbled on piece of rubbish. Thanks for picking up after yourself. However, I’d appreciate it next time if you put it in the bin.” He didn’t need to know his number was scrunched in my uniform pocket. I had every intention of throwing it away—more so than ever now I knew he could dance. Dancers were as dangerous to me as pilots. Maybe more so, seeing as my heart was broken by one.

  He laughed.

  I frowned. I didn’t make a joke.

  “So, there will be a next time?” Nikolai leaned in toward me, his body boiling with heat from the club.

  Scowling, I took a step away, looking for Lee. When I found him, he made eye contact and shook his head, turning his back on me. Dang namit. Now, I’d lost a dance partner.

  Annoyed, I said, “No, there will not be a next time. You were a passenger who I helped escape a drenching of drool. I don’t fraternise with patrons. Now, if you excuse me, I have to return to my hotel seeing as you scared away my partner.” Perhaps I could find another club and proposition another guy. Away from this passenger who sent thrills whizzing in my blood, more enticing than the music.

  I shoved past a few writhing bodies, absurdly frustrated my night was interrupted by someone I only knew for a brief moment. I wanted anonymity dammit, and he ruined it.

  Hands clamped around my waist, jerking me back into the thick of the dance floor. Hips slammed against mine and gyrated to the beat.

  Holy hell. What the flaming balls was he doing?

  The hands on my hips spread hot fire through the fabric of my dress as Nikolai spun me away from him and caught me against his chest. My figure squished against his; I blazed with awareness of his flesh against mine.

  Not giving me time to think, he moved his body in time to the Merengue. I had no choice but to sway with him, otherwise I’d be left in an awkward limbo of being crushed to his chest.

  Eyes burning into mine, he slinked one arm around my waist and held his other hand out in invitation. His tanned skin shone with the lights and a slight smile played on his lips. “Don’t leave without one dance.”

  Sighing, I placed my hand in his and gasped as he pulled me even closer. Any closer and I’d be in his black jeans. My nose was a millimetre away from the small sprig of hair protruding from his shirt and every breath was full of his musky, bedroomy scent.

  Without warning, he flung me out and wrapped me around his body in a spin. I went willingly, rolling around his frame till I was back to his front. Okay, I admit. He can dance.

  Smiling, he placed one hand on my breastbone and pushed so I folded backward. My back arched and my long hair swept the sticky dance floor. Our hips were glued together, and the friction of the dip between us had my lungs seizing.

  A flush rose over my entire body as Nikolai pulled me from my arch and swayed me to the beat again.

  The rest was a blur.

  Dip, spin, swirl, touch.

  My brain tried to register the overload of places his hands caressed, but the music stole my annoyance, and I relished in the motion. Somehow a simple side-step for the Merengue became charged with sexual tension. Each twist and pressure of his limbs against mine made me ache with need. I went from flirty dancer to sexy seductress who wished clothes were optional.

  We bumped and grinded. I swished my head and arched into him. I allowed the entire act of sex kitten and killer dancer to become my persona and forgot my strict goals and dreams. I was nothing but Nina: flesh, sweat, and music in that moment. It was heaven. And far too intoxicating.

  I didn’t know how many songs we danced, but the flourish of a Lambada finished and Nikolai whirled me into a dramatic spin and dip. He jerked me upright, pressing me hard against him. His arms trembled with my weight, and I allowed a quick peek at the well-defined bicep.

  Our lips were so close, and my eyes locked on his. My heart jack-knifed from exertion as much as with anticipation, and I wished, for an insane moment, that he’d kiss me. Frozen in that moment of fragile silence, waiting for the next song to begin, every part of my body screamed for his.

  The music started again with gusto; I struggled to concentrate—to stay lucid and not give into the pulsing desire. I needed to distance myself from the man holding me, dancing with me, but my self-control snapped, and I let go.

  The music crashed over us, carrying me away with its tempo. I let myself run burning fingertips over Nikolai’s skin: his arms, collarbone, hips; to breathe in deep when he brought me crashing back from a spiral. And I felt no shame as I ran my hands through his sweaty hair as he twirled me out and in, pressing his head against my neck as we dropped to the floor together, my thighs burning as we crouched, all the while keeping up the beat.

  By the time multiple songs travelled through our limbs, I was parched for water. I patted my throat as signal to have a break, and we threaded through the crowd. I was hyperaware that Nikolai never let go of my hand.

  I chugged down some icy-cold water in a very unladylike fashion and scrunched my face as an ice-cream headache slammed into me. Ouch.

  “You’re an excellent dancer,” Nikolai murmured in my ear; his breath was hot and every part of me clenched. His husky whisper dredged up feelings inside I wished would remain buried.

  “Where did you learn?” The timbre of his voice continued to do wonderful but scary things to my stomach.

  I rubbed my mouth, dispelling a lone water droplet. “It doesn’t matter. You wouldn’t know the club.” And he certainly didn’t need to know I learned from my ex who chose me from a bunch of beginners to become his dance partner in competitions. We won. A lot. But no matter how much I tried, I could never keep the fire in his eyes when we stepped off the dance floor. I should’ve realised sooner that he wasn’t interested.

  He used me.

  That was the day I stopped trying to please others and decided to please myself.

  Enrolling into aeronautical school and taking my first accompanied flight in a Tomahawk aircraft had been my way of flipping off my ex. It had been the most exhilarating moment of my life and one that cemented my career forever. I wanted to be a pilot. I wanted it more than anything. Even dancing, which was saying a lot.

  Once our breathing steadied, Nikolai held out his hand. “More?”

  I waged a battle inside. If I danced with him longer, he might think there was more between us. That was the frustrating and delicious thing: there was something more between us. But damned if I’d give in to the blood-pulsing lust conjured from rubbing against each other all night. It wasn’t logical—it wasn’t going to go beyond the dance floor.

  I shook my head. “I can’t. I have work tomorrow. My shift starts early.”

  He sighed heavily, but didn’t push it. “No problem. Another time.” His eyes clouded, and I caught myself wanting to say ‘what the hell—let’s dance for years’ just to dispel his disappointment.

  Ignoring the pang of regret, I inconspicuously tugged the clammy post-it from my bra, and reclaimed my bag from the barman.

  I smiled at Nikolai. “Thanks for a great night. I had fun.”

  Nikolai ran hands through his damp hair. “Me too. Sucks it has to end so soon, though.” Tilting his head he gestured for me to go ahead of him. “I’ll walk you out—if you’re sure you have to go?”

  I paused. How easy it would be to throw my bag behind the bar and grab his hand. To melt into his hard embrace and allow the rhythm to sweep us to somewhere erotic and heated. It was my turn to sigh heavily. “Yes, I’m sure.”

  It took longer than I expected to dodge our way toward the exit, and the sweet caress of cool air and quietness was a relief after the loud club. My ears rang slightly from the deafening music.

  Shoving his hands into his black jean pockets, Nikolai started, “So—” Confidence deserted him and his eyes focused anywhere but me.

  Ah, wasn’t that sweet—he was nervous. He acted as if this was a date and it was time t
o get the first kiss out of the way. Silly man. I wouldn’t have objected to a kiss, but it was best if we both ended on a platonic note.

  I stuck my hand out. “It’s been a blast. Thanks very much.”

  He stared at my palm with wide eyes. “What? That’s it? You’re just going to disappear?” He stepped into my personal bubble. “Tell me you didn’t feel the heat between us when dancing?”

  I dropped my gaze, fiddling with my bag. This was awkward. What was I supposed to say? Yes, I want to be ravished by you? Hardly appropriate when I’d known him for a few measly hours. I steeled myself and looked up. “There was a spark.”

  His eyes glowed and he opened his mouth to speak, but I held up my hand. “But, that’s to be expected when two people dance well together. All that bumping and grinding. It’s hard not to be attracted.”

  He frowned. “I agree there’s always a residue of attraction conjured from dancing, but I know I’ve never been so interested in getting to know a woman before. You’re obviously kind for taking pity on me and moving my seat on the flight, you dance wickedly hot…and, you remind me of someone I used to know.”

  His admission made my throat dry to a husk; I swallowed in shock. Every part of my body tightened. Dammit. Now what should I say?

  “I really have to go,” I blurted, backing away from him. Great, very smooth.

  He followed, eyes darkening. “At least let me walk you back to your hotel. How far away is it?”

  “No, it’s okay. I can find a taxi. No big deal. I’m sure you’ve gotta be somewhere, too.” I needed to get away from him. My fragile grip on my self-control quickly frayed, and if he sprouted sonnets about lust and heat again, I might not be accountable for my actions.

  Nikolai stopped following, saying, “No, I don’t have anywhere I need to be. I’m here on an overnight, like you.”

  I stopped; my eyes popped wide. “Really? What do you do?” It occurred to me it was strange having this conversation after our bodies had been all over each other. The entire evening had been a bit backward. First flames of passion, then the awkward ‘getting to know you’ conversation.