by Bonnie Dee
At the end of the meal, Uncle Leo appeared again, bearing a plate with a small heart-shaped cake, decorated with red flowers and bows against rich, dark-chocolate icing. He set it down the table and beamed at them both.
“This chocolate has a little bite to it, just a dash of cayenne to waken the taste buds. Enjoy, and you two have a wonderful evening.”
Carrie rested a hand on her stomach after he’d left. “That’s so sweet, but I can’t. I’m absolutely stuffed. Looks like heaven, though.”
Ric cut into the cake. “No choice. We have to at least taste it. Leo’s a sensitive guy.” He set a sliver of the dark delicacy on a dessert plate and offered Carrie a forkful.
She opened her mouth and he placed the bite on her tongue. It was sinfully rich and sweet, but, as Leo had promised, with a kick. Her eyes closed in rapture as she savored the confection. “Amazing!”
When she opened them again, Ric was staring at her mouth, his eyes like dark coals burning with fiery embers. “Uh, you have…” His voice was suddenly hoarse and he cleared his throat. “A little bit of…”
Reaching across the table, he cupped her face and touched his finger to the corner of her mouth. The pressure on her cheek and jaw was warm. The finger tracing her lip tickled.
She opened her mouth and her tongue flicked out, tasting sweet chocolate and his skin. Her heart pounded in her ears, deafening her. It was almost impossible to swallow, as though she’d suddenly developed strep throat.
He cradled her face another moment then pulled his hand away, focusing his attention back on the cake sitting innocuously between them on the table, unaware of its effect on a pair of innocent bystanders. “Maybe we can have Valerie box this up.”
After the waitress took the rest of the aphrodisiac cake away, an awkward silence fell between them. Carrie was now certain the attraction she’d been wrestling with all evening wasn’t one-sided, and the knowledge set conflicting emotions warring within her. There seemed to be inevitability about the course things would take tonight, and she was excited, nervous, and even frightened. She wasn’t an impetuous person, and to be contemplating a sexual encounter with a near stranger was so not her.
“It’s way too early to go to the club. Dancing doesn’t start until 9:00 or so. Would you like to take a walk? It’s kind of cold, but—”
“I would love to take a walk.” Maybe the cold air would dispel the fog of lust that had been swirling around her from the moment she’d laid eyes on Ric.
They strolled along the esplanade overlooking the river. And if she’d hoped being outdoors in fresh air would slap sense into her, she was wrong. Their arms bumped together as they walked side by side, then he reached over and took her hand, engulfing it in his big, warm palm. His fingers curled around the back of her hand and he glanced at her. “Okay?”
“Sure.”
“I don’t want to be pushy.” His tongue darted out, licking his lips. “I want you to know this is really out of character for me. Like I said, I haven’t dated much since…my wife died. I haven’t really been interested enough to seek somebody out, you know?” His eyebrow lifted, seeking her understanding. “But today…I saw you and wham!”
Carrie didn’t answer. She was so relieved to know it wasn’t just her hormones messing with her mind and that she wasn’t alone in feeling something.
He stared past her at the river and let go of her hand. “Now you probably think I’m a complete asshole. Sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“No! I mean, no I don’t think you’re an… It was the same for me when I saw you. God, couldn’t you tell? I was, like, catatonic for a minute there.” She laughed nervously and grabbed his hand. “I was glad you asked me out, and I’m certainly glad to hold hands.” At the very least!
His smile was back and the left-cheek dimple with it. He stopped walking and turned toward her, looking down into her eyes. “Would it be way out of line to go straight from hand-holding into kissing?”
“I don’t have a problem with that.” She smiled and rose on her toes, lifting her face toward his.
The breeze off the river blew against her back, cutting through her coat and freezing her bare calves, but Ric’s heat warmed her front as he moved close. His hands cupped her face. Inclining his head, he pressed his lips to hers. They felt better than she’d imagined, cushiony as pillows, soft as baby blankets, opening and closing over her mouth in little, nibbling kisses. His hands slid from her jaw into her hair, cradling and supporting the back of her neck.
With eyes closed, she opened her mouth to touch her tongue to his, so wet and warm. She shivered from the cool breeze and the thrill of the kiss. She blindly held onto him, feeling the leather coat beneath her palms and grabbing onto the lapels.
The scent of his warm skin, spiced faintly with cologne, filled her senses. Every fiber of her being was alive, her neurons bursting with responses to his presence. Her breasts ached and her nipples hardened. The crotch of her panties dampened as her pussy pulsed steadily. Through her coat, his coat and two sets of clothes, she couldn’t actually feel the bulge of his erection, but she knew it was there, throbbing in time to his heartbeat…and hers.
Just a matter of time, her mind announced. There was no doubt how this date was ending up. The only question was where and when.
Chapter Four
When Ric finally broke the kiss and stepped back a pace, Carrie was dizzy from lack of oxygen and from standing on her toes with her head tilted back. She teetered forward, and he caught her in his strong arms, holding her steady. She wanted to explain that she wasn’t drunk. Hell, she’d only had one gin and tonic at dinner. But maybe it was actually less embarrassing to have him think she couldn’t hold her liquor than that the power of his kiss knocked her sideways.
“Heels,” she explained. “Not used to them.”
He smiled and didn’t let her go, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her body snug against his. His face was only inches away and those ridiculously long eyelashes fringing his gorgeous eyes swept against perfect cheekbones as he blinked. God, you’re beautiful, she wanted to say. Guys said it to girls all the time, but there was something socially taboo about a woman telling a man the same thing, even if it was true. What was that about?
“What do you think?” His voice was barely more than a whisper, but so deep it vibrated the very air between them. “Still want to go dancing?” He swayed her back and forth.
A very large part of her wanted nothing more than to get back to her apartment, or his, immediately and start making out again. Her lips ached for more kisses, harder, deeper, more intimate kisses. And her body wanted nothing more than to pass straight through the making out on the living room couch phase to the wild monkey sex in the bedroom phase of the evening. But it was happening so fast. The whole thing was too much to take in.
“I don’t know,” she answered honestly.
“Mm.” Putting a hand on her waist and taking her other hand in his, he danced her around the walkway a few steps, twirled her once then dipped her. “I think…maybe a little dancing first. We have the whole evening ahead of us. Plenty of time.”
Disappointment and relief warred in her as he took her arm and escorted her back up the esplanade to the street. “We can take my car and pick yours up later if you want.”
“Sounds good.” Having the autonomy of her own vehicle no longer seemed smart, but merely a nuisance.
Ric held the passenger side door of his car and actually took her hand to help her inside. His car was exactly what she’d expected, a vintage Chevrolet. She wouldn’t hazard a guess as to the make or year, not knowing anything about classic autos, or current ones for that matter. To her, a car was just a way to get from point A to point B and provided no interest beyond that. But she had to admit to a little thrill as Ric slid behind the wheel, started the engine and revved it with a deep roar. The car sounded powerful, hungry and a little bit scary. It was a big, black stallion mixed in with a herd of ponies as it ate up
the road and blew past the other cars.
“Like to drive fast?” she asked, buckling her seatbelt.
He glanced sideways, the dashlights glinting off his eyes. “But safely. Trust me.”
“I do.” Carrie smiled. It was clear Ric knew how to handle a car. She watched his big hands move assuredly on the wheel and gearshift, and her insides went all weak and watery as she imagined those hands on various parts of her anatomy. Maybe she should’ve asked him to forego the dance club after all.
“Did you restore this yourself?” she asked.
“Me and my dad, about four years ago. We spent most of a summer working on it.” He smiled. “It’s a good memory to have. Now he’s so weak, he can’t do that kind of stuff anymore. A day of sitting in one spot fishing wears him out.”
“I’m sorry. What’s wrong with him?”
“Emphysema. Smoked since he was twelve, so it’s not too surprising.”
“Well, both of you did a great job. The car’s a beauty.”
He told a brief story about searching junkyards to find just the right replacement part for something in the engine, then glanced at Carrie and grinned. “You have no idea what the hell I’m talking about, do you?”
“It’s worse than that.” She mock-winced. “I don’t even know what model of car this is and wouldn’t even have known it was a Chevy if it didn’t say it right across the back. Sorry. Not a car buff.”
He laughed. “That’s cool. I don’t know the first thing about ballet.” He cut another glance her way, and she smiled back.
After driving halfway across the city, Ric pulled off on another side street and parked. Before Carrie could get out of the car, he was at her door. The moment her door opened she could hear Latin music from the neon-lit club nearby.
“Thank you,” she said, as Ric took her hand and helped her from the car. “Your mother really taught you manners.”
“Maybe. Or maybe I just want every excuse possible to touch you.” He slipped an arm around her waist to walk her into the building.
Inside the club, the volume was deafening. Bodies jostled for space in the limited area, bumping into one another as they fought for position in the lineup at the bar. But out on the dance floor, it was another matter. Although it was nearly as crowded, the dancing couples moved around each other with practiced ease and grace, filling the floor without getting in each other’s way. The colorful, sexy clothes and flashy dance steps engrossed Carrie’s attention. A man in a bright red shirt and black pants lifted his stiletto-heeled partner’s foot onto his shoulder while dipping her back. The woman’s scarlet dress slipped up her thigh to reveal a long, brown leg. Her black hair brushed the floor before her partner raised her back to her feet and spun her into the next step.
Carrie leaned in and yelled at Ric. “I can dance, but, damn, I don’t know if I can do this.”
“We’ll start with a slow number,” he shouted back. “Want a drink first?”
She shook her head, not wanting to give in to the dulling effects of alcohol. That last thing she needed was to fall off her tall shoes as she attempted to dance. Besides, she wanted to be clear-headed and fully in control of her decisions as the evening played out.
Carrie felt overdressed in her sweater and skirt, and wished she had on something sparkly and skimpy like most of the other women. Ric was hot as hell in jeans and a plain white Oxford shirt with the sleeves rolled up his forearms, but the temperature rose even higher when he stripped off the shirt. He laid it with their coats at the table they’d managed to secure. Underneath he wore a white wifebeater that displayed his shoulders, arms and the broad expanse of his chest to perfection.
She swallowed and dragged her gaze from his body to his face.
His smile was smug. He’d noted her reaction to him and seemed pleased by it.
Grabbing her hand, he led her to the dance floor. The DJ was playing a moderately paced samba and Carrie found she could easily follow Ric’s lead as he pulled her into his arms and stepped to the syncopated rhythm. His hips swayed with hers in unison. Their lower bodies molded together, moving as one, while their upper bodies remained rigid, giving the illusion of gliding effortlessly.
Her hand moved from resting on his shirt to touching the smooth, warm flesh of his shoulder and stayed there. The dance space was hot and their joined hands began to sweat as he propelled her across the floor.
Carrie kept her gaze fixed on his. The non-verbal communication was part of the eroticism of a Latin dance, but she couldn’t have looked away if she tried. As the sexual tension between them built, the loud music and crowd noise receded until it was as if they were suspended in a bubble of time and space. There was nothing except their joined hands, closely-pressed bodies and his ebony eyes holding her steady as he guided her backward across the floor.
Finally, the song ended and the spell broke. Carrie blinked, coming back to herself as though recovering from an out-of-body experience. She barely had time to regroup before the next song began, a fast-paced salsa number.
Ric’s declaration that he was a poor dancer proved a lie as he whirled her around, spun her out and pulled her back in, and then cupped her ass and ground his hips against hers. It was a world away from ballet, but her dance training kicked in and she obediently followed his lead. They stepped together to the rapid-fire staccato beat, and when the song was over, both were breathless.
“Whew!” Carrie waved a hand in front of her face, laughing, and followed him from the floor. Their chairs had been commandeered by someone and taken to another table so they had to stand, leaning against the wall, watching the dancers.
“Thirsty now?” His breath stirred her hair and puffed against her cheek.
She nodded. “Just a Sprite, please.”
Ric tilted her chin up with a finger and pressed a quick kiss to her lips. “Be right back.”
Watching him weave through the throng around the bar, Carrie realized he wasn’t really that much taller than most of the men in the club. He just seemed that way because his presence was so overpowering—at least to her. She turned her attention to the dance floor again, watching the couples spin around. In an unbelievably short time, Ric was beside her again, handing her a glass of soda.
“How’d you do that?” She glanced at the bar, which she couldn’t even see for the crowd surrounding it.
“What?” His eyebrows raised, honestly clueless.
“Never mind.” The sweet, cold soda had never tasted so good. She chugged the glass empty in a few swallows, set it on the table, and pushed her hair back from her sweaty forehead.
Ric drank a little of his beer before placing his glass beside hers and moving to stand in front of her, his hands at her waist.
Head tilted back, she looked up into his face.
He ran his finger down the bridge of her nose, felt the texture of a lock of her hair, then cupped her cheek and gazed at her mouth for a long moment.
The anticipation of a kiss had Carrie’s heart racing and her body yearning toward his. She wanted to curl her hands around the back of his neck and pull him down to her, but waited, breathless, while his thumb traced her lips and his eyes examined the contours of her face and mouth. When she thought she could stand it no more, he leaned down slowly and pressed his lips to hers.
Just like on the dance floor, the bustle and clamor of the club faded away and Carrie felt they were in an impermeable bubble. She breathed in his scent. His lips closed over hers and his tongue flicked over the seam of her lips until she opened them and allowed it inside. The mingled taste of sweet soda and malted ale combined as his hot, wet tongue slipped over and around hers. She rested her hands against his chest, feeling the strength of his hard muscles, the heat of his skin and the rapid beating of his heart.
He kissed her breathless again, leaving her gasping when he pulled away. Then he pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth, her cheek, her jaw and neck. The soft movement of his lips was like a feather being trailed across her skin. She shivere
d and clamped her cheek to her shoulder to shut him out.
“Do you want to leave? It’s hard to talk here,” he spoke near her ear to be heard over the music, then straightened to look into her eyes, his hands resting on her shoulders. “Maybe one more dance first?”
A slow, sultry number was playing and Carrie couldn’t refuse the offer of another chance on the dance floor with him. “Sounds good.” She was ready to agree to just about anything he wanted under the spell of his breath-stealing kisses.
Once more, Ric led her onto the dance floor. He held her for a moment in the classic waltz pose as they moved in time to the hypnotic beat, then he spun her around so her back was to him. One hand pressed against her stomach, while the other clasped hers. She leaned back into his solid body, which was like a wall at her back. His erection pressed against her rear as their lower bodies swayed in sync with one another.
Carrie allowed her head to fall back against his chest and gave herself over to the sensual music and tropical rhythm. The song was in Spanish, which she remembered just enough of from high school to catch words like amor and siempre. Love and always.
Ric brought her hand up to rest on the back of his neck, and then ran his fingers lightly down her arm, leaving chills in their wake. He ended with his hand on her ribcage just beneath the swell of her breast.
Her nipples hardened at the proximity, aching for him to fondle them. She arched her chest forward slightly and pressed her ass back against him, all without losing the beat.
They moved together in a slow, erotic dance. Just when Carrie thought it couldn’t get any sexier, Ric began to sing, softly, his baritone a counterpoint to the woman singing. The words could have been about buying laundry detergent. It didn’t matter. The sound of the foreign language and his husky voice had her quivering. Her pussy was a throbbing muscle of need, pulsing in time to the song and soaking her underwear. Need. Want. Now! Her body begged for fulfillment.
