by Danube Adele
He ran a comforting hand over my shoulder. “You still think about the night it happened?”
I lowered my hands and met his look of concern. “Absolutely.”
“It was bad, C. Real bad. I’d be surprised if it didn’t come up in your mind every now and then. Most kids don’t have to watch their best friend/boyfriend get shot. And it could just as easily have been you.”
“Carlos was my first lover.” I laughed.
“Really?” Henry was surprised.
“I never told anyone.”
“I guess it makes sense since you were a thing. I always remember us all being little kids playing together when he was alive, but I guess toward the end you were, what? In high school? With a shitload of memories.”
“A lot. You know—” I continued talking about him, kind of wanting to make it all hurt so good, “—I think about how the wound he received didn’t have to kill him. It was survivable. He was shot in the gut, and looking back, remembering his wound, I understand that he didn’t have to die from it.” I met Henry’s eyes. “He didn’t. The wound was survivable.”
“You know you can’t blame yourself for that.”
“No. I know.” But I did have culpability. I did have fault. And even now, the pain of my own shame was so great, I couldn’t let the truth out. Even now. It crawled back under the rock it liked to hide under, and I let it rest. Talking about it wasn’t going to change anything. The courage to spill had been smothered.
“I guess it’s easy for me to talk. I’ve never lost anyone meaningful.” He downplayed his thoughts, but I knew he’d probably think differently of me if he knew the truth. He’d always love me, but he’d know how selfish I was, and how that character flaw played into killing my partner in life.
I leaned back in my chair, took a big drink of my margarita and scanned the dance floor, making the decision to redirect this subject matter, take the path of least resistance, attribute my emotional state to work. See? Easy. “I see death pretty regularly, you know? Someone comes in too far gone for us to do anything, and that’s okay. Sometimes, there’s really nothing we can do, and I can let those go and chalk it up to the universe being at work in some strange, fateful way. But sometimes, someone’s pain gets you, like if you can relate to it.”
“Someone died today?”
“And it was bad. It took me back, reminded me of that feeling, you know what I mean? Sometimes things change in such a way that you know it’s going to not only change the moment, but have a ripple effect on your entire life? And you know that from that moment on, everything is going to be completely, horribly, irreversibly different. You’re going to have to reconfigure how you relate to the world.”
“Did you ever do that?”
“I’m not sure.” I shrugged. “Some things, some people, you can’t forget. Sometimes there are reasons. I do get tired of having to justify myself constantly. I saved lives today. I watched others die. I’m appreciated at work, respected, but I come here and it’s never enough. I’m never enough.”
“It’s not like that.” The tone and expression matched. It was sharp, and Henry was giving me that you-know-better look. “It’s not, and you know it. Family takes care of family.”
“C’mon. Isn’t there a time to be done? Like I need this crap from anyone? Every time now. Every time. I’m sick of it. Don’t I deserve to live in peace? Why is it anyone’s business but my own? Why isn’t that enough? Why do I have to meet someone else’s expectations? Why am I supposed to meet their standards of happiness? Why isn’t it enough that I like what I do, I’m proud of my accomplishments and to hell with the rest of it?”
He steepled his fingers against his lips and paused to marshal his thoughts. “If I had a drug problem, what would you do?”
“I’d kick your ass like five times, and then force you to go into a residential rehabilitation center for at least a year.”
“Because I wasn’t enough?”
I rolled my eyes, knowing where this was going. “No, because what you would be doing would be unhealthy.”
“Well, think about it. It seems like you’re so stuck in your own pain that you can’t see you need rehabilitation. What you’re doing is unhealthy. And I’m not trying to take up where Grandma left off, but I can see her point.”
“I’m living the life I want, and I’m happy.” Of course, it didn’t help my case that I didn’t sound happy, that in fact, I sounded thoroughly pissed off. I took a deep breath. This wasn’t going to help any.
“We’re family, Ceci. We watch out for each other.”
“Yeah, I get it,” I muttered. I tossed a careless smile on my face, not that I thought he’d buy it, but he’d know from experience that I was done talking for now. “The musicians are back on. I want to dance.”
He stared at me in silence for a few moments before giving a definitive nod. “Let’s do it.”
The margarita I’d half drunk was making me feel light-headed on a pretty empty stomach, and still, I downed the rest of it and made a beeline for a waiter. The server was carrying a tray of champagne glasses, edging the dance floor, and I grabbed two glasses of champagne, downed one with little difficulty and the second with only a slight grimace and follow-up cough. Two empty glasses got put back on the tray, and I gave my best smile.
Henry looked worried. I wasn’t a drinker, so to see me downing two was probably weirding him out. Good. Glad to know I could still be unpredictable. Still, it prompted him to ask, “You gonna be okay?”
I smiled and gave him a lighthearted salute. “Next time, give her more tequila. She wasn’t drunk enough.”
“For sure.” He kept his worried look and took my hand, giving it a supportive squeeze. “C’mon. Let’s dance.”
Another Gipsy Kings tune was being played, and Henry swung me straight into it. The beat of the music throbbed deep, to the bone, and my hips responded. Dancing a salsa, we moved around the dance floor, the Latin flavor of the music and the sultry voice of the singer making me want to lose myself in the dance. Normally, it kept me moving, kept me focused on the intricate steps. It was one of those things I’d used to keep me from having to think or feel, but it wasn’t working tonight. My frustration pulsed with the music, conflicting feelings of remorse and even resentment over what was true, and a longing for something more, something undefinable swamped my thoughts.
Now what? What was I supposed to do? There was no way anyone else would ever be able to take Carlos’s place.
“Ceci! Henry! Beautiful!” called my Auntie Suzi, cheering us on.
Space cleared on the dance floor, and Henry decided to use it. We traveled, we spun each other, he dipped me and spun me out of it. It was dizzying, and it only made me dance harder and faster. This was something I could control. This was something I was entirely confident in. One song slid into another. Our family kept clapping and whistling, oohing and ahhing. Henry was no slouch.
Crisp pivots, sharp, fast spins and back to the basic, my hips keeping the beat of the music as they swung back and forth.
Another spin, and I thought I caught sight of the Viking leaning against the arched entryway with a dark expression. He was here?
I almost stumbled.
My heart tripped up a moment, then pounded fiercely. I searched for him again, but we spun around and bodies blocked my line of sight. I craned my neck to see if I could spot him when the entryway was visible again. It was empty. Disappointment grabbed me and just added to all the chaotic feelings I was having. I had to admit the feeling of lust I’d experienced earlier had felt really good. Was it wrong to want that? Was it disloyal? Would Carlos be hurt that I was here enjoying sexy thoughts about someone else when he was gone?
Okay. That was a ridiculous thought, but it was part of the emotional baggage that I had to fight constantly.
Maybe this was a sign. May
be I needed to try dating again. Maybe everyone was right that I was being entirely unhealthy. I needed space and time to clear my head. The room was beginning to spin. My head was feeling woozy, and I wanted a moment of quiet.
“I need the ladies’ room,” I told Henry as the song wound down and began sliding into another.
“You going to be okay?” he asked, hesitant to let go of my hand.
“Yeah, it’s cool.” I gave him a quick hug. “I’m fine. Really.”
He didn’t look convinced and reluctantly let me go. “Come back and talk to me. We can go for a walk or something.”
“Maybe later.” Everything inside of me was just feeling so raw. I couldn’t seem to get myself settled. If I could just get some sleep, I’d wake up and everything would be back to normal. I could just hit the reset button in my brain and go on my merry way.
I spun away and walked out of the noisy banquet room. There was a hallway with an overhead sign marked for the restrooms. It sported a small alcove with a seating area outside the restroom doors. A large window overlooking the city lit up with twinkling lights like a treasure chest of jewels, just beyond the cushioned seats. When I was a kid, this view had always seemed so magical. Life had been one big adventure to experience, and I woke up every morning with a new plan of action. I’d known things were going to be amazing. Not so much now.
Movement caught my attention, and I focused on the window itself. A few feet behind me, reflected in the glass, I saw the figure of a large man with black hair tied at his nape, worn jeans that hugged lean hips, a black T-shirt stretched across a broad chest and a leather jacket approach and pause just a few feet away.
It was the Viking!
Our eyes met in the filmy glass reflection. Mine were wide with a whisper of excitement, a surprised intake of breath leaving my lips parted. His were piercing, unwavering as they stared, but there was a hint of yearning there, too. It was like he was as drawn to me as I was to him. My heart pounded in my throat so I couldn’t take a normal breath. It was shaky and felt too shallow. Then came the sweet, tingling warmth where wisps of energy feathered an intimate touch over my body, just like earlier at the hospital. Somehow I knew it was coming from him, but I couldn’t put it into words any better than I could my dreams without sounding like I was off my rocker.
I took a deep breath and faced him.
His eyes took in my dress, the rounded tops of my breasts pushed firmly against the neckline of my cocktail dress, and I was suddenly proud I had smooth, soft roundness to show off. Never had I actually wanted a man to look at me more than at this moment. Never had I wanted so much to see a reaction to my femininity. There was power in my sexuality, an electricity that crackled around my body that I’d never felt before. It made me feel strong.
The Viking stepped closer and that hint of forest, fresh and luscious, touched the air. His brilliant eyes pinned me in place, swept over me with lingering intent. He liked what he saw. He wanted me.
“Did the small boy get back to his mother?” he asked in a quiet rumbling tone, making me feel like we were secluded in this small space.
“He did.” My voice dropped an octave, took on a slightly more breathless quality.
His eyes narrowed, a hint of a question there. “You were patient with him, even after he took from you.”
“My lunch.” I smiled at the memory. “It was only food, and he was hungry. Who could deny a child?”
“Only food.” His brows drew together, a troubled expression flashing ever so briefly. “I wish others had your generosity of spirit. It’s a noble thing.”
“I don’t know about that,” I said lightly. “It’s just what I always wanted to do. Take care of people.”
“You’re a true healer.”
I smiled at the fanciful language. “Healer. I like that. It sounds poetic.”
“I’ve met few in life who are selfless. It’s a rare quality.” He frowned. “The world can be a cruel place.”
“I’d hate to think there are so few people out there with good hearts. Maybe you should be more trusting.”
“There are very few people I trust.”
“Why is that?”
“I don’t like getting burned.”
“You can trust me.” I didn’t know why I’d said that, but I wanted very much for this man to believe it.
“Why is that?”
I smiled, then gave his words back to him. “I’m a healer.”
The silence stretched a few moments before he stated, “I wondered if you would be as beautiful as I remembered.”
My breath held as I processed what he’d said. I’d never had this kind of exchange with a man before. I didn’t know this game. I wasn’t sure of the rules or the expectations.
“And?” The word was soft and silky as it left my lips in this quiet space.
His eyes darkened, went half-mast. “You’re even more so.”
I exhaled softly, my breasts rising and falling as his words played deliciously in my mind. “Thank you.”
Liquid courage had a way of sliding inhibitions aside. I was still alive. The Viking was here, daring me to try and look away, play it safe, like I was used to doing. I didn’t want to look away. My heart was pounding with excitement, and I loved it. With my own eyes feasting on him, I welcomed the sizzle of blood rush, the flash of liquid heat in secret places, and the need, dormant for so long, that I had never had a chance to fully explore, pulsing with every heartbeat. This was what it felt like. I wanted more of it. I didn’t want to walk around the candy store with my hands behind my back like a good girl anymore.
“Is he your mate?”
“Who are you talking about?”
“The man you were embracing in the other room.”
I smiled from beneath my lashes. It suddenly felt so natural to tease and flirt. “I’m not with anyone. That man was my cousin.”
“A relation?”
“Nearly everyone in that room is my relation in some form or other.” Feeling bold, I took one step toward him, mirroring him. “I’m surprised you’re here.”
He stared impassively at me for a moment, the silence adding a delicious tension. Then his lips quirked, a touch of humor lit his eyes, and the transformation from hardened, battle-weary Viking-guy to mysterious, handsome stranger had me mesmerized. I almost missed what he said next.
“Not such a surprise. I wanted to see you again.”
“You did?” A small burst of pleasure warmed my heart. “Weren’t you supposed to have some get-together with Kevin?”
“Your colleague? I have no interest in that meeting. My...friends...are looking for assistance.” A small frown stabbed his brows. He wasn’t happy about something.
“And you wanted to follow me?”
He nodded. “I’m only here for a short time. In fact, I’ll be leaving this evening. I live far from here. My friends will be coming for me when they’ve concluded their business.”
I felt my smile fade. He wasn’t from here. The disappointment threatened to rain on the conversation until I asked myself why I couldn’t enjoy this experience for what it was, a serendipitous meeting I would always remember. We could have this moment, this perfect moment, and just take pleasure in it. Then he would leave, and I could go back to life as usual.
“I’m glad I have this time with you, then.”
He quirked his lips again. “I saw you dancing. I’ve never seen that dance before.”
“Do you dance?” The vixen was back in charge. Marilyn Monroe, Mae West and Madonna all combined to power the energy flow humming through my body.
“No. Never.”
Giving in to my desire to touch, I reached up tentatively and let my fingers trace the jagged scar running the length of his jaw. “Tonight, you’ll dance with me.”
His lips p
arted on a silent intake of breath. For a brief moment, his eyes searched mine, looked vulnerable before arousal had them narrowing on me. There was a moment of silence, and I briefly wondered if he was going to turn me down, but then I saw the vein in his neck pulsing wildly. “Show me.”
My pulse fluttered madly, and I wondered if I needed meds because this was crazy. I was inviting a complete stranger to touch me.
I reached out an uncertain hand. A faint tremble was visible. The moment I took his, the sizzle of energy sparked between us, sensation creating a searing heat where we touched. My eyes jumped to his for confirmation. Had he felt that? This time I knew I wasn’t imagining all of these sensations. I wasn’t. Still, the only reaction he gave was a look of intense hunger, and I was the meal he craved. Oh my.
“Like this.” I watched him as I placed his hand on my hip.
“How do I move?” His fingers flexed on my hip, his warmth spreading through the thin material like it wasn’t even there. I liked the feeling of his hand on me. Liked it. A lot.
I placed my left hand on his thick shoulder, my own fingers flexing against his evening shirt, and scooped his right hand up. He held his frame naturally. I wasn’t having to hold his arms up.
“It’s a three count. Start with your left foot. Step forward, back, together. Then, back, forward, together.” As he moved, I moved with him, letting him lead the dance, my mind sounding the pum-pum-pum, pum-pum-pum rhythm in my head. There were only a couple of hesitations on his part, a few missteps that had our abdomens rubbing together, pausing, which both flustered me and turned me on, but then he had it. He was smooth. With only a few lessons, he’d be able to dance salsa socially. And our eyes met again as we moved together in our own private world.
We did a few more basic steps, our eyes clinging to each other, before we stopped moving, but neither of us let go. He kept hold of my hand, but lowered it to my other hip, making my back arch and my breasts push out. My nipples were inches from rubbing against his broad chest. We’d stopped by one of the lamps and the full effect of his eyes mesmerized me. Sky blue mixed with moss green and framed by black lashes. I was lost in them.
