after three years in Miami, all she’d managed to understand was querida.
But it was enough.
A moment later he’d had her posed under the lights and taken a snap. Before she could even see it, he’d sent the picture to Jefferson.
“What did you say?”
“Nothing.”
He handed the phone back. “It’s better to say nothing. Then all he’ll have is a bunch of questions, and that will make him suffer worse.”
She righted her bag and stashed her phone, then found herself back in his arms as a faster song started.
He pulled in close, that sexy mouth and fantastically gravelly voice still singing by her ear. Pressure at her side had her spinning and he stepped in until she felt him against her back, his hands landing on her hips.
This couldn’t be the same man.
She looked over her shoulder and saw Dr. Valentino, but in nearly every respect he was someone else with only tiny flashes of the man she knew peeking through—like when he did whatever he wanted and expected people to keep up or catch up.
Catch up was all she could attempt. “Is this a salsa?”
“No.” His voice came warm at her ear. “It’s a bachata. Simple moves. Hips, feet. Easier. Step-step-step-tap. Exaggerate the hips with the steps.”
Seduced by dancing. That’s what this was. She could spot the symptoms, name them, and couldn’t bring herself to give a damn.
Strong hands on her hips led her through the steps, the pressure of him at her back steering her as sure as he’d done when facing her, but in this position she could get a lot closer—feel the heated length of him. His thighs brushed the backs of hers, his chest moved against her back. And her bottom...
When her body seemed to have learned the dance, he spun her back to face him and said nothing at all, though the looks he gave her brought back that surge of bold, powerful sexiness she felt.
Heady and fueled by mojitos and bad decision-making, Lise stepped in before the dance was over—breaking step—and leaned up to press her lips to the corner of his mouth. Even side on, he stopped dancing.
He stopped everything.
And he didn’t kiss her back.
MISTAKE?
Mistake!
Lise broke her half-brave half-kiss and stepped back so swiftly that Dante’s arms broke loose from her waist.
“I’m sorry.” She touched her mouth, remembered her lipstick, looked at his mouth, and then reached up to start smudging it off as best she could. “That was bad of me. I mean, five minutes ago we were fighting.”
Rubbing someone’s mouth was almost as personal as kissing them.
Right.
She snatched her hand back. “Really, I’m sorry. I’m going to...”
Die.
She pointed back at the table and gave up saying words. A pivot and she hurried off in that direction.
“Stop! Why are you so jumpy?” He caught up to her in two strides and slung an arm around her waist again, then took the closest hand as well. “You have nothing to apologize for.”
“You didn’t kiss me back.”
“They were signaling me from the stage. Snuck past while we were dancing. There’s nothing I’d like to do more than dance with you and kiss the jumpiness out of you. Don’t apologize for anything but your aim.”
They’d reached the table and he turned her into the chair and scooted it in for her. But when she thought he was going to leave, she felt his hand fist in the back of her hair, heat and awareness spiked her chest. He tugged her head backwards over the chair, arching her neck until she looked straight up at him, the action so sudden, so unexpected, and her rum buzz left her speechless. All she could do was stare up at him. She could feel the pulse in her throat, fast and hard, ever increasing as she watched his expression.
Tight enough to control her movements, but not so tight as to hurt, the tension spreading out over her scalp sent shivers through her.
Swiftly, and with far better aim, he leaned in and covered her mouth with his own.
Lise had never been kissed so thoroughly, so hungrily. So...shockingly. She felt a kind of limpness creep up her spine and straight to her jaw. His tongue plunged into her mouth, from zero to light speed in seconds, coaxing her to stroke against his.
As if she could even consider breaking away from him in that position, his free hand cupping and holding the front of her throat, fingers stroking there without pressure but still burning her skin. It excited her, coiling in her chest so that she couldn’t catch her breath from Dante’s brand of blatant sensuality, fueled with more than a hint of danger. The taste of his mouth, a hint of the mojitos they’d been drinking, and something more thrilling than she could even have imagined before that second, intoxicated more fully than alcohol could, and she lost awareness of how long they kissed, knew only that her hands crept up, aching, empty and seeking.
When someone nearby hooted in appreciation, Dante broke the kiss, lifting his head enough for them to see one another. Promises danced in his deep brown eyes and she couldn’t look away even if she’d wanted to.
“Stay for the next set,” he said, face still inches from hers. “But don’t dance with anyone else unless you want me jumping off the stage and reminding you why you’re waiting for me.”
Mute and breathless, she could only nod. The command in his voice was something she recognized from his way at work, in surgery, and not one piece of her wanted to disobey.
He kissed her again, a soft little kiss as if to seal the deal, then lifted her head back to where it should be. His fingers slid from her hair and stroked down over the back of her head once to right her usually smooth locks, before he returned to the stage.
Oh, she was going to make a mistake. Big mistake.
And it’d be worth it.
Dante hoisted himself onto the stage, bypassing the need to weave past the other musicians to reach his piano. He’d no more sat than the first notes of the next set rang out from the horns to his left.
Thank heaven it was a fast number. His only outlet was his hands right now, and they could only move with the music, not fast enough to deal with the energy surging through him.
From memory, without even needing to think about it by now, he began to play.
For once he didn’t fall into that peaceful place where he felt between worlds. His mind didn’t blank at all.
It filled with Lise. He couldn’t recall the last time anyone had excited him this much.
When
