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He found his rhythm from somewhere. With his other hand, he takes my waist. Turns me. Wheels me around the floor. I don’t know if what he’s doing is the tango, but it’s tangling me up inside, tying my stomach in knots. Either we became bigger or the world around us backed away.
He puts passion into every move. He’s dancing like it’s an Olympic sport. In the middle of the song, he stays in one spot, twisting and turning, so I dance around him.
Breathless, I almost whisper, “I thought you didn’t dance.”
“I don’t,” he bends me over backward. Holds me there and burns his eyes in mine.
Then he snatches me up and turns me round. Spins me. Catches me with his hand on my waist. Seizes me and squeezes me. “Seeing you dance with another man, I knew that I had to.”
As he says it, I feel him harden and swell. Thinking of him in a jealous smolder about me makes me hot and lightheaded. Feeling him whirl me, spin me, command me with his body, I’m almost overcome. I feel like I’m slipping, ready to fall.
The dance is strong and muscular. He is powerful and masculine, dominating me and driving me. I’m breathless.
The beat of the tango swirls, slow, coiled and urgent. Pent up and wound up like a trap. Our hips sway and brush, we glide, stretch, press together. Turn. He looks in my eyes as he turns me. Bends me back. The air around him is hot with the taste of his masculine tang.
Our lips are close as we spin. He pulls me to his chest. My breath stops. We stand, swinging our hips together. He turns me, spins me out. Pulls me back like a whiplash. Rolls me into his arms. My breath catches as he dips me. My leg lifts and curls over his thigh.
My eyes are locked on his as the song ends. We hold the pose. Breathing. Hard.
All around the dance floor, people applaud. Clapping themselves, or the band, or something. I have no idea. I feel like the room is rotating, turning in slow motion around us.
Adam’s voice is urgent. “I have to talk to you.”
“Oh,” I say, “is that all?”
“Come out on the terrace.” He puts his arm around me. His hand is on my shoulder. I slipped mine around his waist. His fingers stroke down the side of my arm. Come to rest on my hip.
On the terrace, the warm night air is heavy with jasmine and evening primrose from the hanging gardens.
He leads me to a secluded spot. “I have to get you out of here.”
“You didn’t say ‘take me’ out of here.”
“No,” his voice rasps. “I have to stay and see this through. But I must get you away. My driver will take you home.”
So that’s it. That’s my adventure. I’ll remember to get the thousand dollars from him, but it’s almost the last thing on my mind right now. I’ve tasted a different life. Another world. I was a visitor. Passing through, I took a place in glittering society. I was admired. Desired. And I felt passion.
So, I sigh. This will be a nice memory. Yes. I was wrong to hope for more.
I want to ask him, ‘Will I see you again?’ But I don’t think I want to hear the answer. Whether he tells me the truth, or if he lies. I don’t think I want to hear it, either way. I don’t want it to end like this. And I don’t want to cry.
“You okay?”
“Something in my eye. It’s all right.” I sniff. “So, where is your driver?”
Chapter Six
Adam
In the heavily scented moonlight air on the terrace, in the dappled half-light, she is even more beautiful. The beat of her heart throbs hot next to my chest.
I clear my throat as I take out my phone. “I’ll call Carson. He will drive you wherever you need to go.”
There’s a crack in my voice, like a mark. A wound. But I can’t stop it. I press my lips together and punch the button for Carson. I have to get her away to safety, right now.
I chew my cheek and press the phone to my ear. As soon as Carson picks up, I tell him, “Ms. Corrigan is getting ready to leave. Wait for her by the front entrance.”
I hear the tail end of a chuckle on Carson’s end. Then, “Sure thing, Boss.”
