Page 24 of Secrets of the Six

"I keep stepping on your feet," I huff in frustration. Apparently watching and actually participating are vastly different.

"A man can forgive the pain if you hold his gaze. He loses himself entirely in the beauty of your eyes and gives little thought to anything else, numb to the world. So, keep your eyes on me. Got it?"

I swallow hard. Even though the urge to break eye contact is strong, I force myself to keep my sights trained on him. "Eyes on you."

A few agonizing seconds later, he releases my face and finds purchase on my waist again.

My entire body is alit with flame, but the only pain inflicted is to the mental walls I've spent an entire lifetime building and refortifying.

Do not show weakness.

Do not get attached.

No one will care for me the way I can.

But with one reassuring touch from him, my fear threatens to be unleashed, stinging my eyes and suffocating the back of my throat.

Breathe, Ines. Breathe.

"Beautiful!" Doña Otero praises, smacking her cane to the floor in excitement, and rattling me free from my borderline panicked thoughts. "You're a natural, mi querida. Now, let's liven it up a bit. Dance is sensual. It's a way to imagine how a lover would move behind closed doors. Let go of yourself, Ines, and feel the rhythm of the music and trust your partner."

That's the problem. I don't trust my partner.

The music suddenly picks up in tempo, provoking Salvador to gently push against my waist, turning me. Instinctively, I twirl, our hands keeping us anchored to one another.

Two, three, four turns before he snaps me back to him. I happen to know this one too, not firsthand, but from years of watching from the shadows. It's the Malagueña, a passionate fast-paced dance heavy on footwork and sharp lines. Though there are some parts that we are required to release our hold of one another, we always come back to center.

Doña Otero is right. Dancing is foreplay and gives insight to one's partner. If there's one thing I have now learned about Salvador, it's his intensity. His eye contact, the tautness of his arms, the clench in his jaw; he's a force and I reckon if I stand too close, I might get swept away and lose sight of myself.

Salvador grabs me and aggressively pulls me back to him. Caught up in the moment, I grant my hands permission to explore his body. I drag my fingertips across the exposed flesh of his chest and hell if I don't feel chills when his calloused hand wraps around my neck as he slowly dips me backward until I'm perpendicular with the floor. My left leg snakes around his thigh as his mouth grazes my sternum. The warmth of his breath leaves a trail of whispered kisses against my chest and just as his lips begin to explore between my breasts, the music suddenly ends.

Our breathing is heavy, as if we were trapped underwater and just managed to break the surface before we drowned.

I feel his heart beating rapidly and I'm afraid if I meet his line of sight, I might fall under his wicked spell, but I'm a glutton for punishment and can't help myself. I open my eyes to find he's already watching me. I'm tempted to rip the mask from his face, but the mystery of what he really looks like intrigues and excites me. All I can see are his golden-brown eyes, dark hair that falls just over his brow, bronze skin, and lips that are so tempting I hate myself for wanting to taste him.

His line-of-sight dips from my eyes to my mouth.

I haven't kissed a man in over four years. Not for lack of interest, but because the last man I gave my heart to left me physically and emotionally battered. He'd found someone better suited, more worthy of his affection, and acceptable according to his family's standards.

"You didn't actually believe we'd have a future together, Ines?" I remember Marco's parting words as if it were yesterday. "You are nothing. You are no one."

I clench my eyes shut, willing his voice to vacate my head, but instead, I feel his fingers dig harshly into the tender flesh of my arms as he tosses me across my apartment.

I recall smashing against the wall so hard it stole my breath. The last thing I remember of that afternoon was threatening to tell his family about us and ruining his engagement for denying my existence. I woke up hours later, bruised and bloody. My clothes were torn, my hair disheveled. I had a broken wrist and several bruised ribs. One of my eyes was darkened where his fist met my face, and a dried trickle of crimson stained my chin. I swore that day, I'd never let a man close enough to harm me again. Besides the warden in the prison, I've kept my promise.

So why am I still inching closer to Salvador, yearning for a kiss I should not want?

Before our mouths have a chance to meet, Doña Otero applauds, shattering the unspoken tension between us.

She laughs triumphantly, as if she's just won a glorious battle against the devil himself. "I foresee many proposals in your future, mi querida. The Dons will be eating crumbs from your hands and thanking you for it."

Salvador's gaze is unyielding and even though it appears he has something to say, he remains silent. He slowly lifts me until I'm firmly standing on my feet and releases me from his grasp.

"You've danced before?" he asks, intrigued.

I shake my head. "No, but I used to sneak into the city during festivals and watch from the shadows."

"From the shadows?" he tilts his head, clearly not understanding.