4. Michael #2
“Hello?” I tried not to blast my sister’s eardrums. The music was still pretty loud.
“Michael, why are you shouting at me?” She paused. “Are you—aren’t you at home?”
“Not tonight, sis. I’m with Adam and the guys.” Her teasing oohs in the background made me hope that maybe this wasn’t an emergency after all. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, everything’s fine. I was calling to make sure you’re coming up for Paquita’s birthday in a few weeks. I thought we could celebrate both of you.”
“Yes, I wouldn’t miss it, you know that. Hey, is Mom okay?”
“She’s fine, Michael. Everyone’s fine.”
I blew out a breath and my shoulders relaxed. My sister’s been the one to keep me updated since I moved, which is why I always answer her calls. We haven’t had anything urgent in a while, but you know what they say about the other shoe dropping.
“So tell me where you’re at tonight?” The longing in her voice was evident.
My sister hasn’t gotten to go out as much as a young woman should, and I felt a pang at leaving her to manage the family without me.
Even though they supported my decision to move, it still felt like I left them in the lurch.
“A Latin club, actually. This place is pretty cool. I think you’d like it. When you’re old enough to drink, that is,” I teased.
Her huff was almost as loud as the DJ. “Ha ha ha,” she said. “Not too much longer and then I can hang out with you guys at all the bars.”
“Like hell you will,” I’d retorted. There’s no way I wanted her hanging out with the crew I’d left behind in Charlotte; she didn’t need that kind of drama in her life. And no way did any of those guys deserve a chance with my baby sis.
“You don’t think I can handle it?”
“We are not getting into this now,” I told her, as my eyes stayed fixed on the dance floor, even more crowded than before.
I couldn’t see my lady or Matt, and that bothered me more than I wanted to admit.
If there wasn’t anything major going on at home, I needed to wrap this up so I could get back to her. Now .
“Okay, okay,” she conceded. “But one more thing. Are you going to bring anyone ‘special’ to the party?”
My eyes were still searching through the crowd, and I didn’t catch her emphasis on special . “Maybe,” I said absentmindedly. Her high-pitched squeal almost made me drop my phone. “Damn, Isabella,” I cursed as I switched ears and rubbed the one she’d nearly blown out.
“Oooh, big brother! That is so exciting! I can’t wait to meet her!”
“Yeah, me too,” I muttered. Before she could ask, I quickly cut her off with a promise to call everyone tomorrow for a Sunday family chat. I couldn’t see my woman anywhere, and my stomach was twisting up inside.
Sliding my phone into my back pocket, I surveyed the dance floor once more.
I’m a tech guy; there has to be a process.
How did the lifeguards do it again? Scan up one row and down the other?
Before I could locate her, I heard Adam’s voice calling out to me through the din, Matt right beside him as they waved me over.
Might as well look for my woman in the company of friends.
As I started to push my way through the crowd, trying to keep from any accidental boob touches, I found myself in a crush of frat boys jostling around. Assholes with no common decency to look where they were going. I started to roughly elbow my way through in between the dudes…
And then a hand slid against my chest. And grabbed my hand.
It was her.
She touched me first .
Any doubt left in my mind vanished. This was real, and it was happening.
My woman. My wife. My destiny.
She’s finally in my arms. And now my future can begin.
The music switches over to “La Morena” by Oro Solido, and I reluctantly draw back an inch so I can finally look into her eyes.
I’d thought they were brown when I was watching her across the dance floor, but up close I can see they’re swirled with green and sparks of gold.
Mesmerizing. Every bit of her is tantalizing.
She stares right back at me, never breaking connection, but her body tenses as the people around us begin to move in time to the catchy tune.
My hips start to twitch, the fast merengue beat infectious, as it becomes clear that she’s unsure of what to do.
She’s caught on quickly to the different rhythms, but I’ve been watching long enough to tell this is new for her.
This couldn’t be a more perfect song though; a song about a woman who loves to dance and have fun. Does she know what it means?
“Here, let me.” I take her hands in mine and widen the space between us.
I miss our close contact immediately, but dancing will allow her to get used to the idea of me.
Of how our bodies can move together. Her hands are soft but strong, not as calloused as mine, but far from dainty.
It makes me wonder what she does for work. How she spends her time.
But as good as her hands feel clasped in mine, it’s her eyes that hold my rapt attention.
That swirl of hazel, appearing green in the light and brown in shadow.
Her gaze matches mine, fierce and unrelenting.
Curious, confident. That’s what drew me to her at the start. Well, that, and the other thing…
My lady drops her hips in time with ease but doesn’t know what to do with her arms. Rubbing my thumbs over her hands, I take a chance by lacing my fingers through hers as I guide us along to the quickfire beats.
Her breath catches at the intimate contact even though it’s only our hands linking us, her breasts straining against the silver fabric.
I swallow down my groan as I drag my eyes back to her face.
She doesn’t mind getting closer to me. She didn’t mind curling into my chest either…
“Latin music fan?” I ask as she attempts to follow my lead.
“First timer.” Her laugh is flustered. She drops her gaze to the floor, locking onto my shoes, and I realize she’s been trying to match her steps to mine.
“Eyes on me, beautiful,” I tell her as I tilt her chin back up with one hand, my other softly stroking the back of hers.
No way am I going to let go of her now. Her eyes flash for just a moment, until I add, “I won’t let you fall.
” Her eyes soften, and I’m almost sorry to see that glimpse of fire leave.
“And I don’t mind if you step on my feet,” I add with a wink.
I’m rewarded with a brilliant smile that I like even more than the feisty glare.
What else can I say to keep basking in that glow?
Slowly she starts to match my movements, and we find a good rhythm together.
“That’s it, hermosa, ” I tell her, and whether she realizes it or not, she blushes at the praise.
“To be totally honest, watching everyone here do their thing has been a little intimidating,” she confesses as her face lights up, her steps more confident now. “But it feels so amazing!”
My smile mirrors hers. “It really is. There’s nothing else like it.” She glances down at my hips, and I exaggerate my sway just a bit. Just for her.
Her cheeks pinken even more, but she doesn’t back down as she raises an eyebrow. “So, you like, what, were born doing this?”
Barking out a laugh, I nod. “Kinda. My family likes to use the kitchen as a dance floor.”
“Really?” she asks, her eyes sparkling.
“Yeah. My dad’s German, but my mom’s Cuban, and Paquita—that’s my grandmother—had all of us salsaing at two years old. The radio is always playing in the kitchen, and most of the time she’ll dance with us to keep us from messing up her food.”
“I hate being in the kitchen, but if it was to dance like this, I think I could tolerate it.” She smirks.
“You hate the kitchen?” I’m shocked. Some of my best memories were made in the kitchen. Plus, where else would you make all the great food?
Her brows furrow and something tells me I’ve misstepped. “Yeah,” she huffs, and starts to pull away from me. “Not every woman wants to be stuck cooking three times a day.” And that’s the nerve I’ve just touched.
“Who said a woman has to do all the cooking? I know my way around the stove… and how to clean up too,” I reply with a dirty wink, drawing her back to me before she can get too upset.
She eyes me from the side before barking out a rough laugh.
Now that I wasn’t expecting, and I love how brazen it is.
“You’re something else, you know that?” she says, her shoulders softening.
“I take my cooking very seriously,” I deadpan, doing my best imitation of a snooty professor. Her grin gets the best of her. “Guess you’ll have to find out sometime.” I wiggle my eyebrows at her and she rolls her eyes, but the smile doesn’t leave her face. Good recovery.
I twirl her around, her back now pressed against my chest and my forearm lightly resting against her collarbone.
It gives me the opportunity to bend close and whisper into her ear, “And I would never expect someone else to cook for me just because they’re female—although, I wouldn’t mind looking at this view.
” It takes all my self-restraint to keep from licking a line up her neck as I feel her shiver against my breath.
“You did not just deflect a sexist statement with a pickup line.” She gulps as she turns back to face me.
“No, hermosa , that wasn’t a line. I was being honest. About all of it.” Her eyes narrow as they search mine, and I hope she reads my sincerity.
I love how she speaks her mind even though we’re strangers.
She doesn’t back away from a challenge. I can see us having lively conversations over morning coffee on the porch—that I’ll prepare for her of course—once I learn how she takes it.
I’ve never been more grateful that Paquita insisted we all learn how to cook.
Now I’ll get to show off those skills to this one woman.
“I’m Michael. What’s your name, beautiful?
” Not wanting to give her a chance to question my motivations, it’s time to change tactics.
Plus, I’ve been dying to know, and I don’t think she’d appreciate me calling her “my wife” right off the bat.
It might slip out if I’m not careful. She hesitates for a second, then tells me what I hope is her real name.
“Vivian.”
“What are you doing out here tonight?” I ask as the song changes again. I don’t recognize this one, but I welcome the slower beat so I can bring my woman— Vivian , my heart says on repeat—closer in my arms. Only our hands touch, and I want to close the gap between us. I want more of her.
“Well, my friend couldn’t make it, and I was already dressed and ready to go. So I decided to come out anyway.” She laughs. “The music is pretty good so far, and you don’t have to go all the way downtown, so… what about you?”
“First time too,” I reply.
“For real?” She squints at me, cocking her head to the side. Maybe it’s my dance moves?
“Yeah. I don’t party all that much, but some of the guys dragged me out here after work,” I tell her.
“Ah, that explains the whole executive look.” She touches the rolled-up cuff of my shirt.
I take the opportunity to grab her hand, lifting it above her head and giving her a twirl.
Man, she’s quick and graceful on those sexy little heels.
She gasps as she returns to face me, a little bit breathless and her eyes shining even brighter.
Plenty of girls look pretty when they smile, but Vivan positively glows, and it warms both my body and heart.
She’s so vivacious; nothing fake, all genuine. It’s refreshing.
“This isn’t fair. You’ve been doing this since you were a kid!” she protests, her eyes sparkling. Her hands haven’t let go of mine for a second.
“You look pretty amazing from what I can see,” I respond. I reach up and twirl her again, this time pulling her closer to me as she comes out of the turn. There’s not even a sliver of space between our chests now, pressed close enough that I feel her sharp inhale.
Along with every damn curve of her chest. Carajo .
Her gaze is mesmerized by where we touch, her silver top and my white shirt almost melding into one.
I feel her nipples harden underneath the flimsy fabric.
No bra , I realize, and almost groan aloud.
Holy shit, she’s killing me. “You good?” My voice is low and raspy as I cup her chin to look directly in her eyes.
Say yes. Please say you want this just as much as me.
Her brow furrows, then she releases a breath.
“Yeah,” she says, a small smile pulling at her lips.
“I think I am.” I draw Vivian closer still as the music changes to a sultry bachata.
Hints of jasmine mix with the sweetness of her sweat and make me want to drink her in even more.
Small tendrils of hair escape her loose bun, and I envision what that might look like in the morning on my pillow.
Too soon , I tell myself, but I can’t help where my mind wanders.
A bead of sweat trails its way down her chest, slowly heading down, down, between her breasts.
My finger’s out to trace it before I realize what I’m doing, and I capture it before it can fall all the way under her shirt.
Bringing it to my lips, I suck and close my eyes.
Her sweat is delicious and her resulting gasp is just as intoxicating. I can’t wait to hear that in our bed.
I drag my hands lower, my thumbs brushing her hip bones as my fingers cradle her ass.
My hold is tight enough to rock our bodies to the sensuous beat, but light enough that she can push away anytime she wants.
She can’t have mistaken my touch, but I keep reminding myself that just because I’m drunk on the sight and smell of her doesn’t mean she feels it too.
I hate that idea but respect her enough to give her space.
But she’s not pulling away, not even a millimeter, and I subtly breathe her in, soaking up the paradise I’ve found with her in my arms.
We settle into a comfortable rhythm, our movements sure and harmonious, two souls aligned on the dance floor.
An overwhelming sense of peace consumes me, even while my heart beats so rapidly I am sure she can feel it through my shirt.
I couldn’t rip my gaze away from her if I wanted to, and I hope she feels even a fraction of what I do.
Like we fit together.
Like we are made for each other.