Page 5 of Watch Me

“Ah, I think you recall that night.” A smile lifts the edges of his lips.

“Alejandro, isn’t it?”

“Diaz, yes.”

Steeling myself against the impact of his touch, I slide my hand in his. No matter how prepared I thought I was for skin-on-skin contact, I was horribly wrong. A wild gong of want beats through me the second my palm brushes his. I brace for the rush of heat as I stand.

“The music is starting. Shall we?” He gestures to the dance floor, then eases me forward with a hand at the small of my back.

An involuntary shudder rolls through me.

“Sure.” What else can I say? This is his three minutes; he’s paid for them, so I owe him that.

But not a second more.

A soft Latin rhythm begins to fill the room from the overhead speakers. Sensual and hypnotic, the music speaks of a humid summer night shared by lovers. I nearly groan. Great, a rumba, the dance of love. The one that most emulates passion and sex. As a first dance, why?

Alejandro grabs my wrist and pulls me against him. I try to stop myself from crashing against his body by planting a hand on his chest. But my fingers only encounter hard muscle. He’s like a rock under that starched shirt, and given his mile-wide shoulders, I’m suddenly sure that seeing him naked would be ten times better than a slice of sinful chocolate cake.

He hooks a finger under my chin. Reluctantly, I lift my gaze. The heat in his hazel eyes could melt steel.Look away. Get away!But I can’t. Once our gazes connect, I’m locked in, fused to him in a way I don’t understand.

That stare sizzles all through me…and settles right between my legs. I can’t break his gaze.

In the past, sex has been something I could take or leave. At the moment, I ache to take anything he’s willing to give me.

How can he do that to me with a mere glance?

As I try to find my breath and my wits, he curls a thick arm around my waist, drawing me even closer. His whole body is hard…every inch of it. From the feel of him, many inches. I’m beyond tempted.

Thank god these dances are short.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur as we take our positions. “I’m a bit…distracted tonight.”

“Then allow me to help your focus,querida.” He pulls me closer, his tone warning that he means to get his way—and have his way with me.

I gulp. When I’m near Alejandro, I can’t seem to focus on anything but the most forbidden.

We begin to dance. He’s incredibly smooth, never dancing on his heels, never losing the beat of the music. And wow, can he move his hips. Perfect figure eights with them. Somewhere along the way, he learned how to dance very well.

Basic boxes quickly give way to an open position, then a cross, which he uses as an opportunity to brush his body against mine and caress my hip. An underarm turn leads me right back to a basic.

He’s really good for an amateur. Everything about the way he moves suggests that he’d be great in bed.

“So, what brings you here tonight?” I ask, grasping at conversational straws. Maybe if we’re talking, I won’t be thinking about how much Alejandro turns me on.

“Isn’t helping orphans a worthwhile cause?”

“It is. Absolutely. But most men would rather simply write a check than ballroom dance.”

“My mother enjoys these things, and giving up an evening is a small price to see her smile.”

Sexy, a good dancer, family-oriented, crazy handsome—Alejandro Diaz seems like every woman’s fantasy. Surely, he’s too good to be true. He must have some terrible flaw I can’t see.

If not…I’m in deep trouble.

My body temperature rises with every suggestive look, every sweep of his hand over my waist and low dive on my hip, each brush of his palm that inches toward my ass.

I’m regretting now that I haven’t allowed a man to scratch my itch in the last two years. Or even invested in a good vibrator. If I had, maybe I wouldn’t feel so tightly wound right now.

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