Page 48 of Watch Me

My partner smiles charmingly and takes hold of the older woman’s hand. “Shall we?”

Off they go. I watch Kristoff handle Alejandro’s mother with aplomb as he leads her into a waltz. The problem is, with Kristoff engaged, well-wishers and competitors are headed my way.

My father approaches first with a proud gleam in his eyes and a big hug. After I quickly introduce him to Alejandro and bask in my dad’s pride, I kiss his cheek. Then I grab Alejandro’s hand and drag him backstage, down a poorly lit, winding hallway, into an empty office. I have no idea who it belongs to—and don’t care—but I shut the door behind me and lock it.

“Hi.” I smile. “I’m so grateful you came. Thank you.”

God, can he hear my heart pounding like an up-tempo song at full blast?

“You sent tickets. This competition meant a great deal to you.” I hear the edge of anger in his voice, glimpse it in his tight jaw.

“Not as much as you. I know that now.” I bite my lip, wondering how bad it’s going to hurt if he doesn’t want to hear what I have to say. “I’m sorry about…the other morning. You know, leaving you without a word. For everything, really. Please tell me you don’t hate me.”

“I don’t hate you.”

His face still gives me no inkling about his true feelings, but I consider not hating me a decent start. I rush to Alejandro, throw my arms around his neck, and kiss him like there’s no tomorrow.

Then again, unless I convince him of my sincerity, there might not be a tomorrow for the two of us.

He kisses me back. Oh, does he ever. And he tastes so good. Like brandy and a hint of cinnamon. Hot. And a few moments later, the kiss turns hungry, insistent as he devours my lips. He throws his arms around me, bands them tight around my middle, as if telling me without words that I’m not going anywhere again. I melt and become a puddle at his feet.

Long minutes and a pair of damp panties later, I break away, breathing like I’ve run a marathon. And unable to restrain a hopeful smile. “Does that mean you forgive me?”

“For leaving me alone in my bed? Hmm, I may need more…persuading.” A smile toys at the corners of his lips.

“Does tonight work for you?” I cup his cheek in my hand, look right into those killer hazel eyes, and throw caution to the wind.

“I may require more nights. Many of them.”

Hope bursts in my heart, so explosive I can hardly breathe. “You got it. I’m so sorry. What I did was insensitive. I know it. I knew it then. I was just...scared. But I’m not anymore. And I want you to know that I care about you. A lot.”

He quirks a dark brow. “Care. In what way?”

I know I have his attention. Not only do I feel it against my hip, I feel it in his gaze, in the way his arms tighten around me.

“How much,querida?” he prompts again.

I swallow down the tangle of anxiety and need and anticipation threatening to kill my courage. “I love you.”

Those three words have barely cleared my lips before he steps around me and, with an impatient arm, wipes every piece of paper off the flat, faux-wood desk and onto the floor. A moment later, my back is against the cool laminated surface and every inch of his body covers me completely, from the bunching shoulders beneath his elegant coat to the hard abs that ripple with every breath.

“Say it again.” His voice is thick with demand.

“I love you.”

“And you mean it?”

“Except my dad, I’ve never said those three words to a man. Ever.”

Finally, warmth softens Alejandro’s strong, square face. Happiness, hunger, adoration…and love follow. “I understand, and I forgive you.Te amo, querida. I love you, too.”

Then he kisses me again, long endless moments where I feel blissfully lost in passion. Alejandro’s endless caress shimmers want in every crevice, corner, and nerve ending. I want the moment to last forever.

With a moan, he lifts his head, his hazel eyes snapping with a hunger like I’ve never seen. “What I want to do to you…with you, to show you how I feel… How do I get you out of this infernal costume?”

“I want you,” I breathe the words against his mouth. “I want you so much…but I was sewn into this getup. If you take it off, we won’t get it back on, and I have nothing else to wear.”

He curses in Spanish. No matter how melodious that sounds, I have no doubt it’s foul.

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