Page 36 of I Wanna Dance

“Atta girl!”

IDoordashedpizza and then opened a bottle of the Chianti I’d picked up at The Fresh Market.

I set the table, lighting the tea lamps she had in a kitchen drawer in smallholders.

“I thought we were going to eat from the cardboard box,” Leah teased, taking a seat.

“We absolutely will, but it doesn’t mean we shouldn’t have a bottle of wine and some romantic lighting.”

“You are sometimes so sweet it gives me a toothache.”

My Leah was back. She’d shed the sadness, showing anyone who had eyes how resilient she was.

“It’s my Latin charm.” I winked at her and sat across from her.

We ate pizza and talked about work. I’d started telling her more about my company, and she was sharing more about her cases. We were like a normal couple. This is how Camille and I used to talk at the end of the day after the kids were in bed. The conversation was different because we were both in the same field—and Camille had a different, more exuberant energy. Leah was quieter. She was a listener.

I used to feel guilty that I kept comparing Leah with Camille, but lately, I’d gotten comfortable with it. It was what it was. I had two women in my life, and I’d compare them—it was natural. As long as it didn’t lead me down a path of losing the woman I had over the one who was gone, it was alright. At least, that’s what my mother told me when I talked to her and mentioned Leah.

By the time we finished our meal, Leah was laughing at one of my terrible dad jokes, her eyes shining with a warmth that made my chest ache in the best way.

“Did you hear about the salsa dancer who went to therapy?” I asked when we were back on her couch, cuddling. Yeah, I was a man who liked to cuddle. So, shoot me.

“Oh, God,” Leah groaned. “No, Marco, I didn’t.”

“Well, would you like to know what happened?”

She smirked. “Sure.”

“He couldn’t handle the emotional…twists and turns.” I looked at her expectantly, and when she rolled her eyes, I feigned hurt. “You got the joke, right?”

She chuckled. “How do Isabella and Sofia feel about your sense of humor?”

“They love it.”

Much later, we went to bed.

I liked her room. It was pleasantly feminine without being overly so. It smelled like her, and her sheets were better than mine.

“I got them from Brooklinen,” she informed me when I complimented her. “It’s my one indulgence. I love nice gazillion-thread cotton sheets.”

We made love because we’d already started making out on the couch, so it was inevitable.

I caught my breath, and she caught hers as we lay against each other. I kissed her neck and nuzzled her, soaking her in. I was still inside her. I loved being inside her. She was wet and soft. We stayed like that until we both had to clean up.

CHAPTER 17

Leah

Igot into bed first and watched him as he walked toward me from the bathroom.

Marco Cabrera was a beautiful man. He had thick pecs and, like all the sexy Latin men I saw on the covers of the hot romance novels I sometimes found time to read on my Kindle, had a smattering of dark hair on his chest that went down and down and down to the sexiest dick I’d ever seen. He was fit. I knew he went to the gym regularly. He ran and rowed, he’d told me, and the evidence was in his muscular legs.

“What are you looking at?” he teased as he got into bed.

I flushed, a little embarrassed for ogling him like he was a piece of meat. “You’re a very handsome man.”

“Yeah?”

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