Page 12 of Six Nights in Paradise

Several hours later we were dressed for the evening, dinner reservations he’d booked months ago awaiting us at one of the resort’s five-star restaurants. I tried not to let it bother me that he’d planned on taking his new wife to dinner, not me, but it caused something deep inside my chest to ache. He wasn’t mine, and up until a week ago, he belonged to someone else entirely.

Dalton informed me that the place we were heading this evening was a bit more formal than where we dined last night, so I slipped on the only cocktail dress I brought with me. It was a snug little black number that hugged my hips and waist, pushing my breasts as high as they could go. The thin spaghetti straps framed my cleavage, flattering my modest C cups and drawing his eyes to the enticing swells of my breasts. I wasn’t extremely well endowed in the bust department, but in this dress, you’d never know it. Dalton swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing noticeably when I finally turned to face him. I’d needed his help zipping up my dress, and he did so with only a little hesitation. I could feel his hot breath against the bare skin between my shoulders as he slowly slid the zipper up, his hands lingering on the material a second longer than necessary. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking, my mind playing tricks on me.

He stepped back and averted his gaze, guilt and shame washing over his features. The moment before, he looked at me as though he wanted to tear the dress from my body and feast onmeinstead. Maybe that was my imagination, too.

He cleared his throat before speaking. “Ready?”

I nodded and slipped on my shoes before grabbing my clutch and heading out. The sun was still a couple hours away from setting, but the breeze off the ocean made the tropical temperature more bearable. We walked to the restaurant and were ushered to our table right away. Dalton’s eyes found mine immediately after settling into our seats, his intense gaze searing into me. I couldn’t get a read on him. One minute he looked like he wanted to rip my clothes off, and the next he watched me like one would an overcurious toddler, with disquieted apprehension and a healthy fear of the inevitable.

We sat in awkward silence as our waitress poured us each a glass of champagne, boasting about how it was authentic, flown in directly from the Champagne region in France. I gulped down my first glass quickly, trying to ease my nerves. I was flustered. A palpable tension had settled around me and Dalton, and I couldn’t guess what had caused it. He sat stiffly in his chair across the table from me, uneasiness pulsating off him in waves. Things were changing between us, and I didn’t know if it was for the better.

I refilled my glass as Dalton sipped at his own and perused the menu. Once we ordered, the champagne and conversation flowed more freely and he began to loosen up. Our dinner was phenomenal, even better than the previous night. I drank a little too much, so I was a bit stumbly as we exited onto the street. Neither of us was ready to return to our villa, so we decided to explore more of the island. We hadn’t seen much of it yet and were ready to remedy that.

Now that the sun was beginning to set, the resort was coming to life and had transformed into an island-wide party. Music and laughter spilled onto the streets, as well as a parade of people. The doors to the bars were flung open and live entertainment was on every corner.

Dalton scowled as a man clapping along with a street band began to dance with me, twirling me around and dipping me dramatically before slipping a tropical flower into my hair, tucking the stem behind my ear. I laughed, not only at his perturbed expression, but at how much fun it was to dance with a stranger in the street.

We stopped in front of a night club that looked promising and he tilted his head to the side in question. I nodded, ready to let loose for a bit. “Temperature” by Sean Paul pounded out of the speakers, the volume nearly deafening when we made it inside. Several people were already on the dance floor writhing and shaking their asses to the beat, half empty drinks balanced precariously in their hands.

“Want a drink?” Dalton’s breath tickled the skin below my ear, causing goosebumps to spread over my arms. His body was so close to mine, his mouth nearly touching my lobe, that I had to suppress the urge to close my eyes and lean into him. I reminded myself he was only doing this to be heard over the music, not because he actually wanted to get close to me.

“Sure,” I shouted back. Lightning shot up my arm when he grabbed my hand and tugged me toward the bar. He dropped it quickly once we’d maneuvered our way through the throng of tipsy club hoppers and the sensation was lost. A few minutes later, he handed me a colorful drink with a paper umbrella sticking out of it. He grabbed his cup of beer and found a couple of empty seats at one of the tables near the DJ.

I sipped my drink as the awkwardness from the beginning of the night started to seep back in. Dalton watched the crowd, doing everything he could to avoid looking at me. The longer we sat there, the more annoyed I became.

If he didn’t want to hang out with me, why did we even come in here?

Draining the rest of my drink in one gulp, I slipped out of my chair and headed for the dance floor. I thought I heard Dalton call my name, but it was so loud in there, it was hard to tell for sure. I began to move, the liquor and champagne coursing through my body and loosening my limbs, my inhibitions slowly fading away.

I danced alone for several minutes, not caring about having a partner, especially if it couldn’t be Dalton. Until a very tall, very good-looking man with a shaved head and perfectly unblemished dark skin stepped up to me, his appreciative eyes rolling over my body. He gave me a genuine smile before leaning in to speak into my ear.

“Could I dance with you?” he asked with a deep, slightly accented voice.

His scent permeated the air around me and I breathed him in. He smelled incredible, a clean masculine scent with just a hint of spice. And he was considerate enough to ask to dance with me, unlike most of the guys I’d encountered in clubs who liked to just come right up to you and start groping and trying to dry-hump you. This guy definitely deserved my attention. He looked like Morris Chestnut and Tyson Beckford had a love child. I wasn’t about to say no to having his body in close proximity to mine. Maybe he could make me forget about Dalton for a little while, forget about the unrequited love being rubbed in my face every second of the day.

“Sure,” I offered flirtatiously. He slipped an arm around my waist to bring our bodies closer and we started to move. We found a rhythm quickly, his hard body grazing mine as we danced. I couldn’t help but smile. This was the most fun I’d had since arriving. Soon he was turning me and pulling me back against his chest. His hand slid around to my waist, his large palm splayed over my stomach. He felt nice pressed against my back.

But Dalton felt better.

My smile faltered with that thought and I pushed it away. This man wanted to be here with me, wanted to be in my space, moving his body against mine. I refused to let thoughts of my temporary roommate ruin this moment.

My smile fell completely when I lifted my gaze and saw Dalton staring at me, his eyes blazing with fury. He stood at the bar, his posture stiff, with a shot glass clenched in his hand. He threw the shot back, swallowing it down in one gulp before slamming the glass back down next to a second empty one and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He stalked toward us with his fists balled at his sides and his jaw set tight. The song currently playing came to an end and there was a brief lull as one song faded into the next. That was the moment Dalton reached us and I stopped moving.

“May I cut in?” he asked gruffly, staring straight into my eyes, though his words were seemingly aimed at my dancing partner.

“That’s up to the lady,” his deep voice boomed from behind me.

I turned to face him. “It’s okay. I know him,” I offered with a smile.

“Alright,” he said, his eyes flashing to Dalton before landing back on me. “I’ll see you around…”

“Taylor,” I offered.

“Nico,” he replied, reaching out his hand. I took it in mine, basking in the warmth and strength. He leaned in and grazed my cheek with a departing kiss before disappearing into the crowd.

I turned to glare at Dalton for interrupting my fun, but he invaded my space, pulling me into his chest before I had a chance. He began to move immediately as the music crescendoed, returning to its previous intensity. Wayne Wonder’s “No Letting Go” set the tempo for our first dance of the evening. I hoped he’d listen to the words and stop holding back. I wanted him to let loose and let me in, but I doubted he ever would.

I was so in shock that he was dancing with me and that he’d permitted us to get so close, allowing so much of our bodies to touch, that at first, I didn’t pay any attention tohowhe danced. But as Shakira began to croon and Wyclef spit his rhymes, I started to realize that he could really move.

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