Page 9 of Tell Me What You Want, Or Leave Me

I signal him again with my finger to come over, but he refuses so I decide it’s my turn. If the mountain won’t come to Mohammed, then Mohammed must go to the mountain.

As I get up, I have an idea.

Feeling Machiavellian, I take off my top, drop it on the hammock, and, ready to give my husband a feast of a view, slowly walk up to him.

I’m getting so shameless!

Eric stares at me. He eats me up with his eyes, and I blush and my nipples stand at attention.

My God...he really gets me revved up when he looks at me like that.

I stand on my tiptoes to kiss him on the lips.

“I’ve missed you,” I whisper.

He doesn’t move and just stares at me from above. He’s my very own Mr. High and Mighty.

“You were having a very good time talking to that fellow. Who is he?”

“George.”

“And who is George?”

“Let’s see, my love. George is a young man on vacation with his parents,” I say, noticing his furrowed brow. “He was bored, so he decided to come and talk to me. Don’t start up again about predators.”

Eric doesn’t say anything, and I remember the man with the blue shirt.

That guy really was a predator. George, who’s much too young, is one thing, but the guy who offered me a margarita is another.

After a few seconds in which the Iceman simply looks at me, and I’m practically breaking my neck trying to look back at him, he finally cracks a smile.

“I have something with a pink label on ice back in the room,” he says.

I laugh and, without hesitation, run back to the hammock. I grab my things, and, when I dash back to him, panting and with my breasts bouncing in the open air, Eric takes me in his arms and gives me a soft kiss on the lips.

“Let’s go have some fun, Mrs. Zimmerman,” he whispers.

That night there’s a party at the hotel. After dinner, Eric and I grab a couple of comfy seats so we can enjoy the show. The dances are so colorful and everything is so Mexican and I’m having a great time singing along with the music.

Eric looks surprised. “You know this song too?”

I nod and lean over. “My love, I’ve been to so many Luis Miguel concerts in Spain, I know all his songs!” I tell him.

We kiss. We enjoy the moment while the mariachis sing “La Bikina” and slide right into the next song. One of the elegant cowboys in the band asks me to dance, just like they’ve asked some of the other tourists, and, neither shy nor lazy, I accept. “Lucky me!”

He leads me to the dance floor where the rest of the dancers and the tourists do what they can to the beat of the music. Loving every minute, I do the same. I’m never embarrassed to dance—I love to dance. Eric watches me and grins. He looks so relaxed while enjoying the show, and I feel like I’m going to burst from happiness.

And then, as I turn, my eyes connect with the man who offered me a drink and pursued me in the water this morning.

The man in the blue shirt! Oh God...oh God, I hope he doesn’t try to flirt with me again because that would really be asking for it.

I’m nervous, but I don’t know why.

Quickly, I look at Eric, and he winks at me. That’s when I see the stranger walk over and greet him. If it weren’t for my dance partner holding my hand, I might have fallen flat on my face.

I watch as Eric talks warmly with him and has him take my seat. My seat! A few minutes later, the song is over, and the dancer escorts me back to my table. Eric welcomes me with a kiss.

“You dance beautifully.”

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