Page 13 of Stuck With My Rockstar Boss
We find a divey tiki bar at the end of the beach. “Seems like half of traveling is drinking watered down cocktails,” I say, after ordering a pina colada.
“That’s what happens when you order sweet drinks like pina coladas,” he replies, twisting the words pina colada in a teasing way.
“Hey! I like a pina colada now and then. What’s wrong with a pina colada?”
Lucas grins. “Nothing! Just don’t be surprised when they forget the rum.”
In this case, though, they certainly did not forget the rum. So much so they’ve put a shot of it right on top so there’s a little pool of amber liquid with an island of pina colada in the center, decorated with a skewer of cherries, pineapple, and, of course, a fun yellow umbrella as well. “Forgot the rum my ass,” I murmur.
Lucas bursts into laughter. “Fine. I’m not too proud to admit when I’m wrong.”
“Thank god,” I say after a sip of pina colada. “Because this shit is strong.”
I’m drunk after only an hour. Like drunk drunk. The rum and sugar are like a Molotov to my brain. And the Caribbean beats flowing from the band are sending sparks through my body. And Lucas… well, he’s enjoying himself. We probably should have made a rule about me drinking on the job, although I throw a mean left hook when I’m drunk.
His eyes are lazy with drink. Mojito. After I cajoled him away from cervezas. “You like the music, hm?”
I realize I’ve been bobbing my head up and down, tapping my hand on the bar. “It’s a good beat. I like things you can dance to.”
“You like to dance?”
I nod. “Oh, hell yeah. Who doesn’t?”
Lucas’s lips quirk to the side. “People with no rhythm.” He stands up off his bar stool and holds out his hand to me. “Lucky for you, I don’t have that problem.”
I hold my breath. I know he’s talking about dancing, but I can’t help but imagine his rhythm in other matters. “Of course, you don’t. You’re…” I lean in and whisper in his ear, “A rockstar.”
“I know you think you’re whispering, Mika, but you’re actually really loud,” he says with a grin. “Come on.”
I know I shouldn’t. I should actually order some food and sober up. I’m not good as a chaperone like this. But his hand, right there before me, extended with his marvelous fingers. His gaze is inviting and tempting. Like the ocean. I want to know what’s on the other side. I take the last, watered-down sip of my drink and put my hand in his. “Let’s see if you can keep up with me.”
“Hey, it’s not a competition…” he drawls, guiding me onto the dance floor that is peppered with a few couples. “…we’re just dancing.” Lucas tugs on my arm and positions me in front of him. He gently wraps his hand around my waist. “This okay?”
“Oh, we’re like dancing dancing,” I say with smile and put my hand on his shoulder.
Lucas laughs, tilting his head back, exposing his Adam’s apple. Man, I’d love to kiss his neck. “Is there any other way?” He takes my free hand in his and holds it up to shoulder height. Lucas is taller than me, not overbearingly so, but I still feel so dainty in his arms. “Ready?”
I nod. Easily, we fall into a cha-cha rhythm, or feet balancing front and back. It’s remarkable how easy it is and how good he is at leading me around the floor. And he’s not just moving his feet; his hips work in tandem. Every time I glance down and see the roll of his hips, I feel faint.
“You do a lot of Latin dancing?” I ask.
“I’ve picked a few things here and there,” Lucas replies and jerks my arm up to spin me around.
I let out a loud laugh and trip back into his arms.
“Careful! You really are drunk, aren’t you?”
“Wasn’t it obvious?” I say, biting my lip.
Lucas’s eyes fall from mine to our feet, counting the beats of the music. He really is a natural when it comes to rhythm. Imperceptibly, we draw closer and closer until our fronts gingerly brush up against one another. It’s what the dance calls for, right? The heat and passion of the music. It’s just a part of it.
Right?
We pass an older couple who give us jolly grins and we exchange pleasantries and encouragements. The older man suggests we trade partners and Lucas laughs, “Not a chance.” His hand tightens on my waist. Protective or… possessive. He needs me. Even if it’s just to make sure he’s untouchable… he needs me.
God, that makes me want him. And I can’t want Lucas Tremaine. My life depends on it.
I look up at Lucas. The song is winding down which means it’s hitting its climax. His green eyes are barely visible around his swollen pupils. His mouth hangs open, catching his breath, but he smiles at me.
