Page 20 of One Hotlanta Night
“First timer.” Her laugh is flustered. She drops her gaze to the floor, locking onto my shoes, and I realize she’s been trying to match her steps to mine.
“Eyes on me, beautiful,” I tell her as I tilt her chin back up with one hand, my other softly stroking the back of hers. No way am I going to let go of her now. Her eyes flash for just a moment, until I add, “I won’t let you fall.” Her eyes soften, and I’m almost sorry to see that glimpse of fire leave. “And I don’t mind if you step on my feet,” I add with a wink. I’m rewarded with a brilliant smile that I like even more than the feisty glare. What else can I say to keep basking in that glow? Slowly she starts to match my movements, and we find a good rhythm together. “That’s it,hermosa,” I tell her, and whether she realizes it or not, she blushes at the praise.
“To be totally honest, watching everyone here do their thing has been a little intimidating,” she confesses as her face lights up, her steps more confident now. “But it feels so amazing!”
My smile mirrors hers. “It really is. There’s nothing else like it.” She glances down at my hips, and I exaggerate my sway just a bit. Just for her.
Her cheeks pinken even more, but she doesn’t back down as she raises an eyebrow. “So, you like, what, were born doing this?”
Barking out a laugh, I nod. “Kinda. My family likes to use the kitchen as a dance floor.”
“Really?” she asks, her eyes sparkling.
“Yeah. My dad’s German, but my mom’s Cuban, and Paquita—that’s my grandmother—had all of us salsaing at two years old.The radio is always playing in the kitchen, and most of the time she’ll dance with us to keep us from messing up her food.”
“I hate being in the kitchen, but if it was to dance like this, I think I could tolerate it.” She smirks.
“You hate the kitchen?” I’m shocked. Some of my best memories were made in the kitchen. Plus, where else would you make all the great food?
Her brows furrow and something tells me I’ve misstepped. “Yeah,” she huffs, and starts to pull away from me. “Not every woman wants to be stuck cooking three times a day.” And that’s the nerve I’ve just touched.
“Who said a woman has to do all the cooking? I know my way around the stove… and how to clean up too,” I reply with a dirty wink, drawing her back to me before she can get too upset. She eyes me from the side before barking out a rough laugh. NowthatI wasn’t expecting, and I love how brazen it is.
“You’re something else, you know that?” she says, her shoulders softening.
“I take my cooking very seriously,” I deadpan, doing my best imitation of a snooty professor. Her grin gets the best of her. “Guess you’ll have to find out sometime.” I wiggle my eyebrows at her and she rolls her eyes, but the smile doesn’t leave her face.Good recovery.
I twirl her around, her back now pressed against my chest and my forearm lightly resting against her collarbone. It gives me the opportunity to bend close and whisper into her ear, “And I would never expect someone else to cook for me just because they’re female—although, I wouldn’t mind looking at this view.” It takes all my self-restraint to keep from licking a line up her neck as I feel her shiver against my breath.
“You didnotjust deflect a sexist statement with a pickup line.” She gulps as she turns back to face me.
“No,hermosa, that wasn’t a line. I was being honest. About all of it.” Her eyes narrow as they search mine, and I hope she reads my sincerity.
I love how she speaks her mind even though we’re strangers. She doesn’t back away from a challenge. I can see us having lively conversations over morning coffee on the porch—that I’ll prepare for her of course—once I learn how she takes it. I’ve never been more grateful that Paquita insisted we all learn how to cook. Now I’ll get to show off those skills to thisonewoman.
“I’m Michael. What’s your name, beautiful?” Not wanting to give her a chance to question my motivations, it’s time to change tactics. Plus, I’ve been dying to know, and I don’t think she’d appreciate me calling her “my wife” right off the bat. It might slip out if I’m not careful. She hesitates for a second, then tells me what I hope is her real name.
“Vivian.”
“What are you doing out here tonight?” I ask as the song changes again. I don’t recognize this one, but I welcome the slower beat so I can bring my woman—Vivian, my heart says on repeat—closer in my arms. Only our hands touch, and I want to close the gap between us. I want more of her.
“Well, my friend couldn’t make it, and I was already dressed and ready to go. So I decided to come out anyway.” She laughs. “The music is pretty good so far, and you don’t have to go all the way downtown, so… what about you?”
“First time too,” I reply.
“For real?” She squints at me, cocking her head to the side. Maybe it’s my dance moves?
“Yeah. I don’t party all that much, but some of the guys dragged me out here after work,” I tell her.
“Ah, that explains the whole executive look.” She touches the rolled-up cuff of my shirt. I take the opportunity to grab her hand, lifting it above her head and giving her a twirl. Man, she’squickandgraceful on those sexy little heels. She gasps as she returns to face me, a little bit breathless and her eyes shining even brighter. Plenty of girls look pretty when they smile, but Vivan positively glows, and it warms both my body and heart. She’s so vivacious; nothing fake, all genuine. It’s refreshing.
“This isn’t fair. You’ve been doing this since you were a kid!” she protests, her eyes sparkling. Her hands haven’t let go of mine for a second.
“You look pretty amazing from what I can see,” I respond. I reach up and twirl her again, this time pulling her closer to me as she comes out of the turn. There’s not even a sliver of space between our chests now, pressed close enough that I feel her sharp inhale.
Along with every damn curve of her chest.Carajo.
Her gaze is mesmerized by where we touch, her silver top and my white shirt almost melding into one. I feel her nipples harden underneath the flimsy fabric.No bra, I realize, and almost groan aloud. Holy shit, she’s killing me. “You good?” My voice is low and raspy as I cup her chin to look directly in her eyes.Say yes. Please say you want this just as much as me.
