Mickie
Had he just said…salsa dancing?
How many cocktails had I had?
I looked at Dawson in bewilderment. “But you don’t dance.”
He took my hand and pulled me in close. “But you do,” he said in a low voice. “And I can’t guarantee you’ll enjoy doing this with me. But I’d at least like to try.”
My knees almost buckled.
I wanted to melt into a puddle at his feet.
I put my hand on his chest. He was as strong and fit as he always had been. “That’s all I’ve ever asked.”
When we walked inside the club, we were met by pulsing salsa music, colorful strings of lights lighting up the dance floor, and dozens of couples of all ages. I quickly learned there was an area off to the side where beginners learned the steps before making their way to the actual dance floor. I was relieved to see that most of the couples in attendance were seemingly beginners like us.
Dawson gripped my hand tighter as we found a place on the practice floor. I knew he was probably nervous because he really didn’t dance. That wasn’t to say he couldn’t dance. To be honest, I really didn’t know if he could or not. Because in ten years, I’d never seen him even try to do any form of dancing. He’d slow danced once with me at our wedding, and that was it.
But despite my eagerness, I didn’t have a flipping clue how to salsa dance, either. So, we were in the same boat.
The instructor walked onto the floor in a flouncy skirt and a gregarious smile. She introduced herself as Rita, and bounced around the room, making sure everyone was paired up. She had to be around fifty, but damned if she still didn’t have a ton of energy.
“Okay,” Rita announced. “First, we’re going to learn the front-back basic and side basic steps, then closed position.”
Whatever that meant.
When Dawson’s eyes widened with panic, I gave him a reassuring smile. At least, I hoped it was reassuring. No matter what happened, I wouldn’t let him regret bringing us here. I was already having a blast.
Music came on over the speakers, and Rita’s partner took her into his arms, demonstrating the correct technique. Dawson and I watched them for a few steps and then looked back at each other. He gave me an Are you sure you want to do this? look. I just stepped into his space, and raised my eyebrow in challenge.
I mentally patted myself on the back when his jaw set with determination.
He never could refuse a good challenge.
After several minutes, we were really getting the hang of it. He was much more coordinated on his feet than he gave himself credit for.
“You’re not too bad, Detective Cruz,” I said.
He looked up from watching our feet. He’d apologized profusely for stepping on my foot in the beginning, and had been carefully studying our steps ever since. “Only because I have you as a partner,” he replied. “You make it easy.”
“Okay, now we’re going to move on to the back basic and cumbia basic step, then open position!” Rita yelled over the music, drawing everyone’s attention to her and her partner.
Dawson’s horror-stricken eyes once again flew to mine. “There’s more? I thought that was it.”
I laughed and squeezed his shoulders. “Honey, I’m pretty sure there’s a lot more.”
Not too much, though. Combining all the steps we learned was easy enough once we ran through them a few times. And we only learned basic timing—apparently, there was more than one—which was much easier to apply to different musical selections.
“You all look fabulous!” Rita cheered, clapping her hands. “Now, get out on that dance floor and salsa your asses off!”
Dawson didn’t look as enthusiastic. “I’m going to make you look bad,” he said.
I grabbed him by both hands and physically dragged him onto the floor. “Nonsense. I’ll just make you look good.”
He groaned. “This is not going to go well.”
I halted our movements, and put on my stern face. The one I usually reserved for Leo and Gabby. But, hey, whatever works. “The Dawson Cruz I know isn’t afraid of anything.” Something sparked in his eyes, and I bit back a smug grin. “Now, come on. You said you brought me here to dance with me, right?”
He slowly nodded his head, his mouth spreading into a reluctant smile.
“Okay, then.” I wrapped his arms around me and placed our bodies in position, just as a new song started. “Show me your best moves, Cruz.”
We started to move, him leading and me following. “Careful, babe,” he warned in a dangerously sexy voice. “You remember what happens when you push me.”
Heat spread throughout my body, making all my nerve endings tingle. “I remember what used to happen. But I don’t know. That side of you has been dormant for a while. It may not even still be in there.”
That would definitely push him, and I wondered for a minute if I should have said it. I immediately rejected the idea when he swiftly spun me around with surprising skill.
That hadn’t been in the lesson.
He grinned. “Trust me. The way you push me—the way you affect me—that’s always been there.” He started grinding his hips into mine. I let out a soft moan at the contact, the pressure. “And it always will be there, Mick,” he whispered in my ear.
The dance had suddenly gone from a fast-paced, lively salsa to a slow and sensual sway. Almost like a rumba. But we didn’t know how to rumba. Our bodies were simply joined at the most vital areas, and we were just moving against each other.
Rolling our hips.
Rubbing our chests.
Groping with our hands.
Just…connecting.
“Do I push you, too?” he asked, his open mouth now at my neck.
His lips grazed down my skin, his hot breath leaving behind a trail of goosebumps. It took all the control I had in me not to let my eyes roll back in my head.
“How so?” I managed.
“Do I get to you?” he asked. His hand skated down my back, lower, lower…until he reached my ass and squeezed. I sucked in a sharp breath. “When I touch you, do I still make you wet? Can I still make you moan with just a few kisses?”
Were we even still dancing anymore?
Who cared?
“Have you been touching yourself without me around, baby?” he asked.
He was practically carrying me at this point, holding almost all my weight in his arms. I couldn’t concentrate enough to even stand up on my own.
“When you get yourself off with your fingers, do you think of me?”
Only every single time.
“Because I think of you, Mick.”
Holy hell.
I was about to combust.
“These past two months, every time I’ve fucked my own hand, I’ve imagined it was you.” I could feel his dick harden as it rubbed against my center. “It’s always you. I picture myself sinking into your sweet pussy, being surrounded by your heat. It does it for me every goddamn time. Drives me fucking crazy.”
Sweat had gathered at the nape of my neck and between my breasts. I was so tempted to grab him by the back of his head, and force him to lick it off me. His tongue had powers that far exceeded average human capabilities, and I wanted it on me in the dirtiest of ways.
All thoughts of decorum had clearly gone out the window.
“I know what would feel even better,” I found myself saying.
He squeezed my ass harder. “Yeah? What’s that, baby?”
“You…taking me home.” I was so worked up, I could hardly breathe. “And fucking me in our bed.”
Wait, what was I saying?
Were we ready for that?
After all this time, should I be giving in so easily?
He growled into my neck. “I’ve been waiting to hear you say those words for two fucking months. Be sure that’s what you want.”
I don’t think I’d ever wanted anything more.
“I…need you,” I whispered.
He groaned so loudly, I was sure the people closest to us heard him.
Not that I gave a damn.
“You can’t possibly expect me to say no when you tell me things like that,” he said through gritted teeth.
“I wasn’t asking you to say no,” I replied. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.”
He pulled away, slightly leaning back to look me in the eyes. He searched my expression, I suppose to assure himself that I was serious and not just caught up in our hot, lustful dance.
I was caught up.
But that didn’t mean I wasn’t serious about him taking me home.
“Then let’s get the hell out of here,” he grated out.
Right away, Detective.
But he didn’t stop dancing.
Instead, he kept searching my face, kept touching me in places that made me breathless. He bent forward, bringing his mouth closer to mine. His eyes glazed over, as they always did when he was about to kiss me.
Hallelujah! He was about to kiss me!
When he was so close I could inhale his breaths as my own, there was a buzzing in his pants pocket. Overwhelming disappointment drowned out my arousal when his eyes squeezed shut in a way that told me he was going to take the call. And when he did, he would probably have to leave me.
It had happened so many times before.
He didn’t officially work most nights. But you couldn’t exactly punch a time clock with homicide investigations.
Thanks a lot, all you inconsiderate murderers out there. Way to cock-block us.
He didn’t remove his eyes from mine when he pulled his phone out and answered it. “This had better be a fucking emergency,” he spat into the receiver.
The longer he listened to the other person on the phone—whom I assumed to be his partner, Kyle—the flatter his eyes went. They did that whenever he was turning off his emotions and going cold, which he usually had to do with his job. I knew that whatever was being discussed was not going to bode well for the rest of the evening’s plans.
“Got’cha,” he responded to the person on the phone. “I’ll be there in twenty.”
I tried my best not to look too distraught. He had made significant effort tonight. Taking me dancing, and actually dancing with me, was something I never—not in a million years—thought he would do.
This was his job, and he couldn’t help it when people were killed.
I needed to cut him some slack. Especially when he hung up and looked at me with so much guilt.
“Work?”
He nodded, his expression apologetic. “I’m really sorry—”
“Don’t worry about,” I said, cutting him off. “I understand. You have a job to do.”
His forehead creased. He looked confused by my reaction. “Are you sure? I mean, this night was supposed to be about us.”
I smiled warmly. “And we’ll have other nights. It’s okay, Dawson. Really.”
He walked me to the door when he dropped me back off at the house. It looked like there were so many things he wanted to say in that moment, but couldn’t find the words to communicate them.
“Could I come by tonight after I’m done working?” he asked.
I knew what he was asking. Could we continue what we’d started at the club?
“Sure, if it’s not too late.”
Despite my words, I knew the spell was broken. And it would, in fact, be too late to rekindle that fire by the time he got home. With his cases, it usually was.
He seemed to read my thoughts and curtly nodded his acceptance. “‘Night, Mick.” He kissed me on the cheek.
I got the feeling he’d stopped himself from going for the lips because there was a good chance we’d get too caught up if our tongues connected.
And then he would never make it into work.
“Be safe,” I called out, watching him walk back to his car.
He peered over his shoulder and winked. “Always.”