He nods three times.

“I…I think we should go.”

My brain is spinning from our conversation. Rafa climbs out of the cabana and holds the curtain open for me with one hand, holding his other out to help me to standing.

We walk past the blue shimmering pool and into the ballroom, where people are dancing and drinking. Everyone seems to not have a care in the world, but I’m lost in thought, chewing on my cheek. I smile tightly at several people I know, including the mayor and the police chief, both men who are twenty years older than me.

What would they think if they knew the city’s newspaper publisher was considering exchanging her body for money so she could keep her business open?

I want to get home and hide in bed. But when we’re almost to the door, the DJ segues into a song by Celia Cruz, a Cuban singer. It’s “Rie y Llora”—Laugh and Cry. At the song’s first strains, Rafa catches my eye. He winks at me. Oh hell. We used to dance together to this song. It’s still my favorite Celia song and used to be his, too.

I hesitate and grab his wrist. He leans down, his bare chest in the open shirt close enough that I can feel the heat from his skin. I tug him close to me. All I want is to dance with him.

One last time.

“Yes, Justi?”

“Can we?” I breathe into his ear. “For old time’s sake?”

“Of course, mi corazón.”

He threads his fingers through mine, pulling me to the dance floor. My heartbeat thrums in time with the music, anticipating his nearness.

His right arm goes around my waist, his left hand taking my right. I tense for a second, then relax into his touch. We begin to move. Within a few beats, we’re perfectly synced, our hips moving in time with each other, our eyes locked together. We’d danced together a lot, back when we were in college, spending nights at clubs all over South Beach and Little Havana. We obviously haven’t forgot how to move in tandem, and it’s making me breathless. He draws me close, his warm lips meeting the equally scorching skin of my earlobe.

“For a gringa, you sure can dance.”

I laugh, because he used to say that to me when we danced together all those years ago.

“Amazing what a Southern girl can learn in ballet class,” I toss back. His grin is wide and genuine, and I feel like I’ve earned a trophy.

We’re easily the best dancers on the floor, and people give us room to move. Like in bed, it’s as if our bodies have never forgotten how crazy-perfect they are together. Our hips and feet circle and flow in unison as we move. Rafa leads me in several spins, and I’m not shy about taking a good, long look at his chest or lower. My eyes find his, and we stay there, locked, for an entire song chorus. This is nearly as erotic as kissing.

Teasing.

Touching.

Wanting.

I shimmy forward, close to him, and he circles my waist with one arm while taking my wrist in his other. I put my palm on his bare chest and slide it down his stomach while shaking my hips perfectly in time to the music.

He draws me even closer, my skin sparking. And then he does something that makes me melt: he softly sings the lyrics into my ear in Spanish.

Hell. I’m finished. Toast. Powerless.

He’s leading me in dance the way he used to lead in bed, and with each beat, each step, my resolve to resist him crumbles. Positioning me with firm hands, he moves me so his knee is between my legs. We’re all but simulating sex now. Our bodies undulate perfectly with one another, practically acting out all the erotic fantasies flooding my brain. It won’t take much to be alone and move exactly like we are on the dance floor. Except naked, of course.

He spins me around and fans his hand across my waist, moving me with a possessive squeeze. God, the grind of his hips is so lascivious that I glance around to see if people are watching.

They are. I don’t care.

For the song’s dramatic finish, he dips me back, low, then eases me up upright. I’m out of breath and giddy. My hands go around his neck for a hug, and he draws me close, picks me up, and spins me around. His nearness is the most addictive drug. I know it’s destructive and life-changing, but I can’t help but want more.

“Rafecito?” I’m still in his arms, and I cradle his face in my hands.

“Yes, baby?”

I shiver at his low, sexy accent. “I accept your proposal.”

“I didn’t think you would say yes, Justi. But I’m glad you did. It makes this so much more interesting, don’t you think?”

We’re in Rafa’s car, and I sink into the leather seat. My skin prickles with awareness at the tone in his voice. We’re about to act out our biggest fantasy yet, one that has grave consequences for my future and that of the Times.

Am I crazy? I’m not sure. I know what I am, though: turned on. I squirm in the buttery leather seat, feeling dampness between my legs. I’m glad it’s dark, because I’m certain my face is flushed.

Despite my hectic inner thoughts, I try to sound casual. “I figure if corporate America has screwed journalism, I might as well screw corporate America to save my newspaper.” I laugh at the absurdity of the statement, although deep down, there’s a kernel of truth.

Rafael chuckles. “So dramatic, muñeca. Have you ever considered a career in fiction instead of news?”

He rests his right hand under my skirt on my upper thigh. His little finger is only a few inches from my damp panties. Dancing with him, moving sensually against him, staring into his eyes—all of those things made me desire him even more. He always knew how to tempt me, and tonight is no exception. He runs a line up and down my inner thigh, and I part my legs, which makes him glance over with half-lidded eyes.

“Pay attention to the road,” I tease, opening my legs an inch more.

Rafa laughs and squeezes my knee, hard, and I try to ignore the heat building in me. I lean back and close my eyes for the short ride to his hotel, reveling in the feeling of his big hand on my bare skin. I think about what his fingers will soon do, how they’ll tease and soothe, spread and circle. Wetness rushes between my legs. When I feel the car turn, I open my eyes. We’re on my street, and I’m dizzy with lust.

“What? Why are we here? Don’t you want me to come to your hotel tonight? Oh, well, I guess this is good because I can grab a change of clothes. So thank you.” I lean over and give him a quick peck on the cheek.

He hums but doesn’t answer.

“Or we can finish what we started the other night in my bed? Because that’s totally fine with me, too.”

He shushes me by putting a finger to his lips. This was one of our old games, me staying silent and him giving commands. I smile and wriggle in my seat. I cannot wait to fuck him. I’m letting lust rule everything now, having mentally jumped off the ethically challenged cliff.

Rafael parks in front of my bungalow and practically jumps out of the car so he can open my door. I tremble as he takes my hand and leads me up the walkway. I can’t wait to slip my hands under his shirt and caress his chest, to sleep in his scent all night, to kiss his full mouth.

To wake in his arms.

I fumble for my keys and drop them on the welcome mat. Rafael swoops down to pick them up, then with steady hands, turns the key in the lock himself.

I lick my lips, thinking about kissing him like I did the other night. It’s all I want, his lips on mine, his hands on my skin. Most of all, I want to forget all of the things that have brought us here, to my doorstep, to this weird and anxious moment. I want to hug him until all the ill feelings go away and only the good and pure memories of the past remain.

I push the door open and step inside. When I realize that Rafa isn’t following, I stop and turn. “Well? Aren’t you coming?”

He shakes his head. I return to the doorway. “I thought we were going to spend every night together while you’re here?”

What game is he playing now?

“We’re going to start tomorrow night. I have things I need to take care of first.” Rafa tries to shove his hands into pockets at his hips, but since he’s wearing the ridiculous pirate pants that don’t have pockets, he ends up making a little wiping motion on his legs instead.

I step closer. “Tomorrow. Okay.” The old Rafael would’ve pinned me on the kitchen table and ripped off my clothes by now. My stomach plummets with disappointment.

“Yes. I’ll pick you up at eight. Dress nicely, I’m taking you to dinner.”

“Do you want me to suggest some restaurants in the area?”

He shakes his head. “No. I’ll decide. We’ll go somewhere nice. Just look beautiful for me. That’s your only job.”

“Fine. Eight.” I bristle a little at his domineering words, but I can’t deny that the sexual tension is thicker than the Florida humidity. I detect a flush of perspiration on the backs of my knees as I grip the edge of the door. Dammit, I want him to spend the night.

“I’m going to have a nightcap.” My eyebrows plead the obvious question.

He shakes his head, a sexy smile dancing on his lips. “You’ll have to wait one more night for me.”

His words spark electricity through my body. I want to throw myself at him, violently kiss him, drag him inside and consume him until he begs for mercy. To say I’m sex-starved is an understatement. I am starved for good sex, passionate sex. Rafa sex. And now that I’ve gotten a little taste of him, now that I’ve acquiesced to his indecent proposal, I’m willing to beg.

I step a little closer, and he braces his hands on either side of the doorframe.

“I guess I can wait,” I murmur, my eyes sweeping down his bare chest. “You’re teasing me, though. I’d really like for you to stay with me tonight.”

He laughs. “I know. But it’s better if we wait. Plus I have a couple more requests so you’re nice and ready for me.”

What now? How much more can I give of myself? I look at him, incredulous.

“I want you to gather your things. Pack enough for a few weeks, bring everything you’ll need. Clothes, makeup, books, whatever. If you have something formal, bring that because we might attend an event in Miami. If you don’t have anything appropriate, I’ll buy you something.”

Is he for real? This is too much. I huff out a laugh. “I can’t go home for the next few weeks?”

“Why would you want to? Why would you need to?”

True, I have nothing to stay home for. Not a dog or a cat, not even a plant. I rub my lips together. “We can’t sleep here sometimes? This is my home.”

“We’ll see. Perhaps. I want to be with you on neutral territory, and I think you’ll enjoy being pampered in various ways after work each night.”

“Fine. But I do have obligations. Diana’s baby shower is in a couple of weeks. I have to go to that.”

“You’re not a captive. You’re not my slave. Of course you can go to her shower. I have business to handle in Miami for a couple of nights, so our schedules might coordinate. You can see your girlfriends. But I want to end every day with my hands on your skin and wake up every morning with my lips on yours. I want to do what I used to with you and your body.”

A hot shiver flows through me, and dirty images flood my brain. “You want to dominate me.” I say this as a fact, not a question.

He nods.

“So why aren’t we starting tonight?”

The biggest grin spreads across his lips. “I love it. So eager. So willing. So different than the other night when you tossed me out of your bed. I guess money has a strange way of motivating people.”

Now he’s being a jerk. “That’s so low. You know it’s not true. You know that I loved you when you had nothing—”

“Shh. We’re not going to talk about the past.” He grimaces and rakes a hand through his short hair.

I stifle a glare. If only he knew how I wanted both things in my life—my business and him—without complications, without deals, and definitely without time limits.

“I’m not going to deny that it will be…” I hesitate, trying to ignore his cruel remarks. “…entertaining to enjoy some of your talents again.”

Laughing, he reaches into his back pocket and takes out his wallet. He extracts a wad of bills, folds them, and hands them to me. I stare at the money, mute.

“Here. Take this and go to the spa tomorrow. Hair, nails, whatever you want. Buy some lingerie. Also, get a Brazilian wax.”

“Okay, wait a minute. You’re going a little far. Now you really are treating me like a…”

“Like a what?” he asks. “Take the money. It’s a gift.”

I sigh. This is part of his game. We’d played variations on it when we were younger, after we’d been together a couple of years. But the stakes were never this high. I take the cash in my thumb and forefinger, as if it’s covered in hot pepper sauce.

“You didn’t used to think Brazilian waxes were sexy. You always liked me more…um, natural. Have you changed your preference?”

Is he fighting back laughter? He is. Damn him.

“Justine, I’ll be excited by you, with hair or without. I feel like giving you an order, that’s all. It’ll turn me on, thinking about you getting waxed and picking out lingerie just for me. I don’t want you wearing anything that you wore with any other man.”

“But—” I was about to tell him that none of my lingerie—if you could call my two old pairs of lace panties, the boy shorts, and dozens of faded cotton bikinis lingerie—had been near anyone with a penis in a long time.

He interrupts. “No. Please do it. You know what I like to see you in. Simple and sexy. Cotton. Lace.”

I laugh. It’s difficult to deny that I’m still turned on by his commands, despite the gravity of what lies beneath. I shift in my boots, aware that my boy shorts are wet and my nipples tingly.

If this is our game, I’ll have to be more than a participant. I’m going to play and fight and win. It matters little that I haven’t had sex with anyone in a while, unlike Rafael. Not only do I know how to push his buttons, but he’s the one man, the only man, who can fully please me physically. How can I not take advantage of that? If Rafael’s going to use me for sex, I’m going to use him right back. And enjoy every moment.

Summoning my sultriest gaze, I lean forward so I’m about an inch from the rock-solid bare chest that taunts me from beneath the ridiculous pirate shirt. Standing tall, I bite my bottom lip and stare up at him coyly. I make a show of slipping the wad of cash under the elastic at my cleavage.

“I don’t know that I’ll be as submissive for you now that I’m older,” I whisper.

“Let’s give it a try.” His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he swallows hard.

“The problem is…” I trail a finger down his bare chest. “Right now, I feel like tormenting you a little.”

“That’s nothing new,” he growls.

I brush my lips over his softly, kissing his full mouth with tenderness. The faint stubble on his jaw feels dangerously rough when my fingertips explore his face, and he relaxes his muscles.

My tongue finds its way into his mouth and touches his. He tastes like the spearmints he chewed repeatedly in the car. And he’s nervous. I can tell by the way his hands squeeze tight at my waist as he draws me near. My breasts brush his chest, and I wish we weren’t wearing clothes.

I break away, and we stare into each other’s eyes. I feel my heartbeat, or maybe it’s his. Is he even breathing? Rafa doesn’t move a finger to touch any part of me but my waist. My God. He’s got a lot more willpower than he used to have. Maybe more willpower than I do.

I kiss him again gently. Our tongues touch, and when I lightly suck on the tip of his, I note with satisfaction that he groans softly. My hand goes to his waistband and tugs with one finger, then I slide lower, over the fabric of his pants.

I stop kissing him and smile while I palm his erection. As I do this, I nuzzle into his neck.

“Fuck, Justine,” he says in a ragged breath.

That’s when I stop stroking him and smile.

“Sweet dreams, Rafecito.”

And with that, I shut the door.