“If opportunity doesn't knock, build a door.”—Milton Berle
Charlie squeezed herself between Gage and Brady at the packed bar and ordered a Blue Moon. The upbeat music of trumpets and clave filled the air, revving up the crowd. Gage pushed a twenty dollar bill onto the bar, handing Brady his IPA, and motioned them toward a corner where they could take in the atmosphere and lean comfortably. Gage hooked his fingers through hers, making sure she wasn’t bumped or jostled, and she fought a smile. Too bad Tom couldn’t come tonight. He was stuck working late again at the restaurant, which was another reason Gage had been insistent on a night out. She loved taking turns dancing with both of them at the club, even though most assumed they were part of a ménage. At least, that’s what she told herself as the reason men never hit on her here.
Brady shot her a cool look at their clasped hands, then glanced away. Her skin prickled with awareness. Ever since they’d left the house, she hadn’t been able to rationalize the tension in the air. It was almost as if he was bothered by the idea of her and Gage being a couple. She hadn’t told him about Tom—it was none of his business and Gage’s call. But if he did believe they were together, why would he possibly care?
The image of that almost kiss slammed into her vision. She’d spent the last weeks burying the memory far underground, desperate to ignore the awareness between them. Instead, every day drove her a bit more mad.
His fingers sliding over hers when they adjusted a cabinet. The stretch of his jeans over that tight ass as he bent over. The dark, velvety pull of those sooty eyes as he gazed at her in moody silence, as if thinking things he didn’t want her to know.
Bad things.
She shivered and pressed closer to Gage. Gage drummed his fingers on her hip to the music, content to watch the crowd and drink his own beer. She snuck a sideways glance at Brady, still surprised he’d actually shown up. Even more surprising was his comfort level. She’d expected him to be overdressed, uptight, and a bit awkward.
Instead, he seemed to fit right in.
His jeans were dark-washed and snug. His charcoal button-down shirt had a fancy navy scroll at the cuffs and neck, but looked amazing with his dark hair and eyes. His shoes were red Italian leather that was probably ridiculously expensive and impossible to dance in, but again, they looked good on him. He cocked out his hip, beer casually hooked from his fingers as he took in the dancers. His scent drifted from his skin in an intoxicating flavor of spice and sea salt, reminding her of the special caramels she ordered by the box and only devoured on Valentine’s Day for her own special present to herself.
Not that she wanted to devour him.
Absolutely not.
She shifted her weight closer to Gage and surveyed the room. Tangos reminded her of those old jazz bars where people jammed together at too tiny tables to hear great music. It was hidden underground, with only one half-lit neon sign to advertise its presence. This was a club that wasn’t on Facebook or heavily marketed, because the true fans of Latin music poured in on a regular basis. All forms of dance were highlighted, but salsa was the most favored. Here, the club demanded participation and took their dancing seriously. The darkness lent an air of mystery, and the pounding, energized music lent an air of sexuality. Bodies twisted together on the dance floor, highlighted by flashing red lights, squeezed tight yet claiming their own space by the demands of each couple. The air hung heavy with the ripe scents of sweat and skin, with alcohol and musk, with pungent arousal. The bar was separated from the dance floor by a low wall, and the dining area consisted of small round tables and wooden chairs jammed into every available space. Exposed brick walls collided with red accents, leading to an open floor area packed with dancers.
She’d taken salsa lessons a few years ago and fell in love with the fast, fluid moves that demanded skill, enthusiasm, and high energy.
Gage ducked his head to whisper in her ear. “Ready to dance?”
“Sure.” She turned to Brady, speaking directly in his ear. “Gage and I are hitting the floor. Will you be okay alone?”
She expected him to make an excuse to leave, but he only nodded, those dark eyes filled with a mixture of emotions she couldn’t name. “Go ahead, have fun.”
She forced a smile. “Thanks.” Then she allowed Gage to lead her onto the floor.
When she looked back, Brady had been swallowed up by the crowd. She worried if a woman asked him to dance, he’d panic, but then she was on the floor and the only thing that demanded her attention was the music. Half closing her eyes, she began to soften and relax, to embrace the music and release all the tension she carried with her, shedding her body of expectations and responsibilities and the cares of life.
Her feet spun, tapped, glided. Gage was a solid partner, holding her hands in a firm grip, yet allowing her to lead slightly since he knew she always enjoyed a say in the steps. Her hips swayed, her back arched, and she let herself go free.
God, she loved dancing.
Poor Brady. He had no idea what he was missing.
Brady watched her out on the floor, his gaze pinned to every movement of her body. God, she was gorgeous. He’d never seen someone so enthralled with the music, so able to surrender to the inner demands of the physical and emotional entwined together. Dancing the salsa required a delicate balance, a merging of release and precision, of control and surrender, and if done correctly, the outcome was pure ecstasy—almost orgasmic.
She had no clue he’d been raised on salsa dancing. The tango. The merengue. He’d been taught to embrace all Latin dances since his parents had been regularly dancing since he was a child. He’d actually been to Tangos a few times but had never seen Charlie or Gage here before.
She danced the salsa like she’d been born to it. Limbs loose and elegant, arms holding a firm frame to Gage, her hips rolled and her feet flashed as she spun to the jungle beat of the trumpets and horns and clave, the music encouraging the dancers to go deeper, get wild, lose themselves in the energy of the moment.
He’d almost thrown out his plan and dragged her right to the floor once he spotted her. The pink bling jeans were gone. The glittery T-shirts were tucked away, along with the sparkly sneakers. Tonight, she wore a lipstick-red dress that dared a man not to notice. With plunging cleavage and a skirt that twirled with every spin on the floor, those gorgeous, naked legs teased him with every turn. Her shoes were low heeled with a peekaboo toe and made strictly for dancing. He knew this because his own shoes had been custom made over a year ago. Her blonde hair whipped in the air, teasing her bare shoulders, practically begging him to fist all those silky strands in his hand and pull. Hard.
His dick wept, pressing against the ridge of his jeans. His breath was shallow, his muscles locked in anticipation of what was about to happen. For the first time, he was throwing rational logic away. He had one goal tonight and he wouldn’t leave until it was achieved, no matter what the consequences.
Tonight, he was going to salsa dance with Charlotte Grayson.
Slowly, he dragged in a lungful of air. Steadied himself. Unbuttoned his cuffs and slowly rolled up his shirt sleeves. Undid the first two buttons of his shirt. Put his beer down on the ledge.
And went over to claim her.
* * * *
She was laughing as Gage masterfully led her into a tight spin. Pivoting on her heel, the room whirled around in blurred images until her gaze snagged on a figure walking toward her.
Charlie squinted, sure she was imagining things, until he stood before her. Leashed power radiated in waves, wrapping her within a snug circle of male demand. He nailed her with his stare, those sooty eyes seething with a raw emotion that drove the breath from her lungs. One blue-black curl fell across his forehead in disarray. He’d unbuttoned his shirt and rolled up his cuffs, exposing sinewy arms sprinkled with dark hair. “May I cut in?” His voice was formal, but his gravelly tone dripped with command. He never broke his gaze, lifting his hand and offering it to her.
In seconds, her skin prickled with goose bumps, and her nipples pushed against the thin jersey of her dress. She squeezed her thighs together, suddenly wet and aroused, her core throbbing with need. She blinked, staring at his outstretched hand in half fear, half fascination. What was happening? What was he doing? And why was he looking at her like a sleek panther who’d finally spotted his prey?
A chuckle drifted to her ears. Gage pressed her hand in Brady’s. “Have fun, you two.” He walked off without another glance, leaving them amidst grinding, sweaty bodies pressing against them from all sides.
“Brady, I don’t think—”
With one swift movement, he pulled her against him, his hand pressed into the small of her back, forcing her hips to cradle his. Off balance, she automatically reached up to grab his shoulders. Her nails curled into those rock hard muscles, a groan rising to her lips. The pulsing sexuality of his body against hers short circuited her brain. Her swollen breasts rubbed against his chest, and his mouth stopped inches from hers. Carved lips curled at the corner in a touch of a smirk, but his eyes blazed with an intense sexuality she couldn’t deny or escape. Her eyes widened at the evidence of his arousal, notched securely between her thighs.
“Are you dating Gage?” he demanded.
She blinked, completely disoriented at his direct question. “No. He has a partner named Tom.”
Satisfaction carved out his features. “Good.”
“I don’t understand. You don’t dance.”
“I most certainly do dance.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You never asked.” His gaze practically devoured her. His thumb slid a few inches lower, stopping at the curve of her ass. She shivered. “Dance with me, Charlotte.”
This time, the sound of her full name caused a helpless shudder. Confusion swamped her. “Why?”
“Because I want to. And I think you do, too.”
She stared back at him, tilting her chin upward with a hint of a challenge. “How do I know you can keep up?”
His lip quirked. Damn, he was smoking hot. That combination of arrogance and dark sensuality was wickedly tempting. It was as if a filter had been ripped off her vision, and she saw him in all of his masculine glory. This was crazy. She’d never been attracted to Brady Heart like this before. Had she?
He lowered his head and spoke against her ear, his breath a warm rush of air. “Take the chance. I’ll give you what you want. What you need.” He pulled back slightly, meeting her eyes. “You just have to say yes.”
Standing still on the dance floor as couples whizzed by them, Charlie came to her decision. A slow smile curved her lips. She wouldn’t make it easy for him, though. She intended to pull out all the stops and see if he had what it took. That was the only way she’d allow him to suddenly transcend from irritated coworker to dance partner. And maybe more.
“Yes.”
The blare of the trumpet foreshadowed the challenge ahead. Never breaking his stare, he positioned his arms in the closed position, his strong fingers wrapped around hers. His hand burned a scorching imprint in the small of her back. Then he began to move.
The salsa was a dance very different from the tango—the dance of love. The tango relied on full body contact and was a dance of seduction unfurled in the center of the floor. The salsa was a tease, a flirtation, a promise of what could be. If she had one thing to bet on in life, it was that Brady Heart wouldn’t know how to dance the salsa no matter how much he wanted to try.
She was so very wrong.
He was a master on the dance floor. She’d been used to dancing with Gage and Tom, and was comfortable with her own moves and their easy leads. They played at the salsa.
Brady owned it.
He moved with a speed and grace that took her breath away, leading with a command she’d never experienced. He gave her no choice but to follow, to bend to his will and the will of the salsa, until her body rose with its own demand and gave him what he wanted.
She spun away, launching into a short solo, whipping her hair and shaking her hips to the percussion beat, daring him to match her.
And he did, pulling her in, forcing her into a series of turns while he guided her with strong hands that took control. His red shoes flashed, his onyx eyes blazed, and each time she challenged him, he gave it all back, demanding more.
They danced until sweat dampened their skin and their muscles ached, and still the music pounded in a jungle beat, refusing to stop. The crowd around them disappeared to a distant blur and roar. She was caught up in another world of vast space and physical freedom.
He pushed her, punished her, broke her. With each step her will lessened, until she was a beautiful extension of his limbs, his lean muscles, his inward grace and leashed sensuality. He pushed her away, pulled her in, bent her so far back her hair brushed the floor, then pressed her so tight against his body, there was no separation between them as they became one.
Each time he brought her close, his hands ran over her body, stroked the bare skin of her arms, the curve of her spine, the hard tips of her breasts. Her body was lit from within with a fire that ravaged and burned her alive. It was a dance of seduction and intention, of lust and primitive need. And still, he never stopped, forcing her to meet each one of his steps and give her what he wanted.
Everything.
A whimper broke from her lips. He stopped, dragging her against his chest, his hand fisting in her tangled hair to tug hard, forcing her head back. He studied her face, a curse blistering in the air, and lowered his head. “Charlotte.”
She waited. Then she rose up on her tiptoes, the decision already made.
His mouth took hers.
Like the dance itself, it was a fiery kiss that defied logic, a raw mating of tongues and teeth and want, stripped down to its basic form. Her head spun as she opened wider for his thrusting tongue, thrilling to the fingers digging into her scalp and his dominant kiss. His teeth nipped and his tongue dove deeper, swallowing her moan. His taste swamped her with hunger, and she was mad for more, desperate to feel his lips on her naked skin and between her thighs, crazed to tear off his clothes and reveal every sleek, hard muscle.
He ripped his mouth away, dark eyes gleaming with fierce possession.
Time stopped. They stared at each other for endless moments, the world falling away and leaving them alone in a tunnel of raw emotion, burning hunger, and stunning silence.
His fingers lifted, grazing her swollen lips with the lightest of touches. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time,” he murmured.
Her heart skidded, tripped, stopped. “About damn time.”
That gorgeous mouth tipped in a smile. Before she could reach for him or say anything else, he dropped his hand and stepped back.
“Good night, Charlotte.”
She watched in stunned silence as he left the dance floor and disappeared out the door, leaving her alone.
By the time she made her way back to Gage, she knew everything had changed.
She just didn’t know what she was going to do about it.