The gorgeous girl danced madly in the center of the dance floor. She happily soaked up the flash of the paparazzi flashes and grinned widely for the videos taken by other club patrons who’d pulled out their phones the minute she’d taken to the floor. Other beautiful women in skin-revealing dresses danced nearby, but she was the prettiest. An almost electric energy vibed off her, screaming look this way.
Carlos tried to keep his attention on the drinks he was supposed to be pouring, but his gaze kept floating toward the dance floor, directly onto Dakota Starr, the woman making OXCA the hottest club in town tonight. Being distracted by a woman wasn’t like him, especially not a celebrity. They were a dime a dozen here. He consistently won the popular vote as best bartender in Miami. New clubs tried to lure him away from OXCA, but he was loyal to Drew and Ian, his employers.
“That’s trouble in a red dress,” Javier said.
Javier was a relatively new regular at the OXCA bar. He was a family friend, wanna-be-more of Olivia’s, the woman who’d recently gotten engaged to Drew, one of the club’s owners. Like a sap, Javi hadn’t quite given up on Olivia, so he often showed up hoping to catch a glimpse of her.
Carlos sympathized. But he was a bartender. Pouring a shot of sympathy along with his drinks was what he did best. Except for now, when half his attention was on the girl named trouble owning the dance floor.
He poured the Ketel One, then cursed as he remembered the order was for Grey Goose. “Get it together, Los,” Rachel, the waitress waiting on the drinks, snapped. She was normally easygoing, but his screwing up her last three drink orders would mess with her tips.
“Sorry,” he said over the raucous music.
“You got the hots for Dakota Starr?” Rachel asked, jerking her head in the direction of the pop star actress.
“Won’t stop staring,” Javi said. The barbell in his brow glinted in the flashing lights of the club. He smiled slash smirked at Rachel in a way that said Javier would be getting acquainted with yet another OXCA waitress tonight.
Carlos threw him a dirty look that he hoped conveyed the dude would have to find his free shots of Patron elsewhere if he said another word. “Don’t know what you mean.” He kept his gaze on the tiny shot glasses in front of him and told himself if he got all three drinks correct, he could reward himself with another long look at Dakota.
“The poor girl just got jilted,” Rachel said.
He continued to pour drinks, feigning indifference to Rachel’s celebrity gossip, but his full attention was on the story Rachel was telling.
“Last week was supposed to be her wedding,” Rachel continued, “but her movie star fiancé called it off. He was spotted in Maui with a new pretty young thing.”
“Ouch.” Javier threw back another mouthful of his drink, obviously indifferent to the plight of gorgeous celebrities.
Carlos finished pouring with a flourish and helped Rachel stack her tray. Dakota Starr had been engaged? He followed pop culture enough to know who Dakota was and could sing the chorus of her pop dance hit. He hadn’t known she’d been engaged, or that her fiancé had publicly humiliated her.
She didn’t look humiliated. She looked like sex and every male fantasy come to life, dancing twenty feet away from him.
No drink orders came in for a minute and he allowed himself to indulge in watching Dakota dance. Her long blonde hair hung nearly to her waist but flew around her head with the enthusiasm of her dancing. Her golden skin glowed. A scarlet tiny dress moved and whirled with each of her movements.
“Earth to Los.”
With effort, he tugged his glance away from the Dakota spectacle to focus on Javier, who stared at him with too much knowing, tinged with sympathy. How long had he been sitting there waiting for Carlos’s attention? “Sorry, man. What do you need?”
Carlos listened with one ear as Javi asked for a refill, but all focus fled as Dakota left the dance floor and started walking toward the bar, specifically toward him. He froze, bottle of Patrón in hand.
“Los?”
He ignored Javi and forced himself to relax, but couldn’t help showing off some of his bartending skills. Tom Cruise had nothing on him.
“Ah. She’s coming over,” Javier whispered dramatically, then deftly melted away from the bar into the crowd, but not before making an incredibly crude sexual gesture. Luckily no one else saw.
“Fancy,” Dakota said as she sidled up to the bar. She was tall enough that her ample tits rested on top of the bar as she leaned his way. Carlos appreciated a good cleavage, and Dakota had an award-winning rack. “When you’re finished with that, can you handle a blueberry mojito? El Dorado rum.”
He nodded to let her know he’d heard her but wondered why she was ordering her own drinks. Normally Drew assigned someone to the VIPs lest they have to do something as mundane as order their own drink or use the public toilet.
“This is Miami. We pour Bacardi,” he said to be contrary and to see her reaction.
A hint of a frown crossed her full lips, and then she grinned at him. “You’re pretty hot. Do they ever let you out from behind the bar?” A camera flash told him a member of the paparazzi had followed her over to the bar. Weird, since they were usually barred from entry, unless the celebrity in question allowed their presence.
“Depends,” he said.
“On?”
No question, she was flirting with him, but he didn’t read anything into it. Women like Dakota Starr didn’t know how not to flirt.
He handed off the drinks to Hector, then spun to get the Bacardi and other items for Dakota’s ridiculously pretentious blueberry mojito. Where did she think she was? Brunch in Malibu? But OXCA’s mantra was to give the customers what they wanted, so he’d make the best damn blueberry mojito that had ever been seen on Calle Ocho. Easy, since it was likely the only blueberry mojito on the street.
He turned around catching her staring off into space, not smiling, gaze unfocused. He’d almost say she looked sad. Rachel had said Dakota had been jilted, but if she was here dancing up a storm, was she upset about not getting married? Suddenly, she was a mystery Carlos wanted to solve.
In the blink of an eye, the moment was gone, and Dakota was back to her mega-watt smile and hair-flipping flirty-no-cares-in-the-world ways. Carlos decided he’d imagined seeing her mask slip.
“Having fun?” he asked, as he crushed the mint and muddled some blueberries in her drink.
“It’d be more fun if I had someone to dance with.” A lock of blonde hair fell over her shoulder, lying thickly over the swell of her breast. She knowingly ran her fingers through it, in an obvious move, but Carlos refused to be obvious and purposely looked away.
“There’s a ton of men out there who’d be willing to dance with you. But aren’t you engaged?”
A flash of annoyance crossed her face.
He didn’t know why he’d said something so cruel. It wasn’t like him. He was the bartender to whom people spilled secrets. He was the confidante of every waitress working at OXCA. “I’m sorry,” he said honestly, and slid her the drink. “That was uncool.”
“Yes,” she said, and brought up the glass to slide the tiny straw between her lips, but not before her tongue daintily circled the circumference.
He nearly groaned, because, despite the false tone and obviousness of her performance, it still had the power to affect him, mainly his dick.
“I’ll be over there.” She tossed her head toward the dance floor. “Come find me if you want to dance.” She walked away, knowing his gaze was on her ass, and dammit, he didn’t disappoint. He hated to be predictable.
Dakota nearly gagged on the mojito, but she forced herself to take another sip for three reasons. One, she needed more alcohol to get through the farce of the night. Two, the hot bartender guy had made it special for her, and finally the most important, her full lips with sucked in cheeks would be a better look for the photos already posted online. Give her a longneck beer any day of the week. But beer was Hannah Hogarth’s drink, not Dakota Starr’s. And for better or worse, she was no longer silly, naïve Hannah. She was Dakota Starr, a star.
One more hour, she told herself, and then she could go back to the hotel. Her publicist had sent a few overly emojified texts about how well the night was going. According to Mindi, all eyes had shifted from stupid, obnoxious Tyler Taylor on the stupid beach in stupid Maui with his new girlfriend, who was definitely the stupidest of all.
If this entire debacle didn’t lead to a movie role or her own reality show, she was firing Mindi. According to Mindi, a six-month public romance with Tyler Taylor, or Tittie, as her sister called him, would put Dakota firmly in the public spotlight. Despite serious qualms, she’d gone along with the plan, but it hadn’t ended the way she’d thought. The original plan had stated that she was supposed to have been the one to do the dumping, not be the dumpee. She hated when things didn’t go according to plan.
Oh well. It wasn’t as if Tyler had been the great love of her life, or even the great like. He had been fun, and she’d miss the celebrity gossip fests. He’d always known everything before TMZ, and his versions were dirtier, more scandalous, and more truthful than the regular gossip sites. And the sex had been decent, sometimes great.
Thanks to Mindi’s and Tyler’s publicist’s machinations, they’d landed at the center of their own scandal, right in the public view.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noted a guy filming her dancing. He was trying to play it cool and act as if he weren’t filming her with his phone, but she knew every second of footage was being live-streamed. Should she offer up a wardrobe malfunction? Not nipple or anything; she wasn’t going for those kind of movie roles. But maybe a glimpse of an ass cheek.
Before she decided, the tall, dark and handsome bartender, who’d made a pretty good blueberry mojito as far as too sweet and fancy mojitos went, was striding toward her, cutting through the crowd. Had he taken her offer to dance seriously? She’d been kidding. Mostly. The dude was hot, and now that he was out from behind the bar, she could see he was built. Not in that Hollywood-I-beefed-up-for-a-movie-role kind of way, but in a natural I-do-physical-labor-daily way. Like the boys back home in West Virginia.
“Come for your dance?” she asked, swaying toward him.
He ignored her overture and got straight to the point. “There’s a guy behind you filming you. Do you want me to make him stop?”
Oh man. He was sweet and protective, too. Lord save her from well-meaning people who’d mess with her goals.
“It’s cool,” she said, and slung her arms over his shoulders, drawing him closer. “What isn’t cool is teasing me by coming over to the dance floor and then not dancing with me.” She gave him her mega-star-power smile, made famous by the slight overlapping of her two front teeth. Getting them straightened had been her first plan upon landing in Hollywood straight from Lewisburg, West Virginia, but a reporter from a fashion magazine had deemed them “irresistibly delightful.” And now the crooked teeth she’d always hated were her signature.
His big hands landed on her hips, but whether it was to dance with her or stop her from coming closer, neither seemed to know for a second. Then he relaxed and moved with her to the beat.
His dancing was effortless and coordinated in a way that said he was comfortable being on the dance floor like no boy from her hometown ever was, unless you meant Eric Metzdretti, who’d come out of the closet sophomore year, and was the lead in every high school musical production opposite her. He’d been the one person back home who’d truly understood her burning ambition to escape Lewisburg and make her mark as a celebrity. One day after graduation, they’d loaded their respective cars, hugged goodbye, and headed out on their journeys to find fame. Eric to Broadway, and her to Hollywood. But to this day, they kept Verizon’s lines busy with their constant texting cross-country. He was the one person, besides Mindi, who knew her romance with Tyler had been fake.
Eric would love this bartender guy with his dark skin, penetrating eyes, and soulful dancing. She’d have to try to get a photo to share, but then she remembered the paparazzi and random dude behind them would take care of that for her.
Then the music sped up, and all thoughts of Eric fled, because hot bartender could move. He grasped her hands and swung her out then spun her back, all while keeping perfect time. Thank goodness for the time Mindi had tried to convince her to go on Dancing with the Stars, or she wouldn’t have been able to keep up.
On the next spin out, she saw that more people had whipped out their phones and were avidly filming. The dance floor emptied around them, as other club goers moved back to give them center stage.
“Whew,” she called, swinging her hair around. “You’re pretty good at this.”
“You, too,” he said, with an even white smile. “My madre would be impressed. She taught me all my moves.” He lost his smile as his eyes focused on a point behind her. “Shit, I gotta go back to the bar. The jefe is coming.”
No. It was too soon. She wanted more dancing with him. Because of the great social media factor. Not because he was a sexy amazing dancer.
But when a tall man dressed to kill came over, he slapped the bartender on the back and didn’t look at all mad or that he needed his bartender back. “Looking good, Los. Keep it up. I got the bar.”
Her Los grinned at his boss’s consent, and remained on the floor with her.
“Los?” she asked during a quieter moment of the music.
“Short for Carlos,” he said.
“I’m Han…Dakota,” she said. Holy hell, her real name had almost slipped out. That hadn’t happened since her first week in La La land. This guy was dangerous. There was something about him that made her want to tell him her real name and other secrets.
“I know who you are,” he said.
She appreciated his honesty. It irked her when dudes tried to pretend to be all cool and like they didn’t know who she was as they picked her up. She was on the cover of Us Weekly for crying out loud. The corner photo, but still…
Carlos’s gaze was steady on her, and his deep brown eyes were too knowing for comfort. It was as if he could peel back her skin and see beyond the public persona she always wore outside. Like he could see Hannah.
“Can you get out of here?” she blurted. The offer had come out of her mouth without forethought, but now that it was out there, it seemed like the greatest idea in the history of ideas.
He frowned slightly and glanced over his shoulder to the bar where his boss looked to have things well in hand. Given the late hour, the club was winding down.
“To go back to my hotel?” she continued, quickly thinking. The paparazzi would have a field day if they caught her taking a sexy man back to her hotel five days after her public breakup. And she’d make sure they were caught. She wasn’t using Carlos, she lied to herself. He was willingly taking what she offered, and she really didn’t want to be alone in bed tonight.
Her engagement might’ve been a sham, but getting publicly dumped hurt. Especially because nothing had gone down the way she’d planned. She was supposed to have been the one to call off the wedding. She’d already picked out the outfit to wear on television when she would tearfully tell the world that she and Tyler were no more. But then Tyler had been spotted getting nasty with another woman in a cabana at the Four Seasons Maui, and it was up to her to one-up him and get her face back in the spotlight. The world wanted to see her brokenhearted and in hiding, but fuck that.
“All right,” he said, surprising her, because he hadn’t seemed like the kind of guy to be a star-fucker. Or maybe he didn’t want to be alone in his bed tonight either.
She grabbed his hand before he could change his mind and started tugging him toward the door.
He resisted. “Hang on, I have to let Ian know I’m out.”
She followed him, still clutching his hand, while he strode to the bar. Once things were settled with his boss, they headed outside where more paparazzi waited. Her driver was out front as expected and they could’ve made it to the tinted-windowed privacy of the SUV in seconds.
But she had an agenda, and it included letting the world know that Tyler Taylor hadn’t broken her. Dakota Starr broke for no man. She was ready for the spotlight. When she was sure all camera lenses were in their direction, she wrapped a palm around Carlos’s nape and tugged him down toward her.
She rose up on her toes and met his surprised lips with her own. The kiss started for the camera, but within a second, Dakota forgot the cameras were there. The dude could kiss. Maybe better than he could dance.
His larger frame enveloped hers, and when his tongue found hers, she moaned with delight. He tasted delicious and erased the memory of the blueberry mojito.
All her lady parts woke up and stayed at attention. She hadn’t come to Miami to meet a man, but now she was in one’s arms and didn’t want to be anywhere else.
“We should move,” Carlos murmured against her lips, and she felt his head turn slightly in the direction of the cameras.
“No,” she whispered back, hooking her arms around his shoulders and hanging on tight. “One more kiss.” She’d lost all thoughts of the press and being on camera. Her brain was entirely focused on Carlos and kissing him. His taste and the hard chest and arms pressed close against her skin branded her.
Something fundamental shifted inside her as she realized Carlos was quickly ruining her for the men of Hollywood. They were pretty and all on the outside, but ultimately they cared more about themselves and their careers than her pleasure. Carlos was all about her pleasure. She couldn’t wait to get him in bed.