16
THE BALLROOM HAD A POLISHED FLOOR, A CHANDELIER, elaborate moldings and a ceiling painted with cherubs and clouds. It recalled a nostalgic, graceful time when such details mattered. Raina was in the arms of the male Mikhael had imagined breaking into several pieces, but the scenario wasn’t exactly what he expected.
“How often did you and your wife get all the way through the bachata, Jorge?” Raina asked, laughter in her voice. “Before other urges took over?”
Her dance partner chuckled. “Some things are private between a man and his wife, even with a lovely confidante such as yourself. But I will say…not often.”
Jorge was in his seventies, a very fit seventy, given that he was in the middle of a demanding Latin dance that had him and Raina pressed close to each other, hips moving in tandem together, his thigh between hers. As they moved with seamless synchronicity, he lifted her hand over her head, turning her, and then released his grip so she could comb her fingers through her hair in sensual display. His hands slid to her bare back, her hips. She wore a short skirt of stretchy fabric that barely hugged her ass, and a halter that was a gauze sash crisscrossed over her breasts and knotted between them. Underneath she wore nothing, revealing the dark smudge of her nipples. Her hair was down and flowing, her eyes made up so they looked dark green and mysterious, lips red and wet like a Latin gypsy girl.
Mikhael moved silently to the shadowed corner, for the room was lit only by candles. He knew Raina was aware of his presence, but the man seemed oblivious. He didn’t blame him.
“I liked this dance,” Jorge said, “because we rarely had to let one another go. I was able to keep her close throughout the steps. Away from other men.”
“But I thought you like the teasing dances as well. Like the tango?”
He smiled against her hair as he pulled her back to him. Raina rotated her hips against his body as his fingers spanned her bare midriff. “Ah, she liked to tease like you do. Drove a man mad.”
“That’s what women do. Make you crazy, make your blood boil.” She turned again in his arms with a little sigh. “But then you have your revenge. Your lust makes us breathless.”
And she was. It wasn’t faked. She wasn’t seeing an old man, treating him with patronizing indulgence. She was seeing a man who danced this dance with true masculine style, who’d overwhelmed his wife with it, with the sexual beat that it was meant to have. When Jorge’s hand moved to her lower back, or so close beneath her breast he had to be feeling the heavy weight on his knuckles, she responded to it, responded to his skill as a lover. Mikhael pushed down an absurd attack of jealousy toward the septuagenarian. Yes, he was vastly older than Jorge, but that was different.
On the elaborate turns, the kicks and footwork, they were well matched. Jorge was more skilled, suggesting he’d taught Raina the dance over multiple sessions, her natural sensuality making her a good student. Mikhael let himself be absorbed in her every movement, the undulation of her made-for-sex body, the beauty of it. She could have been Jezebel, Bathsheba, Helen of Troy, but she was Raina. A fascinating, complex creature that could fog a man’s senses to the point he’d miss the real treasure.
She gave herself to this, to this moment and this client, embracing what she was to savor it, to give him an unforgettable experience as well. That tapestry of her unique magic was in the air, swirling around them like a multicolored fog, the silken tendrils splitting and curling with the air currents raised from the dance.
Though Jorge was as stimulated as himself by the vision she made, Mikhael didn’t sense this was going to end in sex, and not just because he wasn’t going to permit it. This was about something else.
As the music changed, became a deeper, more emotional beat, the pace slowed. She leaned up against Jorge, stroking his hair as he buried his face in her neck. “Sshh…it’s all right. Dance with me, Jorge. Just dance.”
They maintained that position for the duration of the song, the man holding on to her, lost in the memory of the woman he wished he were embracing. But when the beat changed up again, Jorge straightened, gave her a strained smile, tears in his eyes. Then he launched them into a fast samba.
By the time that dance was done, they were both sweating, and she was smiling as well. She’d missed a few steps during the dance, and he’d helped her correct them. When they eventually came to a halt, she squeezed his hands, then moved across the room, hips swinging. Reaching the corner beside the music player, she bent to get him a towel, revealing she was wearing a black thong beneath that small skirt. While Jorge fully appreciated the view, Mikhael swallowed back an animal growl.
When she came back, her gaze flickered over Mikhael, but then returned to her client. “That was marvelous. I can eat a bigger breakfast in the morning and suffer not a moment of guilt.”
“Chica, you never experience guilt. You know your beautiful breasts and that gorgeous bottom of yours are exactly the size a man wants. I forbid you to lose a pound from them.” Sliding his fingers along her face, Jorge then dropped that touch to stroke a curve, considering. Raina tilted her head toward it, then looked up at him. “Tonight?”
He didn’t say anything for quite a while, just stroked her breast, her bare side, his eyes seeing something else. Someone else. At long last, he looked up, shook his head. “No. Thank you, querida, for offering. As always.”
“I offer for very few, Jorge. The invitation is always there for you.”
“Perhaps not. I have heat burns between my shoulder blades.” The man turned then, giving Mikhael a direct look. “This one is asserting a claim on your affections.”
So he’d known he was there the whole time, and hadn’t missed a step. He’d probably added a few of those more blatantly sexual moves to prove the point. Pretty ballsy old bastard.
“He only has my attention for the moment,” Raina said. “You have my heart forever.”
Jorge kissed her hand and held it to his chest. “If my Juliana hadn’t taken mine with her, I might have offered it to you. But any man would.”
“No. Men offer women their souls, but rarely their hearts.” Raina touched his face. “Thank you, as always, for teaching me to love your dancing.”
“Thank you.” Jorge kissed her hand again, then turned to Mikhael. “I relinquish her to you, but only because your jealousy has propped up an old man’s ego.”
Mikhael nodded, but he couldn’t inject a great deal of warmth in the gesture. He only has my attention for the moment. Knowing it was gentle charm, it still didn’t sit well, hearing it aloud.
Raina escorted Jorge to the door, her hand on his arm. “Be sure to have Gina schedule your next appointment. Maybe one day you’ll cave and let me ravish you…old man.”
Jorge’s chuckle filtered back through the doors as Raina closed them. Turning, she leaned against the panels, considering Mikhael.
“Were you planning to pull some slobbering naked fool off of me?” she asked lightly.
“Actually, I’d planned something more violent. Bludgeoning him into bones and pulp, then spreading your legs and fucking you next to his bleeding body until you screamed my name.”
Her eyes darkened further, the makeup making them even more tantalizing. She moistened her lips. As she came toward him, her posture tilted her breasts up, drew his eyes to the way they strained against the gauze sash.
“Do you worry that he’s not moving on with his life, coming here to dance with the ghost of his dark-haired wife?”
She shook her head. “No. He has children, grandchildren. He runs a business in town, is well tied into the community. This is his secret gift to himself. Some people only have that one person in their life, and they’ll never find another, because that was enough. Perfection. He’s one of those.”
She didn’t seem comfortable with the pause between them, so she moved forward. Stopping a few feet away, she twisted her hair up, holding it to let the cool air touch her nape. The position cocked her hips provocatively in the heels she was wearing. “Can you dance?”
“I can manage a step or two when pushed to it.”
“I expect you excel at this kind of dancing. At all sorts of dancing.”
“What I want is for you to dance for me, Raina. Make me hard the way you made him hard.”
She pursed her lips, her lashes lowering. “You’re already hard.” But she rolled her hips in that figure eight movement that could scramble a man’s brain, pivoting on her toe as she did it, so he saw it from every angle. She gave him a smoldering look over her shoulder.
Rising, he held out his hand. She backed away, continuing her dance, untying the sash as part of her choreography, her hips shimmying in the brief skirt. She worked her way around him, her fingers trailing along his back, his waist, his hip, and then she pivoted away again, the sash fluttering out, leaving her bare from the waist up.
He caught it, yanked, and sent her spinning back against him. Putting his hand low on her back, he dipped his fingers under the short skirt to tease the indentation between her buttocks. When her lips curved, he knew she’d taunted him deliberately to see if he’d take over. She had no idea how deep and dark a place that was for him when it came to her. But he was about to show her.