Save the Last Dance

by Jami Davenport

  “Maybe you don’t have that much time.”

  “I’ll make the time. It’ll be worth it.”

  Mariah’s heart sank. Essentially, he’d just told her that as soon as he got what he wanted, he’d be gone. “I couldn’t please you.”

  “Let’s worry about you first. Looking at your naked body spread out on silk sheets would be more than enough to please me.”

  He bent down and touched his lips to hers, slipping his tongue inside her mouth. Wrapping her arms around his neck, her tongue entwined with his. She inhaled the scent of his cologne and savored the wetness of his mouth. The gentle strength in his arms promised protection and safety. She leaned her softness into his hardness.

  Rodrigo drew back slightly, his half-lidded eyes heavy with lust. “You do please me, Rye.”

  “Don’t you think you should turn off the boat engines before we asphyxiate ourselves and half the dock?” Mariah pulled away and smoothed her clothes. She glanced around. A small audience of dock boys and girls gawked at them.

  * * *

  They filled themselves to bursting with an excellent dinner at the Roche Harbor Restaurant. Rico managed to get the boat away from the dock and out of the marina without doing bodily harm to anyone or anything.

  “Rigo, would you like to take the long way around and maybe see some whales?”

  “Whatever you say.” Whales didn’t interest him but spending more time with her did. He’d rather stay overnight at Roche Harbor, cooped up in a boat with her until morning; that would have done wonders for his sex life, but she was having none of that.

  They motored through Mosquito Pass, as Mariah gave him a blow-by-blow history lesson. The narrow passage had been named after the Mosquito Fleet, a small fleet of ferries that once served the San Juan Islands. The Straits of Juan De Fuca opened up before them. Ocean-going ships entered and exited Puget Sound through this large body of water, approximately twenty-two miles wide. A good sailor respected the straits and listened carefully to weather reports before venturing out into the unprotected waters. Today, the open water was smooth as glass.

  “Aren’t the Olympics beautiful?” Mariah’s eyes lit up and her face became even more animated.

  Rico obediently looked at the tall craggy peaks rising from the mainland on the opposite side of the Straits. “Yeah. They’re beautiful.”

  “Have you ever been to the Olympic National Forest?”

  “Can’t say that I have.” He hadn’t realized she was such a nature freak.

  “Oh, you must go sometime. You need to see Washington’s rain forests. They’ll humble you. Those old-growth trees are so tall, you can’t see the tops of them. Their trunks are as big around as a car.”

  He tried to picture a tree that big, but his imagination fell short. Surely, they were some Northwest myth like Sasquatch and Paul Bunyan. Besides, humbled by a tree? He didn’t think so.

  “Were you a tourist guide in another life?”

  Mariah rewarded his lame joke with merry laughter. She kissed his cheek and gazed into his eyes. If he didn’t watch himself, he might do something stupid like fall for her. That could not happen.

  She must have read his thoughts because her smile slid off her face. “What’s wrong, Rodrigo?” She snaked her arm around his waist and leaned into him.

  “Nothing, bella. Nothing a little sex wouldn’t cure.”

  “Do you ever think about anything but sex?”

  “I try not to.” He sobered a little. “Look, Rye, really, I’m fine. A little tired.”

  “Okay.” She accepted his answer but didn’t look convinced.

  Rico steered the boat, named Carmelinda, east along the shoreline of San Juan Island. Mariah scanned the horizon with her binoculars in search of whales. The woman was obsessed with those things. She froze, refocused her binoculars and looked again, jumping up and down like a kid spotting Mickey Mouse at Disneyland. “Rigo, I see them! Check it out! They’re coming our way, an entire pod of orcas!” She leaned over the rail and pointed to some distant point on the horizon.

  Rico played along and looked through his binoculars. He stifled a yawn. They were just large fish. Okay, actually mammals, but they looked like fish.

  “Can you spot their fins?” she asked.

  “Uh, yeah, I can.” He saw fins, all right. Lots of them, large black ones, slicing through the water like sharks. The creatures headed straight for their boat. Shit. They did call them killer whales. His eyes narrowed as the fins bore down on their boat. How could something that large move that fast? “Do those things ever attack boats?”

  Mariah laughed. “You don’t get out much, do you?”

  Rico didn’t know how to answer that. He’d traveled around the world countless times and been to almost every country on the globe.

  “They’re not going to hurt us. They’re very intelligent and very peace-loving unless you’re a salmon.” Her eyes sparkled with excitement. “Rigo, switch off the engines. We’ll just float out here and hope they come to us.”

  “Sure, bella, whatever you say.” Relaxing a little, Rico shut down the engines. He leaned back in the captain’s chair and laced his fingers behind his head. Maybe he could fit in a little nap. Sleep had eluded him last night, too many troubling thoughts racing through his brain. He studied her nice ass and long legs as she leaned over the railing with her binoculars, forgetting he existed. She strained against the rail on the flying bridge, intent on spotting the next orca that broke the water’s surface. Rico envied her childlike eagerness. If only he could bottle her zest for life and pull it out when he needed it.

  “Rigo, they’re coming right at us! Oh! Look at them! Get up! You can’t miss this!” She grabbed his arm and pulled him to his feet, dragging him to the railing.

  Rico slouched against the stainless steel rail, observing the whales with disinterest. Several orcas of differing sizes circled the boat, moving closer with each pass. They frolicked in the water, giving Rico and Mariah a private show. Eva must have sent them—the guardians of his soul. Sure. What crap.

  One of them leapt out of the water with amazing ease and grace, coming down so close to them that he backed up a step for fear of getting wet.

  He had to admit that the huge black and white suckers were impressive.

  In spite of his self-professed boredom, he couldn’t take his eyes off them, mesmerized and impressed in spite of himself.

  Their lives seemed so simple and pure, his was so complicated and messy. They probably worried about catching their next salmon meal or keeping their babies safe. They didn’t care about writing a number one hit, making money, or getting laid. Well, maybe they did care about getting laid. It’s not as if he’d know. He wasn’t a whale researcher. How the heck did whales do it, anyway?

  Another large orca surfaced within twenty feet of the yacht. The animal’s fin appeared to be as tall as he was. The huge beast rolled on its side and stared straight at him with one large eye. Rico leaned over the rail for a closer look.

  Nothing made sense, yet everything made sense. He felt disembodied, as if he observed everything from a remote position, as that large sea-going mammal worked its magic. It called to him, spoke to his soul. All those things that troubled him so deeply seemed so insignificant. In one profound moment, he realized that nothing mattered more than moments like this.

  Rico held his breath, afraid to break the spell. A delicate thread connected him to the world around him. He clung to it, like a dying man clings to his last breath. In a flash of insight, he understood the simple complexity of life and the delicate balance that held it together. Peace and contentment he’d never before known filled him, surrounded him, cradled him. He floated free of his human burdens.

  It was too much. The depth of his feelings frightened him. He looked away, breaking the contact. Shaken, he gripped the railing. The intensity of the experience seemed surreal.

  The orca launched out of the water with amazing dexterity and grace. It landed with a huge splash, sendi
ng salt water flying everywhere, including on his face. Rico swore the damn thing laughed as it dove under the boat and breached on the opposite side. He’d never forget the sound it made as it blew spray into the air, while he swiped at the saltwater on his face.

  The large orca gathered his pod together and swam away from them. Their fins glistened in the evening sun. Water lapped at the hull of the boat.

  Rico wiped a tear from his face as whales cavorted in the distance.

  Mariah dabbed at her eyes. “Oh, Rodrigo, aren’t they awesome?”

  Her unrestrained enthusiasm was contagious. “Yeah, they are, baby. Breathtakingly awesome.” This time he meant it.

  They moved him in ways he couldn’t put in words. The whales had penetrated his cynical armor and left him humbled.

  A few bars of a new song flowed unencumbered through his mind, a song about orca whales, life, and rediscovering oneself. He pulled Mariah into his arms and held her close.

  She’d just given him a precious gift with a little help from her friends.

  Chapter 9—The Trail Ride

  The next morning Rico sat on his deck, sipping a cup of strong coffee. He scrawled several rough stanzas of his new song on a piece of yellow tablet paper. He didn’t expect miracles. Hell, he wasn’t sure he believed in them. Regardless, the partial song he’d envisioned yesterday gave him a good beginning. His creative juices trickled instead of flowed, but it was a huge improvement compared to the drought of the last four years. Encouraged, he picked up Max’s old guitar, working out the melody. Unfortunately, the thing didn’t come close to the sound quality of the one he’d launched into the water.

  The song led him where it wanted him to go. He let it flow and resisted the urge to try too hard. He sang some experimental tunes, listening to the harmony.

  Rico teetered on the edge of something extraordinary. So close but so tenuous, like a wild animal, it stood poised at the edge of his conscious mind, ready to turn tail and run at the slightest interruption in his concentration. He reached for it. It held back. Hesitated. Took a tentative step forward.

  The main house phone jangled impatiently. That elusive flash of creativity disappeared into the dark undergrowth of his mind. Rico swore, jumped to his feet, and swung the guitar over his head. He halted in mid-swing, and held the guitar over his head for a moment. With a sigh, he leaned it against his chair.

  The phone jangled again.

  Only a few people knew his cell number, even fewer knew the house number. Duty to his family bound him to answer it.

  Rico walked into the house. Checking caller ID, he sighed. His brother. The punk never gave up. He’d already called his cell phone at least a dozen times in the past few days. Rico answered it, if for no other reason than to tell the little ass to quit calling him.

  “Yeah?” he answered, deliberately sounding annoyed.

  “Hey, Rico. I finally caught you. Things must be going well. I haven’t seen your picture in any of the gossip rags so you must be staying out of trouble.”

  “I’m old news. They could care less about me.”

  “Not true. You’re always hot news. I don’t understand why you don’t exploit that free publicity.”

  “Like you would?” His blood pressure inched up a few notches, his patience level dived down.

  “It’s only smart business.”

  “Ramon, what the hell do you want?”

  “Insignia is all over my ass about my next CD.” Insignia was Ramon’s recording company. They were not happy with the poor performance of his last album. If a person could believe the gossip, they were threatening to release his brother from his contract.

  “Yeah. So?”

  “Rico? We need to get this CD done.”

  “What’s this ‘we’ crap?”

  “Rico, mi hermaña, this is a collaborative effort. You and me—the Sanchez brothers.”

  “Fuck off.”

  Little brother didn’t miss a beat. “So have you written that Grammy-winning song yet?” Nothing penetrated his rhinoceros skin, plus, he had that annoying Sanchez trait of only hearing what he wanted to hear.

  “I wrote a few. They were crap.”

  “Send ’em to me. You’re the best songwriter in the business. Your crap is everyone else’s platinum.”

  He had been the best in the business—until four years ago. He hadn’t penned a thing worth singing since. And what good songs he’d had, his slimy little bastard of a brother had stolen as his.

  “Can’t do that. They suck. No substance, no feeling in them.”

  “Who gives a shit? Since when does substance sell? Hell, look at what’s on TV right now. Look at the best-selling novels. Shit, Rico. If I don’t meet this deadline, they’re going to come unglued. They’re expecting a top-ten CD.”

  “Did Dad put you up to this?”

  “He’s still honeymooning in the Caribbean with his latest jail-bait bride.”

  “Thank God.” That meant their bumbling father couldn’t drain his business of its liquid assets, or even worse, buy garbage merchandise they had to pay someone to take away.

  “Where are you? I’ll fly to you. We can work together and get this thing finished.”

  “Go to hell.” Rico hung up the phone before his brother could utter another word.

  The house phone immediately began ringing again. Rico unplugged it and turned off his cell phone. He stared at the guitar for the longest time. Picking it up, he attempted to resume his song writing. That precious moment of unencumbered creativity had vanished, almost as if it’d never existed. He reached out for it, but it slid from his grasp.

  Feeling drained and empty, Rico buried his head in his hands.

  * * *

  Mariah loved early morning. Everything smelled so clean and fresh. Dew clung to the grass, and the cool crisp air refreshed her. Horses munched on their morning hay in their stalls, one of the best sounds in the world. The blue sky promised another sunny day, perfect for a trail ride in the woods.

  Rodrigo would love it. City boy or not, she’d seen his reaction to the whales. There was more to him than he’d admit. Just how much more, she wasn’t sure. She’d never been one for casual flings, yet anything beyond casual with him would most likely end in heartbreak for her.

  A hopeless romantic, she wondered what it would be like to wake up with Rodrigo next to her. She shook her head at her foolishness. Hopeless was the operative word. After all, she’d never be able to measure up to all the women who had come before her. Warren hadn’t been able to unthaw her frozen sex drive, and she’d thought she’d been in love with Warren, stupid woman that she was.

  How could Rodrigo achieve the impossible?

  She hated her indecision. One moment she was all over the man, the next she was shoving him away. He had to have the patience of a saint to put up with her. Sooner or later, she needed to come clean with him, to explain the conflicting messages. He needed to know that it wasn’t him, it was her. If he was a smart man, he’d give up and find a woman without her hang-up.

  Mariah heard steps behind her. He was early. She turned around. A welcoming smile spread across her face.

  The grain bucket she carried in her hand fell onto the concrete aisle with a thud, scattering grain everywhere. Her throat constricted and her stomach knotted.

  “Warren. What are you doing here?” She fought to keep her voice level and the fear from creeping into it. Warren could smell fear. He thrived on it. She couldn’t let him see that he disconcerted her. Even so, she crossed her arms protectively in front of her.

  He stood in the barn door, his sharp gray eyes taking her apart piece by piece. What he saw apparently pleased him. “I thought you and I might get a drink, just for old time’s sake.” His predatory smile never reached his cold eyes, as his gaze meandered down her body and back up again, as if he was mentally undressing her. That look made her feel soiled.

  “I’m sorry, I’m busy.” Mariah righted the grain bucket.

  “Maybe you’d
prefer to head straight to the bedroom.”

  “I’m not going anywhere with you.” Anger ate away the last crumbs of fear.

  His eyes narrowed. The hatred in them set her back a step. “You bitch, you were holding out on me. I thought it was a shame such a beautiful woman was so frigid. Come to find out, it was an act. I bet you were dancing in the sheets with him the whole time.”

  “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Warren laughed, “Why don’t you show me what your Latin lover has taught you? I understand those Latins don’t have any inhibitions. It could make for an interesting night.”

  “How do you know about him?”

  “I make it my business to know everything about you.”

  “Get out of here.” She clenched her fists and set her jaw. Oh, God, he’d been stalking her.

  “He’ll never know. Obviously, I didn’t. Or does he even care?” He stalked toward her slowly. She backed up until he had her pinned against a stack of hay bales. Grabbing both of her wrists, he shackled them in one hand. Holding her chin in his other hand, he yanked her face toward him. She glared defiantly at him.

  “Go to hell,” She spat at him, her temper flared.

  He laughed as his face came close to hers. “I’d much rather have you fighting me than willing anyway. It makes it more exciting.”

  Mariah started to scream, but he slapped her so hard that her head snapped backwards and slammed against a hay bale. “Don’t make a sound, or you’ll regret it.” She started to struggle against him, and he pressed his body against hers, pinning her against the wall. So much for her mock bravery; every cell in her body cowered in fear.

  “Mariah, how about a better welcome than that? After all, we haven’t seen each other in months.”

  “And that was fine with me.”

  “Ah, baby, don’t play hard to get. How about a kiss for old time’s sake for your lover?”

  “You were hardly a lover.”