Wreckless

by Zara Cox

  “What’re you talking about?”

  Five minutes later, he hung up, very much aware his mouth gaped wide open as he stood, stunned numb by what he’d just heard.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Lexi smoothed her hands down the satin material of her boy-shorts and tried to calm her jumpy nerves. Enzo would be here in five minutes. Dress sexy – that’s all he’d said. So she’d worn fishnet tights and shorts with a red waistcoat over a sheer mesh top – no bra – and now she wondered whether she’d taken a blind turn at sexy and strayed into slutty-ville.

  The doorbell chimed. She tugged on the hem of the shorts, then gave up. Too late to change now. The heels of her red stilettos clacked on her floorboards as she went to the intercom. “I’ll be right down.”

  Once again, she’d let Enzo slip past the guard she’d intended to place around her emotions. But what sane woman could resist a man who’d nursed her back to health with homemade chicken noodle soup, albeit homemade in Paolo’s kitchen, glorious bubble baths, and just yesterday, a full body massage that hadn’t ended with sex.

  She’d been surprised to find him still in her apartment when she woke on Monday. Even more surprised to see him occupying her dainty antique chair, fast asleep, an abandoned health magazine propped open on his chest.

  When a quick glance had shown it to be just past midnight, her surprise had turned to worry. He’d wake with one hell of a cramp if he’d sat in that position for most of the eight hours she’d been asleep. Feeling groggy, she must’ve made a sound when she sat up because he immediately woke up. He’d fed her chicken soup and dry toast, followed by a cup of herbal tea, after which he’d helped her to the bathroom and back to bed.

  That tender, almost loving side of him had seriously undermined her willpower, but she’d been determined to stick to her plans of leaving for New York, especially with Ian now in the picture.

  Her plan had been on schedule, until her boss called to tell her he was sending David Mancini in her place. She wasn’t well and needed to look after herself, her conscientious boss informed her. Unfortunately, with Enzo in the room at the time she could hardly have told her boss she needed to get away as quickly as possible because she feared a broken heart. By the time she’d recovered, it had been too late to change her boss’s mind.

  So here she was, still in LA and in a chauffeur-driven car with Enzo beside her on the way to the belated birthday surprise he’d planned for her.

  “So where are you taking me?” she asked. He just smiled and reached for her hand. “Why won’t you tell me?” she pressed.

  “I told you, it’s a surprise.”

  “Okay, tell me this. Why the car and driver?”

  “I don’t intend to drink and drive.”

  Enzo tried not to think of the night ahead. His mind still reeled from what his sister had told him. He shrugged mentally and tried not to let images crowd his brain. Everyone had a wish, a fantasy. He was about to make Lexi's come true, despite everything inside him screaming for him to take her and run in the other direction.

  Just before he rang her doorbell, he’d called La Rambla. Everything was in place.

  “Will you at least give me a clue?” The slight note of panic in her voice made him glance at her again. Maybe this surprise wasn’t such a great idea. What if it backfired on him?

  He wasn’t so hot on surprises himself so he understood.

  According to Cara, La Rambla was the best salsa club in LA. He tried not to think about the other thing she’d told him. He’d done his own investigating and, frankly, things could go either way. Lexi would either love it or hate it. Glancing at her, he decided to come clean. Somewhat.

  “Salsa,” he said.

  Her eyes widened, but after a moment they lost their haunted look. He knew his insensitive quip about drinking and driving had hurt her, and he felt like a heel. Raising her hand, he kissed the back of it.

  “You’re taking me to a salsa club?” she asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “But...why?”

  “Why not? You love salsa.”

  “I know, but…don’t you think you’re taking this thing a bit too far? You stayed in my apartment all week looking after me, now you’re doing this?”

  He frowned. “What’s wrong with that?” Wasn’t that what boyfriends and husbands did, take care of their women?” If tragedy and betrayal hadn’t derailed them, they’d be married by now, even started a family. Bitterness and a whole load of regret twisted inside him, but he pushed it away. Tonight wasn’t about dwelling on the past. It was about giving his woman what she wanted and moving to embrace the future, hopefully with her at his side.

  “What’s wrong is that we’re not a couple anymore, remember? You don’t have to do this. We can always go back home, order take out?” Hope lightened her voice.

  Hell, no. He couldn’t have turned back if he tried. After what his sister had told him, he needed to know. “Relax,” he said. Whether to reassure himself or her, he wasn’t so sure.

  “Tell me what’s going on,” she demanded.

  He kept his gaze straight ahead. “I told you, we’re going to a salsa club.”

  “Did you ever stop to think I don’t dance anymore? Or even like salsa?”

  His eyes whipped back to hers. “If that’s true, then the night’s wasted. Is it?” he asked when she said nothing.

  “Well, I haven’t danced in a…while. Over a year, to be exact.”

  Since the accident, she meant. For some reason, the admission both pleased and saddened him. But he wasn’t going to dwell on the past, he repeated to himself.

  “So, maybe it’s time to make up for it.” His hand settled on his thigh and, from the corner of his eye, he saw her follow the movement. His own eyes traced her fishnet-covered thighs and shifted to ease the instant hard-on. Nothing would’ve pleased him more than to ask the driver to turn around and take them home. After a week without sex, he was jonesing for some serious horizontal salsa. But—

  “So where’s this place?”

  He grinned, pleased to hear the panic had left her voice. “That part, I’m not revealing. You’ll find out soon enough.”

  The lights turned green, and their driver took the intersection into downtown LA. Lexi looked out the window, frantically trying to think which salsa places she’d seen around town. Since leaving London, she’d lost interest in her much-loved hobby. She turned her head when Enzo slid a CD into the sound system. Throbbing salsa music filled the car. Anticipation heated her blood. Against her will, the music suffused her senses, bringing with it memories of dancing with Enzo.

  She looked up to find his heated gaze on her. He was remembering too. She gripped her seat to stop herself from doing anything foolish, like blurting out “remember when?”

  “So, have you been to this place before?” Although she didn’t want to know whether he’d been there with another woman, she couldn’t stop herself from asking.

  “No.”

  “Then…?”

  “A little bird told me about it.”

  Bird as in a bird he knew intimately?

  “No, nothing like that.”

  “You read minds now?” She sure as hell didn’t want him to read hers and find out how often she’d obsessed about who he’d been with before she’d arrived in LA, or if he saw other women when he wasn’t with her. They never spoke about that – another of the no-go areas in their relationship.

  “Not as much as I’d like to.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Well, for one thing I’d love to be able to get inside your head and find out what the last couple of weeks have been all about. You didn’t return my calls, didn’t want to meet up, and you turned nasty when I showed up on your doorstep.”

  “I didn’t turn nasty. Not even when you accused me of seeing Ian Pulbrook.” She turned her face away, so he wouldn’t see how that had hurt.

  “No, there was something going on with you even before I confronted you abou
t Pulbrook. He hasn’t been in touch, has he?” he tagged on with a tight voice.

  The last person she wanted to talk about was Ian Pulbrook. “You know he hasn’t. You’ve been in my apartment all week.” And as far as she knew, the crank calls had stopped. She hadn’t received any more calls after Enzo answered her phone and told her there was no one on the line.

  “Good.”

  Silence reigned for a few minutes.

  “So?” he prompted.

  “What?”

  “Is something bothering you? Tell me.”

  “No.”

  “No you’re not telling me, or no, nothing’s bothering you?”

  “How about, I just want to enjoy this…this thing you’re cooking up and not think about anything else?”

  He eyed her for several seconds, and then nodded. “That works for me. But sooner or later, you’ll have to tell me.”

  She breathed a sigh of relief when he turned the music up and pulled her close. A few minutes later, they pulled up in front of a very large, square, red-bricked building. From the outside, ivy creepers clung to the three-storey and within the vines, red and gold lights had been strung to create a stunning effect.

  On one side, La Rambla was displayed in bold red, neon piping. Two rows of large palms lined the entrance. Enzo helped her out as the driver waited in line for the valet and, with every swing of the huge wooden doors that led into the club, the heavy beat of conga drums reached her ears.

  When they reached the door, he turned to her. “You ready?”

  No, she wasn’t. “Sure.”

  A large bouncer lifted the rope for them to enter the foyer. He took the gold embossed card Enzo handed over and peered at it. “Through the doors, turn right, and up the stairs, sir. Rita, your hostess, will escort you to your private room.”

  “Private room?” Either Enzo ignored her question or the loud music masked her words. Either way, she didn’t press him any further.

  Because the music entranced her, as did the décor. In a rich blend of Spanish, Cuban, and Mexican art, the walls were decorated with mahogany beams and pictures of famous salsa aficionados from all three countries. She spied Francisco Vasquez, Celia Cruz, hailed as the queen of salsa, Tito Puente, and a black and white sketch of Arsenio Rodriguez.

  African face masks interspersed the pictures to give an ethnic feel and, on the far side of the cavernous space, a live Cuban band, complete with the conga drums she’d heard kept dancers on the floor gyrating in a sea of writhing, sweating bodies.

  Excitement ratcheted through her. She realized her love of salsa hadn’t died, just been buried underneath the pain of her life. Just for tonight, she willed the pain away.

  Enzo led the way up the stairs and she followed, although what she really wanted was to get on the dance floor and lose herself in the rhythm of the music.

  At the top of the stairs, a dark haired woman stepped forward. She wore a short, white halter-necked dress with gold hoops dangling in her ears. Her makeup was impeccable, as was her smile.

  “Welcome to La Rambla. My name is Rita, and I’ll be your hostess this evening. If you need anything, anything at all, don’t hesitate to ask.” She took the card Enzo handed over and led them along a wide, curved red-carpeted corridor. Beside a wood paneled door, she inserted the card into an electronic strip on the wall.

  The room they entered was lined with dark red velvet. Low lights created an intimate ambience and speakers fed in music straight from the band. Her disappointment at missing the live band faded as she took in the layout of the room. Half suspended over the main dance floor, it gave a clear view through a floor-to-ceiling glass window. Inside the room, plush recliners with fat cushions ensured comfort and, on the large low table, a bucket of champagne rested in an ice bucket. Along one wall, a low bar displayed several bottles of liquors, cocktail mixers, and expensive wine.

  She experienced a stab of anxiety. Enzo didn’t know she’d given up alcohol.

  “Would you like a cocktail or a glass of Cristal?” their hostess asked.

  He cocked a brow at her.

  “I’ll start with a cocktail. A virgin cocktail,” she clarified when Rita reached for the Cuevas.

  When Enzo’s expression turned puzzled, she hastened to add, “I’m pacing myself. No need to rush it, is there?”

  She breathed a sigh of relief when his expression cleared.

  “I’ll have a beer,” he said.

  Dropping her tiny bag on the table, she moved to the window. Unable to stop herself, she tapped her feet to the music. The beat pulsated through her, waiting to run free through her blood. Enzo materialized beside her with his beer and her drink. She took a sip as he twisted the top off his San Miguel and took a long swallow.

  Standing still was impossible. Almost in a trance, she moved her hips. Her torso followed. The sinuous movement surprised her with its familiarity.

  “You haven’t forgotten how, have you?”

  Glancing over, she found his gaze on her.

  “When you give into it, salsa becomes a part of your soul. No matter how long you abstain, it remains in your blood. It’s a lot like great sex,” he breathed in her ear as he slid behind her. One hand snuck around her waist to rest on her stomach. The other lifted the bottle to his lips. To the beat of the drums, he moved his pelvis toward hers, nudging her forward. They swayed together, their bodies reclaiming the rhythm they’d found a thousand years ago in a salsa club in London. He allowed her another sip of her cocktail, then he took her glass from her and set it on the table with his half-empty bottle.

  He took her hand, led her into a double turn, before slamming her into his body. Both hands slid down her sides to mold her waist into the beat. Her hips moved of their own accord, her legs widening to accommodate the length of muscled leg he slid between hers.

  Beneath her fingers, the black silk of his shirt singed her palms. God, he was hot. His heart pumped along to the tempo of the music. He twirled her away from him, brought her back almost instantaneously before bending her over his arm. She fell into the rhythm as if born to it, and the passion in his face as he danced made her want to weep with joy.

  Faster and faster they moved, until cymbals crashed around them in a deafening crescendo.

  When he pulled her up from another deep dip, she was flushed and her hair was in disarray, but she didn’t care. She felt more alive than she had in the past year. His arms closed around her, while his head descended to seal his mouth to hers. Heart beating wildly, she rose on tiptoe and kissed him right back, telling him without words how much he meant to her. At last he lifted his head, lingered for a last kiss before he pulled away.

  “Happy birthday, baby.”

  Her spirits dimmed at the hated endearment, but she shrugged off the feeling. Tonight wasn’t about the past or even the future. Here and now was all that mattered.

  Twirling away from him, she picked up her drink and took a long sip. “Thank you so much for bringing me here. This place is amazing.” She looked around. “But why a private room instead of down there?” She waved to the crowd below, now moving as one to the rhythm of a rumba beat.

  “Because from here, we can enjoy the best of both worlds.”

  “You mean, join the crowd downstairs or have our party here?”

  “Yeah. Or we can enjoy a more…exclusive party. Upstairs.”

  The way he said the words made a tingle dance along her spine. The look in his eyes reminded her of earlier, in the car, when she had the feeling he was holding something back.

  “What sort of party?”

  “Finish your drink. Rita will give us a tour.”

  With a start, she looked around. She’d completely forgotten about their hostess. But they were alone. “Where’d she go?”

  “She’s close by. It’s her job to be discreet. Ready to head upstairs?”

  She hesitated, noting the hint of reluctance in his voice. If he didn’t want to go upstairs - whatever happened there - why did he suggest it?
“Are you?”

  He shrugged. “We can go downstairs and mingle.”

  The band had started another pulse-raising song.

  Again, she hesitated and took a sip of her drink, hoping for the Dutch courage which never came. “What’s on this floor?”

  “More rooms. Some cater to bigger parties, but most are like this.” He picked up his beer and drained it. “So, what’s it to be? Downstairs? Or upstairs?”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  As much as she tried, Lexi couldn’t read the look in his eyes. After a moment, she made up her mind.

  “Downstairs. I want another dance.”

  An expression close to relief flared through his eyes. What the hell was going on? What was he hiding from her? Whatever game he was playing, she wanted to know. “I’ve changed my mind. I want to go upstairs.”

  He raised a startled gaze to her. “You sure?”

  She shrugged. “I get the feeling it’s why you brought me here. So let’s get on with it, shall we?”

  A slow, decidedly reluctant nod. “If that’s what you want.”

  “What I want is for you to tell me what’s going on!”

  “I could tell you. Or you can see for yourself.”

  “Fine.” She set her glass down and ran a nervous tongue over her lips. “Let’s go.”

  For several heartbeats, he didn’t move. Then he reached out and pressed a button on the wall. Seconds later, Rita appeared. “Would you like another drink? Our chef prepares the best enchiladas north of the border if you’d like something to eat?”

  “No, thanks. Maybe later. Right now we want to take a tour upstairs.”

  If Lexi had hoped to read something in Rita’s face, she was disappointed. Without missing a beat, their hostess gestured toward the door.

  “Of course. If you’ll follow me?”

  She led the way deeper into the semi-circular hallway until they reached another foyer. Wide gold-carpeted steps led up to a door painted black with a gold knocker shaped like a Mayan mask displayed in the middle. She rapped it twice. It opened to reveal a slim, well-dressed man.