Salsa Nights

by Salsa Nights (lit)

  Brad grabbed the water Dale handed him and replied, “So someone waited for her at her house.”

  “That’s the consensus.”

  Brad eyed the bustling club, accommodating swingers and single women tonight. Every couch along the far left wall was crammed with either couples or small groups. Sex was everywhere, in the open, explicit, but as always, the members were respectful and quiet.

  Most of the people on the dance floor wanted privacy and were now filling every small room directly below their office, and he counted on his hired muscle to ensure everyone’s safety. Rooms would be teeming with mostly swapping couples, a few ménage a trois, and a couple of orgies.

  That’s why he hadn’t watched all the footage of the night Isabel and her friends paid their club a visit. He and Dale were off that night, otherwise he would have thrown her over his shoulder and walked off with her kicking and screaming. And since he doubted she’d remember them, she would have also been freaking out about a stranger manhandling her. She had no business in a swingers club, no matter how experienced she was with sex.

  He prayed she wasn’t all that knowledgeable, but having come here, it was hard imagining she didn’t engage in one of the many sexual encounters available. Hearing she had little contact with men here didn’t help now, either. She might just prefer this lifestyle in the privacy of her house and use this club as foreplay.

  When they found out Isabel had been here, Brad flung a very expensive bottle of wine across their office.

  “If they don’t believe it was Gina’s fiancé, then that takes us right back to square one.” Brad took a swig of the cold water.

  Dale raised a brow. They knew the implications involved. If it was planned, there was a chance Isabel was in danger because of her familiarity with the victim, which meant old man Thomas had been right. Someone was after Isabel, and killing her friends was just the beginning of the killer’s sick game.

  “We go tomorrow morning,” Brad stated flatly, hoping Isabel would give them no problem. It would be a stretch to believe her dead grandfather’s neighbors’ story that someone was after her. Hell, it sounded crazy to him.

  He also secretly hoped she’d miraculously changed into an unsightly beast with a hunchback. That would make his job so much easier.

  Chapter Two

  “Again. And this time, I want to see those legs straight,” Isabel yelled over the first few beats of the salsa tune, knowing full well her dancers had stayed late for the third evening in a row for their rehearsal.

  But that was expected when training for competitions, and her students didn’t mind. Too many had won trophies to even complain about strained ankles or blistered feet. They liked to win—so did she.

  It was her competitive streak that drove her to multiple titles and helped her to run a successful studio at the age of twenty-three. This was her passion now, teaching others who loved to dance.

  Satisfied with the dancers’ third attempt at the difficult lift, she sent them home and headed to her office. It was tucked in the center of the back wall where she could easily watch every one of her students.

  Her old ankle injury had begun acting up, surely from the thick humidity outside, and she propped her foot up on a short stepstool just past the door. She bent over to adjust the tape keeping the joint tight, when a small cough interrupted her.

  “Ms. Santos?”

  Isabel froze, realizing the deep male voice belonged to a man unfamiliar to her, and this man had a fantastic view of her behind. Normally, this wouldn’t concern her because she’d be dancing and a person would get just a quick peek when she spun. But in this particular position, wearing a pink leotard with a thong crotch and a short black skirt, the man had quite a view of her ass.

  She straightened, hoping her face wasn’t as crimson as it felt, faced her visitor, and stopped breathing. There was also the huge possibility the two visitors could hear her heart launch out of her ribcage.

  The two most captivating, ravishing men stood just inside the door, crowding the already small space. Her throat closed, obviously in anaphylactic shock to the raw testosterone assaulting her senses. Damn, they were masculine, and she knew them. But it couldn’t be. This could not be them—the men of her dreams, her fantasies, her childhood crushes.

  Brad and Dale? Her grandfather had told her quite a bit about his neighbors, avoiding any talk of the many female guests they’d received over the years. He liked telling her how they always lent a hand, sometimes stopping by unexpectedly to see if he needed anything. Isabel had been fascinated by these two kind men who just happened to be the hottest pieces of male flesh she ever laid eyes on.

  She’d watch the college hunks from her grandpa’s house, sometimes catching them with a pretty girl by the pool. Oh, if they only knew she’d used binoculars on a few occasions. She hadn’t seen them since she was sixteen. Wow. Seven years later they looked even more delicious.

  Both were engineered from the same athletic cloth, each sporting broad shoulders, narrow hips, and flat, hard stomachs.

  Dale stood about six one, with thick muscles and a plump bottom lip to nibble. His eyes and straight short hair were a golden brown and still brought the velvety taste of chocolate to her mouth. His dimples were saved for sexy smiles and seduced more women than she could remember. While they could be boyish and charming, they were just another weapon in his arsenal of Playboy Tricks One-Oh-One.

  Brad was an inch taller than Dale and just as lean. His straight brows, narrow lips, and thick short black hair would make the most celebrated male models envious. His cold blue eyes were rimmed with arrogance, and his gaze was calculating, analytical. It was what must draw women to him in droves—the challenge to see what lurked beneath the dark shadows of his penetrating stare.

  Isabel was only five four, so even in three inch heels, she was forced to tilt her head back to meet their eyes, and chastised herself for losing her voice. She noticed Dale’s small grin and died at that moment. She was sure he’d noticed her rendered incapable of most human sounds at the mere sight of his gorgeous, kissable mouth. Brad looked at her like she suffered from brain damage.

  She cleared her throat. “Yes, can I help you?” She decided she wouldn’t let them know she knew them, or at least how they looked in swim shorts and shirtless by the pool.

  The memory brought her eyes down to their wide hard chests and their biceps, bulging out of their short-sleeved silk shirts. Warm juices coated her pussy walls and oozed toward her thong. She flushed again before tearing her gaze away, hoping they hadn’t noticed the heat that crawled up her neck.

  “My name’s Brad Westbrook and this is my friend Dale Connor. Do you remember us?” He spoke to her as if she were a child, and she decided it wasn’t his eyes that made him seem arrogant. He was arrogant.

  “No. We’ve met?” Good, pretend you don’t remember.

  Brad thinned his lips, probably shocked a woman could actually forget him.

  Dale answered. “Not really. We were your grandfather’s next door neighbors on Atlantic Drive.”

  Isabel felt a bit uncomfortable. They’d never paid her any attention, so this visit was definitely unexpected, but she also didn’t want to hear about her grandfather. “Okay. How can I help you?”

  “We know about Gina Fenelly’s murder and that she was a friend of yours. We needed to know you’re all right.” Dale spewed that out so quickly it took Isabel two seconds to feel the impact of his words.

  Defensively, she crossed her arms. “And why does that matter to you both?” She didn’t miss the look that passed between them and shifted her feet.

  “Do you feel your life is in danger?” Brad asked her quietly.

  The temperature in the room dove, and she was suddenly cold. She was also very aware now of just how much they crowded her office and made her feel small. The silence in the studio was so loud it rang shrilly in her ears.

  “What do you want?” she asked in a harsh whisper.

  “To help you. Your
grandfather asked us to—”

  “My grandfather’s dead, and I will not hear another word about him. Get out.” Her gaze sliced from Brad to Dale and back. Her chest heaved with mounting fear, and her heart no longer pounded because of their good looks.

  “Isabel, we—”

  “Get out or I’ll scream. Now.” She couldn’t handle another word or their very presence. Their faces blurred with angry tears and all she could see were the words on the note she’d received and the image of her student, her friend, raped and strangled.

  They left slowly as if waiting for her to change her mind. But why would she? They had never spoken to her but now claimed to worry about her, and she couldn’t even fathom how they found her.

  As romantic as it all sounded, her secret teenage loves coming to her rescue, it couldn’t be real. Things like that just didn’t happen.

  They walked away, and she watched them take every step across her dance floor. It took several minutes after they exited the studio for Isabel to calm down.

  What had they wanted? Were they the ones responsible for Gina’s death? Did they send her that note? Sure, that makes sense—send me a threatening letter, then come ask me how I’m feeling.

  Still, the things her grandfather told her and how she’d seen them behave when they didn’t know anyone watched, just didn’t add up to the makings of murderers. Of course, she was no expert, but even the police had said it had been one man.

  But as she sat at her desk and thought about her two immensely sexy childhood crushes, it wasn’t that she felt it had been them. It was their sheer size and seductive sex appeal that had intimidated her. Something told her she’d be seeing them again.

  * * * *

  “You did understand that the idea was to convince her we are the good guys, right?” Dale threw at Brad on their way across the parking lot to their black Hummer.

  “Shut up, man. I didn’t expect- She’s not even close to a hunchback,” he mumbled.

  Dale turned to Brad, surprised. It wasn’t often a woman affected his friend. He was cool, composed, and while he was not what women would consider “a nice guy,” he certainly got his way with them. So the fact he couldn’t even finish a sentence had Dale stifling a bout of laughter.

  “Expect what? That she’d freak when you asked her if she feels that her life’s in danger? Geez, man, c’mon. You had her shaking in her sexy heels.”

  He jumped behind the wheel and waited for Brad. The parking lot was full, and they’d seen nothing suspicious on their way into her studio. But he was sure Brad would want to keep an eye on her. Something wasn’t right.

  “I don’t know what happened, man. I was cool until we walked in her office, and then damn. Her ass is ridiculous.”

  Dale was pretty sure he cracked a rib laughing. Brad seemed so confused at his total lack of control, Dale wished he’d had a camera. But shit, he was right. Isabel had the perfect behind—round, lean, purely amazing. His dick had gotten so hard for her he swore she’d take one look at his tearing zipper and call him all kinds of pervert.

  “Yeah, well, what now?” Dale asked while turning the key.

  Brad shook his head and raked his fingers through his hair. “We switch cars and watch her place tonight. Something’s just off but I don’t know what. I may have been a bit forward, but why did she just lose it like that? I didn’t even get to tell her what Thomas told me to say. She started shaking and panicking, like we’d try anything with the few students waiting in the lobby.”

  Dale had to agree it was a bit much for her. They knew she was fiercely independent and ran the dance school very successfully. Entrepreneurs had to be strong by nature, or any little business problem would have them throwing in the towel.

  “Okay, let’s do it.”

  He took off for their house to get ready for the long night ahead. They didn’t mind changing their schedules for her, even if she didn’t even remember them. Boy, that had stung. He and Brad knew very well little Isabel had spent many weekends watching their house, even with binoculars, to get a peek in their windows. They laughed it off and pulled the curtains, thinking it cute that the kid next door liked them. But not remember them now? How couldn’t she?

  Dale knew that’s what had Brad fuming next to him. That she’d been indifferent to them and hadn’t batted an eye like women always did around them. The shock on her beautiful face when she first saw them had obviously been due to the sight she’d given them as a welcome, not because she recognized them. So much for male pride.

  Brad had always been different where Isabel was concerned. Dale had thought at first it was because they’d technically known her from the time she was a pre-teen and they cared so much about old Thomas. But it had grown into something more, although Brad refused to admit it. His friend trusted no woman except his sister, Bailey. Yet there was something that drew him to Isabel. Sometimes Dale wondered if it was possible to have a connection to someone with whom you’d never spoken.

  But it didn’t matter. Dale was afraid Brad would just treat Isabel with the same carelessness he showed all women. It was a matter of time. He’d never blamed Brad after all he’d gone through. How does someone get over his mother abandoning him? But he hoped someday Brad would trust a woman. It might do him some good.

  Dale trusted, maybe too much at times, and that had landed him in rip tides, especially after Brad had warned him not to get too close, not to care. But it was innate in him to nurture and see to a woman’s feelings, to give her what she needed.

  His mother had raised him on her own after his father died while Dale was still a small child. Consequently, Dale was more in tune with the needs of the fairer sex in relation to their emotions than Brad.

  Dale was also very aware of and wouldn’t deny that the effect Isabel had had on him had been stronger than any woman in a very long time. It wasn’t just the primal urge when he saw her bending over, immediately picturing himself yanking that skimpy thong out of the way for his cock. It had been the defiance in her eyes and the way her mouth trembled when they mentioned Gina, and he’d yearned to comfort her. When her stubborn chin thrust up an inch and she denied knowing them, he’d wanted to kiss her beautiful pink lips. His hands had actually itched to touch her.

  Damn, she is a gorgeous woman. Her long black hair promised to be silk in his fingers. Those big key-lime green eyes with thick eyebrows arching neatly over each were the most exotic he’d known. According to Thomas, Isabel and her father inherited those green eyes from her father’s Spaniard lineage. Her slightly square jaw was strong and adorable. Her glowing skin had a natural tan to it, not sprayed or produced with artificial light. And her breasts, shit, were enough to make a man come just looking at her.

  He had to know the feel of her between him and Brad. They’d shared women many incredible times, and it was a pleasure that knew no boundaries. From the time they’d learned ménage at eighteen, it had quickly become addictive, a drug they craved more and more as time passed. Lately it had become an aching need, lurking deep, an entity of its own now savage and demanding. They could no longer ignore it and satisfy it with just anyone.

  No, no one else he could think of could soothe their ache, or even deserved their mastery of the forbidden act. It had taken years, but ultimately the addiction was the rush they experienced when all their calculated moves pleased the woman. It wasn’t how many women they could please. It was how they pleased one woman.

  They got their high from working in rhythmic unison to see a woman lose control and all her inhibitions and allow her body to be consumed in almost painful ecstasy. They needed their fix of pushing a woman to pleasures she didn’t know she could feel, and taking dominance over her body to watch her come over and over.

  They were in sync with the other’s needs and style. Dale catered to their emotions while Brad focused on the physical. They were both possessive, dominant, and they mastered their rhythm. They took turns, unselfish with their lovers, setting the pace, seducing them, pleasing t
hem in ways they never dreamed.

  The times Brad had shared his sexual fantasies about Isabel, they knew sharing her would take sex to another unimaginable and fulfilling level for them. They weren’t kids anymore, and they knew if they could find one woman for the two of them, then life would be nothing short of perfect. They were close, had been for half their time on earth, and two women would mean separate lives.

  He didn’t want to play the game anymore. He was, frankly, done with meaningless, empty sex. While Brad needed a woman to see beyond the shadows of his past and show him what real love was, Dale wanted a woman immune to his charms who loved him for who he was. He wanted someone who could appreciate his nurturing personality.

  But for now, he had to focus on keeping Isabel safe. Keeping their dicks in their pants would be difficult, but they wouldn’t risk her life. One look at Brad and he knew his friend was giving himself the same pep talk right now.

  Boy, this will be one fucking long night.

  Chapter Three

  Isabel closed her eyes. Droplets of warm water rushed down her soapy breasts, past her navel, and toward the small triangle of hair between her legs. Her fingers separated her smooth lips and pushed into her cunt, already sticky and wet. She fingered herself quickly, moaning softly, dreaming.

  Brad and Dale touched her, caressed her, licked every bit of her. Oh, how she craved their bodies next to hers. Hard. Big. Strong. They couldn’t be murderers. She wouldn’t believe it. She’d watched them seduce women, arching their large bodies over them, their hands roaming, tearing off clothes, kneading. Why not her? She was so wet, so ready.