“You’re lucky. I’m in a giving mood tonight. Must be the Christmas spirit.” He grasped her foot, her skin cool and soft. Deftly he set his hands to work kneading the tight muscles. “Or maybe I’m an easy target for a good-looking woman in skinny jeans and high heels.”
“Yeah, right. Oooh!” She winced, then moaned, low and throaty.
He nearly swallowed his tongue.
Yaz leaned back, setting her hands behind her on the carpet for support. The position thrust her breasts out toward him, the material of her red V-neck sweater stretched taut across her chest. His imagination, along with other parts of him, twitched to life.
Man, it would be so easy to slide his hands up the length of her legs, past her trim hips, across her toned stomach, not stopping until he cupped the weight of her breasts. He’d nudge her back to lie on the floor, then take her mouth in a kiss meant to rock her world. The way she rocked his.
“Ooh, sí,” Yaz murmured.
His hands froze.
“Don’t stop.” Head cocked to the side, she looked at him through sexy, heavy-lidded eyes. “It’s like pleasure and pain, all mixed together.”
Exactly.
He gulped, but started massaging again. Her skin was silky smooth beneath his hands, her soft moans of approval driving him closer and closer to the edge of insanity.
Jaw clenched, he worked to keep his breathing even, measured. Slowly in, slowly out.
Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea after all. When it came to Yaz, far too often he found himself acting impulsively. Winding up in a precarious position. Like now.
His friendly gesture, a bid to get back in her good graces, had morphed into a test of his willpower.
“So you had a good time on your date with Jeremy?” he asked, grasping for a reminder as to why he couldn’t act on what his body craved.
“Hmm?” came her drowsy response. Her head lolled to the side, the ends of her long satiny hair brushing the floor by her hands. “Date? Dios, no. Jeremy and I are only friends. We’ve never been—ooh, there!”
Tomás pressed his thumbs into the arch of her foot again.
“Yeah. Riiight . . . there—oh, you are good.”
He swallowed. Hard. Stopping himself, barely, from uttering an inappropriate response.
“Okay, now this one.” She wiggled her other foot. “It’s feeling neglected.”
“Pushy, aren’t you?”
In the dim lighting, he caught the flash of her teeth as she grinned. Impudent woman.
“I’m glad you had fun with Jeremy,” he said. He meant it. Even if on some level he hated the idea. “You deserved a night off. I certainly didn’t miss your wisecracks on my way out the door for dinner.”
“That’s right, I forgot to ask—Oh!” Yazmine slapped her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide with surprise when he shushed her. A beat later, she slowly dropped her hand, a chagrined look on her face as she whispered, “Sorry. That was pretty loud. I hope I didn’t wake Maria.”
“With all the noise downstairs?”
Still, they listened quietly for a couple of minutes, waiting for any sounds from Yaz’s room. Tomás continued massaging, his hands moving up her leg, applying pressure to her shapely calf, careful not to stray much farther.
“So how did it go with Cheryl?” Yaz eventually asked.
“I think it—wait.” He broke off as a thought occurred to him. “Did you ask her the same question already?”
“Maybe . . .”
“Of course you did.” He shook his head, certain no amount of pushing would get her to share any of Cheryl’s secrets. Equally certain he didn’t want Yaz giving Cheryl details about him. “I’ll simply say the evening was enjoyable, and we’ll leave it at that.”
“Enjoyable? That’s it?” She sat up, eyeing him like he’d grown a third eye or something.
“What?”
“How did she measure up to all those criteria in your Perfect Partner Plan?”
“Would you quit calling it that?” He leaned a shoulder against the banister, embarrassed because when she said it that way his plan sounded a little crazy.
“I call it like I see it. Now quit dodging the question. How’d it go? Did she pass?”
He scowled at her with resignation. “There was no test to pass. Come on, you make it sound like I’m a robot, taking feelings out of the equation.”
“Oh, you’ve got feelings. Look at how great you are with Maria. It’s like you don’t trust love. Or, maybe it’s yourself you don’t trust.”
His hands stilled, shock robbing him of the ability to deny her claim. She’d hit a little too close to home, her intuition shining a bright light on a fear he didn’t want to acknowledge.
He’d messed up with Kristine, big time. That had been a difficult enough pill to swallow—knowing he’d let his lust-fogged brain ignore the truth.
From the beginning she’d admitted she wasn’t mother material. He’d stupidly thought she’d change.
“Cat got your tongue?” Yaz teased.
Suddenly he realized that, once again, she was shining the spotlight on him and his issues. What about hers? He knew she had her own hang-ups.
“Well, if I’m the pot, you’re the kettle, right?” he challenged, interested in seeing how she liked having the tables turned. “I’m not the one who’s dodged any relationship questions thrown at him. So far, I’ve been pretty much an open book. You, on the other hand, have shared next to nothing about your love life. Why’s that?”
Yaz’s gaze cut away to the picture window overlooking the front yard. Her lips pressed together in a straight line, proof she didn’t plan on sharing any private details now.
“I rest my case.”
“Whatever,” she muttered. “Look, if you’re not comfortable talking about Cheryl, fine. But if you’re not interested, you have to promise me you’ll let her down easy.” Even in shadow he caught her scowl. “Though you’d be an idiot not to give things with her a shot.”
Before, their talk about him finding a partner had seemed more like playing pretend. Somehow, now that Cheryl had entered the picture, it had gotten more real.
It felt weird. Almost like he was cheating on Yaz. Silly. Especially since she’d set him up with her friend in the first place. Any signs of guilt only proved that he was messed up.
Yaz was right, Cheryl did seem like a good fit for him.
“If you really must know, we already decided that if we can’t get together this week, we’ll connect when Maria and I get back from Texas after Christmas. Satisfied?”
“Good.” Yaz stared down the length of the stairs to the empty foyer below, her expression pensive.
“Speaking of Christmas.” She pulled her feet off his lap, scooting closer to sit beside him on the stair landing. “Have you heard from Mrs. B about whether she’ll be back at the beginning of January?”
He nodded, more excited about the pressure of Yaz’s shoulder against his than by the thought of his nanny’s imminent return. Mrs. B coming home meant no more Yaz hanging around the house.
That should be a good thing. No more fighting off an attraction headed toward the inevitable fork in the road.
“She arrives late on January first,” he said.
“Mrs. Hanson returns full-time at the beginning of the year, too. That means I’ll have plenty of time to spend with Papi and get some extra practice in at the studio during the day.”
“Have you started making plans to go back to New York?” he asked.
“No, Papi comes first right now. New York will always be there. Besides, without him . . .” She paused, uncertainty painting her words. “I’m not sure.”
“About what?”
“Anything. Everything.” Shoulders hunched, she rested her chin on her bent knee. “If I should even bother trying anymore.”
Tomás started with surprise, knocking his elbow against the banister.
What the hell? This was the second time she’d hinted at indecision regarding New Yo
rk or her dance skills.
“¿Qué pasa?” He bumped her shoulder with his own. “Where is this coming from?”
Head bowed, she didn’t answer.
“Yaz?” He tucked her hair behind her ear, squinting in the soft lighting to get a good look at her face. “What’s going on inside that stubborn head of yours?”
“I’m not stubborn.”
“I’m not stubborn.” He mimicked her pouty tone. “And you’re still evading my questions.”
When she didn’t respond right away, he bumped shoulders with her again. “Come on, spit it out. I bared my soul about Kristine. Now you level with me.”
“I can’t.” She groaned, pulling her knees up to bury her face on them. “It’s stupid.”
Tomás put his arm around her shoulders, unable to stop himself from offering her comfort any more than he could stop himself from breathing. “Spill it. You know me, I have no problem telling you if you’re being stupid.”
Her body gently shook with laughter. Good, that was more like it.
For a few moments the only sounds were the chatter of partygoers in the living room and the bass-filled strains of a Top Forty hit blaring from the basement stereo speakers. Apparently Los Paisanos were taking a break.
“Spit it out.” He squeezed his arm around her as if he could squeeze out her confession.
“I haven’t really told this to anyone before.” Her voice was so low he had to strain to hear her. “Not my sisters. Not even Cheryl.”
He gulped, torn between his head warning him to stop the sharing of intimate confidences and his heart pushing him to do whatever he could for her.
Who was he kidding? It wasn’t even a fair contest. Making her feel better easily won over protecting himself.
“I’m a great secret keeper, you know. Ask my older brother Eddie. Our mom never found out about the stack of adult magazines he kept stashed under his bed. Of course, he had to share them with me to pay for my silence.”
Yaz rolled her head to look at him, her temple resting on her knees, a familiar glint flashing briefly in her eyes. “You’re incorrigible, you know that?”
He winked, pleased to see her little half smile in response. Unfortunately, it faded away too quickly.
“Life in New York isn’t the same as it is here. I know—” She stopped, her face scrunching up in a wry grimace that reminded him of Maria when he made her eat her broccoli. “That sounded dumb. I didn’t mean it that way.”
“What did you mean?”
“I want to do what’s right, for Papi, for me.”
Tomás’s arm slid off her shoulders as she twisted around to face him. She crossed her legs tailor style, her knees resting intimately on top of his thigh. Reason told him to scoot back, break the connection binding him to her. The pain and confusion in her eyes kept him from doing anything but being there for her. In whatever way she needed.
“Papi gave up so much for us. He didn’t tell you this, but if Mami hadn’t been sick when she was pregnant with me, he wouldn’t have felt compelled to apply for that job with the post office. Wouldn’t have had to put aside his dream to provide for us.”
“He didn’t have to,” Tomás stressed. “He did it because he’s a smart, responsible man. The music industry isn’t the most stable profession. Especially if you have a family to feed and care for.”
Yaz heaved a sigh, lolling her head back to stare at the ceiling. He imagined himself leaning closer to press a kiss to her elegant jawline, breathing deeply of her provocative violet scent. If he was crazy enough—dumb enough—to do it.
Gracias a Dios, he wasn’t.
“Intellectually I know you’re right.” Her rough whisper interrupted his meandering thoughts. “But Mami was okay with him giving his music a shot. Then she started having complications with her pregnancy. Don’t you get it?”
Yaz skewered him with a look dripping with so much anguish she might as well have reached inside his chest and grabbed ahold of his heart with her fist.
“If I hadn’t come along so soon, who knows what kind of success Papi and the guys would have attained.”
“Or not. That can’t be predicted.”
She shook her head, her mouth twisted with derision. “You don’t get it. I owe him. He wants me to succeed so badly. All I’ve ever wanted was to give that to him, do that for him. That’s what drives me. But if he’s not here anymore, what good is it? And what if I don’t have it in me to try?”
“You were right, that’s dumb.”
Yaz jerked back. Her mouth a little “oh” of shock.
Good, he’d gotten her attention.
“That’s a jerky thing to say.” She pushed away from him with a huff.
Even better. Pissed off beat the hell out of the pity party she’d been throwing herself a few seconds ago. “I told you I’d be honest, didn’t I?”
She rolled her eyes, her shoulder shrug the epitome of a teen’s “whatever” attitude.
“Look, I may not know much about dance or how the dance industry works, but when I see you on stage there’s no doubt you’re incredibly talented. You’re at Hanson’s before the sun comes up, and back again after you drop Maria at school. I don’t have any problem seeing you make it on a stage in New York, or wherever you want to go. The thing is, do you see yourself making it?”
He grabbed her hands when she tried to wave off his words. “Listen to me, damn it. You can’t pursue something this demanding only for your father. Rey wants you girls to be happy on your own terms. Not his.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Make me, then.”
His frustration mounted when she responded by shaking her head.
Her entire body vibrated with a palpable tension like an electric fence warning him to stay away.
But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t.
Tears pooled in her eyes and she blinked several times, stubbornly trying to keep them at bay. He held his breath, knowing if she gave way to them he’d be a goner, in danger of repeating last weekend’s debacle in the kitchen.
More importantly, he honestly believed she’d benefit more from a kick in the pants than some coddling.
“I’m not sure if I have it.”
“It?”
She sighed heavily, piercing him with an are-you-a-moron glare. “Papi has such faith in me. But he doesn’t know how cutthroat it is. How lonely it can be. What if Victor was right and I don’t have what it takes?”
Tomás frowned at her declaration. “I don’t know who Victor is, but I’d venture to guess he’s the phantom ex-fiancé I’ve only heard about in passing. If so, and he actually said that to you, he’s an even bigger idiot than I thought, and you’re better off without him.”
“You sound like Lilí, and she doesn’t know the half of it.”
“I knew I liked that girl.”
They shared a grin and his heart lightened.
“Tell me, what did this fool Victor do to make you doubt yourself so much? That’s not the Yazmine I know.”
She closed her eyes, her entire body sagging with dejection.
After several moments had passed, he squeezed her hands to get her attention. “Hey, I aired all my dirty laundry about my ex weeks ago. Now it’s your turn.”
“Talking about Victor reminds me of how gullible I was,” she grumbled. “I should have realized he was such a jerk.”
“Happens to the best of us.”
“Yeah, well, I should have known better.” She tugged her hands free of his grasp, sliding across the carpet a few feet to lean back against the wall.
He wanted to close the distance between them, stay close to her, but if she needed space to share her story, he’d give it to her.
“Papi had to choose. Me? I let myself believe I could have it all. Success and a family. Only, I failed to realize there are far too many people willing to do whatever it takes to make it. Even sleep with a show’s producer, in their fiancé’s apartment, if it gets them ahead.”
“
Ouch.” Tomás winced. Whoever Victor was, he sounded like a colossal dunce.
“It gets better,” she said dryly. “Apparently, I was the one at fault, for not knowing that’s how you’re supposed to play the game. For not having thicker skin. According to him, I’d gotten my latest role because of his maneuverings. I was supposed to be thankful.”
She sneered the last word and Tomás couldn’t tell if she was angry with herself, with Victor, or with the dance industry as a whole. Neither was productive, though she probably didn’t want to hear that right now.
“Victor kept hurling the blame at me and I—I freaked. I ran for my sanctuary, a rehearsal hall nearby where I could lose myself in dance and music and motion. Block out the world. Pretend no one else, nothing else, existed. Only, for the first time in my life, that didn’t work.”
She speared her hands through her hair, holding them against the side of her head like it might explode. “All I could think about were the times he’d supposedly been out late for a rehearsal. The overnights and weekends. The people who must have known, but didn’t say anything.”
She hopped to her feet, then began pacing down the hall toward the back of the house.
“Come on, give yourself a break,” Tomás said, following behind her.
“I don’t deserve one.” She stopped at the end of the hall and pressed her forehead against the window overlooking the backyard.
Tomás moved closer, gently combing his fingers through her silky strands, anxious to calm her. “Yazmine, I think you’re being too hard on yourself.”
She blew out a breath, the warm air fogging the window. “The signs were there. I ignored them.”
“Why?”
When she didn’t respond, he gently pressed on her shoulders, turning her around to face him.
“Why?” he repeated.
“Because I was lonely,” she whispered. The despair in her eyes gutted him. “Honestly though, unless Victor and I were in the same show or taking a dance class together, our schedules were often at odds. I was fooling myself, clinging to the silly idea that eventually we’d get in a good groove, get married, maybe have a child. Hearing him admit that he’d been using me and my connection to another choreographer . . . something died in me that day. Not even dance could take the pain away.”
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