by Danielle Monsch, Cate Rowan, Jennifer Lewis, Jeannie Lin, Nadia Lee, Dee Carney
She was aware of his body beneath his clothes, the skin beneath the suit. They bumped and lurched through the bustling streets, the air conditioning inadequate in the summer heat. Or was it the rapidly rising heat of two bodies too close together? Marco’s skin released an alluring hint of aftershave that taunted Sandy’s senses. She was far too conscious of the raw masculinity coiled and waiting in the elegant figure of the man beside her.
The cab jerked to a halt outside an understated storefront. Marco paid the driver and helped her exit the cab as graciously as possible in her high heels.
“This is the place.” Marco smiled when she looked doubtfully at the battered doorway. “Good food and music you can dance to. And a low profile to keep out the riff-raff.” He winked at her.
He opened the door and led her along a dark, featureless corridor. If she hadn’t been so confident of Marco’s reputation, she might have been nervous. But when he opened another door, they emerged into a room reminiscent of a sleek 1920s jazz club.
The air throbbed with music. A small band filled the stage, and the saxophonist jammed out a rousing solo that pierced the air and caused a smile to spread over both of their faces as they warmed to the atmosphere of this secret world.
“Come on, let’s get a table.” Marco placed a hand at the base of her spine. The effect was anything but steadying. Sandy sauntered across the floor, her body unconsciously keeping time with the music. She noticed people looking at them, looking at her. For someone used to flying under the radar, it was alarming and exciting.
She didn’t hear Marco give his order to the waiter, and was surprised when he returned with a bottle of champagne.
“Let’s celebrate,” he said, raising his sizzling glass. “To unexpected adventures.”
“And magical summer nights.”
The bubbles tickled her nose. She’d drunk champagne only once before, at the retirement party for her former manager. A hesitant sip from a plastic tumbler in a florescent-lit conference room. Hers had not been a life where champagne flowed freely. Not much had flowed freely, except tears.
She wondered what Marco would think if he knew she wasn’t a glamorous international businesswoman, but a girl who’d just barely survived to adulthood on a steady diet of grim determination and escapist fantasy. She was only twenty-four though she knew she looked older. Wise beyond her years for all the wrong reasons.
The candle flame danced in his eyes as he put down his glass and reached out to her. “It seems a shame to sit here when we could be dancing.”
She took his hand, warm and firm, and rose from her chair. She floated toward the dance floor on the music that jumped and shimmied through the air around them.
The band was playing an old Count Basie number and the steady rhythm tickled their feet into a dance almost before they reached the small parquet dance floor. Marco slid one arm around her waist and took her hand. He looked steadily at her face, his eyes daring her to look away as he moved to the music.
He was the first to break their staring match as his eyes dropped to her cleavage, then down over her torso, where the blue silk clung to her slim body. One good thing about never knowing where your next meal was coming from, you didn’t get fat.
Sandy, don’t dwell on the past! Live—right now—in this present that feels like a dream. Was it a dream? Her imagination was so vivid and well exercised that sometimes it was hard to distinguish between fantasy and reality.
Then she stepped on Marco’s foot.
“Sorry!”
“That’s okay.” He steadied her with the strong hand that held hers. “You can walk all over me if you want. I might enjoy it.”
He smiled. He let his gaze roam freely over her body as he twirled her gracefully and caught her again, squeezing her just a little. Possessive. She could see desire in his eyes, darkening the gray like gathering storm clouds. She wondered if her own desires were so visible through the shaded blue of her contact lenses. Probably.
Her body was melting wax in his hands, so warm, fluid with excitement as they moved to the complex rhythms and the sharp blasts of a trumpet solo.
She’d practiced, watching old movies, wrapping her arms around herself, and skipping across her tiny room. And she’d danced with the best. Ralph Riley, the Hummingbird, named because his feet moved so fast you could hardly see them. Her dad.
The Hummingbird wasn’t moving so fast by the time she came along. His addictions had already gotten the better of him by then. But every now and then the old fire flared up and the Hummingbird whirled into action, flying through the air, taking his partner on a trip to the moon and back without leaving the confines of their cramped basement apartment.
Dancing was in her blood. Along with all that other stuff.
She was rusty and out of practice, but she could feel the unused muscles springing to life as she and Marco cut a new groove across the wood floor.
“You’re some mover.” Marco’s eyes shone with a mixture of admiration and pure male lust.
“Thanks, so are you.”
And he was. Maybe dancing was in his blood, too. Something they shared. An affinity that could bridge the vast chasm between them, at least for the duration of a trumpet blast.
They stumbled back to the table breathless, hot and excited by their exertions, and Marco poured them both more champagne.
It seemed so decadent to quench her thirst with the bubbling liquid. She had no need for intoxicating stimulants. The air around her swirled with unspoken desires.
People were watching them. Sandy sensed their eyes swiveling toward them and jumping away. Seeing an attractive couple in the first blush of love? She didn’t know what they thought—but she felt their admiration and enjoyed it.
Living in a dream world was safe, controlled, the ups and downs neatly defined by her wishes and fears. Living in the real world was a gamble and now she spun on the roulette wheel not knowing where it would stop.
“What made you buy a ticket to spend an evening with me?” Marco looked genuinely intrigued. “When I signed on for this date, I thought I’d be escorting a grandmotherly owner of multiple cats out for a waltz or two. If I’d known what was in store, I’d have volunteered more readily.” The heat of his admiring gaze threatened to singe her skin.
She wanted to laugh. Conchita had three large tabby cats. “No good deed goes unpunished.”
“I’ll take my punishment like a man.”
He was a man, all right. Big, broad shouldered, seething with raw sexuality. She could almost taste his desire for her as she watched him lounging easily in his chair.
“And what kind of punishment did you have in mind?” she teased.
“Definitely more dancing with you.”
Her insides tickled with anticipation of the pleasure. With Marco Danieli she’d be glad to dance all night and into the morning.
No chance of that, though.
“And what if I keep you dancing until your shoes wear out?” she asked, smiling.
“I hope you’ll keep me dancing until I’m ready to fall to my knees.”
“And then you’ll beg me to stop?”
“I’ll beg you to punish me just a little bit more.” His steely gaze dared her to contradict him. Dared her to take him up on his challenge.
“That sounds dangerous.”
“Sometimes you have to live dangerously.” His eyes flashed a warning.
She was living dangerously, all right. She could lose her job for this.
“You would know. You built a billion-dollar company in less than ten years.”
“You know more about me than I know about you.”
“I only know what everyone knows.”
Marco leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. He let his glance drift across her cheekbones and down toward her lips, which parted in involuntary response to his mute appeal. His eyes narrowed slightly. “And what does everyone know about you?”
“Very little, and I intend to keep it that way.” She
smiled and sipped her champagne.
She was mysterious by necessity. No one really knew her, no one ever had. The ugliness of her childhood had kept her at more than arm’s length from other people. She was an object of pity if they thought of her at all. No one ever knew what secrets she carried in her heart.
Now that she was grown, independent and free of grim obligation, she still kept her own counsel out of habit. She didn’t know how to relate to others in the easy, friendly manner that seemed to come so naturally to everyone else. Concealment and secrecy were second nature to her.
She’d lived above and below the law. She would carry that shame to her grave. The way her father had carried his guilt to his. And perhaps worst of all was her guilt that she hadn’t loved him enough to save him.
“There’s something to be said for mystery,” said Marco softly. “It never disappoints.”
“Have you been disappointed?”
“Haven’t we all?”
She looked at him. His expression revealed nothing, the hard lines of his face conveyed no feeling, but the gray darkness of his eyes swirled with emotion. What secrets did Marco Danieli carry in his heart?
“To hope is to risk disappointment.”
“And what do you hope for?” Marco’s voice lowered, husky with desire.
“To enjoy the rest of our evening together.”
And then to take home my memories, share them with Conchita, then wrap them in cotton wool and treasure them.
“To that end, let’s order some dinner.”
They ordered fondue. A dish for lovers or intimate friends, dipping into the same pot to share the bubbling liquid. Sandy half wondered if they would feed each other, offering tasty morsels of meat across the snowy expanse of the tablecloth. But they didn’t.
He was guarded, too.
Perhaps that was part of the reason Marco Danieli intrigued her. He had an aura of mystery, of unspoken secrets. She supposed that even the richest men in the world carried invisible burdens. But it wasn’t her place to uncover his secrets. Just as she wasn’t willing to share her own. That was why tonight was all they had.
She sneaked a glance at her watch. Only one hour left before she’d have to leave for work. Magical as this night was, she couldn’t risk losing her job.
Again he led her onto the dance floor, where the music had slowed with the lateness of the hour. Marco pulled her into a gentle embrace that made her body hum with pleasure, and they swayed together to the soft thrumming of a double bass and the tinkling of piano keys.
He inclined his head toward hers and she listened for his whisper but none came. Their conversation was silent, a communion of bodies, of the parts of the mind that no one understands.
Marco’s fingers slid over her back, kindling embers of desire wherever they went. Her hips swayed to the mellow rhythms of the music as they moved, slow and easy, across the dance floor together. The throbbing bass echoed the rhythm of her blood as it moved through her body, bringing the intoxicating chemistry of emotion, attraction and desire to her fingers and toes.
They were building a fire together.
She let her hands trail up his shoulder and over the collar of his shirt. Her fingertips reached up to his neck, touching the prickle of his cropped hair, the male roughness of his skin. He didn’t protest. He bent his head toward her, sharing his breath as their mouths came perilously close.
His fingers explored the twin hollows at the base of her spine and teased the upper curve of her buttocks. The warmth of his skin penetrated the thin silk of her dress and she wondered if the dress itself might simply evaporate, just as the room fell away, along with the other people in it. There was nothing in that moment but her, Marco and the music.
She let her other hand slide inside his jacket and around to the firm muscles of his back. She ran her fingertips over the soft cotton of his shirt, enjoying the hard ridges that lay beneath and pulling him closer.
The tempo quickened. Whether it was the music that came first or the heightened pace of their twin heartbeats, Sandy couldn’t say. All she knew was suddenly they were whirling across the dance floor, turning, twisting, groping and grabbing at each other.
Their legs stepped this way and that, weaving in and out of each other in a tango of impossible passion. Their bodies itched to touch each other, impatient of the clothes that kept skin from skin.
When their lips met, the world exploded into a crescendo of stars, coupled with a clash of cymbals, as emotion and passion climaxed in the melding of their mouths.
Her tongue hungrily sought his. They clutched each other and their feet stopped moving as they gave themselves over completely to the soul-stirring magic of their kiss.
Marco’s mouth moved over hers, greedy for it, tasting and possessing her. Her hands gripped the sides of his face, holding him close. Her nose brushed against his, changing sides with it, changing back, as each sought to deepen the kiss, to make it more than any kiss could be.
At that moment the music stopped and the room burst into applause.
Sandy and Marco fell back from each other. Sandy was dazed and amazed as the polite clapping continued. The applause seemed to celebrate their kiss, and perhaps it did, even as the band took their bows.
Marco led her back to their table, weaving through other couples as they applauded the mastery of the musicians. Sandy eased into her seat, painfully aroused. Her nerves sang with longing she’d never imagined.
Marco’s gray eyes were dark with passion, his face taut with emotion. He took her hand as they sat at the table. He looked as if he was about to say something, but words didn’t rise to his lips.
There were no words for what had just happened between them.
Her dream had become a reality, and so much more than a dream could ever be.
More pleasurable.
More exciting.
More terrifying.
Sandy covered her confusion in a sip of water. Her girlish game of flirting had gone further than she’d intended. She’d implicated Marco in her fantasies, drawn him out and aroused him. She’d treated him as a phantom, a fantasy lover without feeling, but he had responded as a man.
As she replaced her glass, her eyes rested on her watch. It was eleven fifteen. To reach work on time, she had to leave within the next five minutes.
Marco reached across the table and took her hand. He placed his other hand over hers, rubbing it gently. The heat from his skin mingled with hers, a friction creating sparks as he continued the oddly primitive gesture.
At last he spoke. “You’ve bewitched me.”
She swallowed. Perhaps she was a witch with dark powers capable of entrancing this man she admired so much. Of bringing him harm.
“I didn’t mean to.”
“You never asked me what I wanted for my third wish.”
“No,” she half whispered it. What he wished was none of her business. Her little game seemed risky now it had gotten so far out of hand.
“I know what I want now.” His voice was quiet yet assured.
She remained silent, afraid.
“I want to know you.” His eyes searched her face, seeking the knowledge he asked.
No, you don’t. You want to get to know the woman you think you see. The sleek-haired, blue-eyed woman in the shimmering silk dress.
Her heart clenched with the sorrow of it.
She didn’t speak.
“Will you see me again?”
He wasn’t trying to take her home, to seduce her, to claim her for his bed. He wanted to meet again, to talk, to pursue a friendship that could lead to who knows what.
What a shame it was impossible. More than impossible.
She had to leave. Now.
“I have to go to the ladies’ room.” Not a graceful exit but all she could think of.
Marco nodded silently and released her hand from his. Her fingers were suddenly cold out of his protective grasp. She tried to walk gracefully across the room, teetering in her high heels witho
ut his arm for support. Her head spun, emotions whirling out of control.
It was over.
A perfect evening. More than she’d imagined, more than she’d ever dreamed. And now it was done. As she left the main room of the club, she saw the ladies’ room but hurried past it. Rushing, fumbling, she retrieved her bag from the coat check and ran outside into the cool night air.
There was no moon. The streetlights and the headlights of passing cars lit her way as she clattered along the pavement lugging her heavy bag, shivering in her thin blue dress.
Alone.
Chapter Two
‡
Sandy ducked into the McDonald’s on Sixth and West Third, making for the bathroom. Late night coffee-drinkers barely lifted their eyes as her heels clicked across the tiles.
In the cramped space of a stall, she shrugged out of the silky dress and kicked off her heels. She slid a gray long-sleeved T-shirt over her head and pulled on familiar faded jeans. Herself again.
She groped in the darkness of her gym bag, looking for her sneakers, but could only find one. Even as she emerged to the florescent-lit row of sinks, it didn’t materialize.
Ugh. One expensive Nike sneaker gone. Even though she’d bought them on sale, it was still thirty-five dollars down the drain. Reluctantly she slipped her feet back into the high heels.
At the sink she removed the blue contacts, then tugged her hair back into her usual ponytail and used water to scrub away the last traces of eyeliner, mascara and lipstick that had outlined and enhanced her features.
The transformation from princess to drudge was complete. She didn’t have any fireplaces to sweep out, but she had cold calls to make. Customers in Asia waited to hear a hard sell on the wonders of Danieli Electronics while America slept.
She slipped out of McDonald’s and dashed across the street to the subway entrance, on her way back to her ordinary life.
The trains were slow at that hour and she had to wait. Heart thudding and her breath labored, she ran the blocks from the 23rd Street station to the converted warehouse near the water that housed Danieli’s offices.