by Kit Rocha
“Nita is a sweetheart,” Zeke said loftily. “And I, for one, am not going to make lewd comments about her amazing rack just because her brother’s a fuckhead.”
Reyes grabbed his head and planted a smacking kiss on his cheek.
“You guys are impossible.” Ana brushed her fingers lightly over Deacon’s, a gesture so subtle most of the others missed it. “I’m going to go work the room. C’mon, Laurel.”
“Later, boys.” Laurel paused long enough to step on Reyes’s foot and wink at him as she walked past.
He winced. “Wicked, wicked woman.”
Gabe turned silently, his gaze following Laurel as she sauntered away. He wasn’t being subtle--not to anyone who knew him the way Hunter did--but he was being way too subtle to catch Laurel’s attention.
He sidled up to Gabe. “You could go with her, you know.”
Gabe started and whipped his head back around. “No, I need to focus on the job. Figure out what’s going on with my brother.”
From where Hunter stood, Javier’s problem was the same as everyone else’s--he couldn’t pin Maricela down long enough to plead his case for matrimony. He only hoped she was outmaneuvering them on purpose, playing the game better than they ever had. For her own sake.
But Gabe’s genuine worry tugged at him, and he wrapped an arm around his friend’s shoulders. “Come on, then,” he urged. “Let’s get to work.”
Chapter Twelve
The night was passing in a blurry whirl of dances, faces, and champagne. Maricela felt numb to it, like the whole ball was very, very far away--and happening to someone else. Someone who could still smile and make small talk, even though she wanted to run away.
All her attention--her real attention--was fixed on Ivan. He somehow managed to always be within her line of sight without looking like he was lurking. He ghosted through the crowd, his former discomfort gone and his focus absolute.
It was his job to watch her, but not like this. The weight of his unceasing gaze was anything but practical. It was tangible, hot, and it had nothing to do with objectively ensuring her safety.
It had everything to do with sex.
Her dance partner, the second son of one of the lesser noble families, was saying something. She smiled and nodded, then immediately regretted it when his face lit up.
“Oh, I can’t wait to show you my workshop.” He beamed down at her. “I know it’s not how things have always been done, and my father thinks mass production is crass and cheap. But when I heard what you were doing with those shipping containers--making homes for the refugees? Well, just because they can’t afford handblown glass doesn’t mean they don’t deserve nice cups.”
“That’s so true,” she murmured. “I look forward to it.”
It was enough to launch him into an enthusiastic description of the process. It sounded like a sales pitch, though not an overly personal one. He only wanted her patronage, and she almost promised it to him on the spot. Money was simple. Easy, especially for her.
But she couldn’t choke out the words, because everyone wanted something from her. The demands were so unrelenting that she felt sincere relief when someone only asked for a bit of her time or an influx of cash for their business venture.
How fucked up was that?
The song ended and bled into another one, and her partner didn’t even notice. He was deep in a loving description of synthesizing glass when Zeke appeared and gave the man’s shoulder a firm tap. “Can I cut in?”
He blinked, but immediately stepped back and gave Maricela a little bow. “I’ll send the details to your estate.”
“I look forward to it.” Then she fought a wince, because she’d said that already, but her companion didn’t seem to notice. He was still smiling when he melted into the crowd, and she turned to Zeke. “You didn’t bring me any booze, did you?”
“No, just my sparkling personality. And how hot my ass looks in these pants.” He grasped her hand and her waist. “Plus you looked like you needed a break.”
“You have no idea. But I am glad to hear that you’ve learned to appreciate what some skilled tailoring can do for your butt.”
“I’d check out what it’s doing for yours, but I don’t want Ivan to knock out my teeth.” He grinned, flashing them at her, then whirled her around so fast that the room swam dizzily. “Hold steady, kiddo. We’ll be out of here in another few days.”
She clutched at him for support until the room righted itself. “So everyone keeps desperately reminding me.”
“Yeah, well, it’s the truth.” They swooped again, nearly colliding with a West cousin who was dancing with his husband. Zeke’s dancing was more energetic than skilled, but he was clearly having the time of his life--until he caught sight of Reyes spinning Grace around with significantly more finesse.
His eyebrows drew together as his lips flattened into a stern line. “That is not okay.”
“What, Reyes dancing? Or with Grace?”
“That’s not dancing. That’s plotting a debauched seduction.”
Maricela let her head fall back with an inarticulate groan. “Ugh, so what? Humor me for a moment--just a moment--and answer this: what if that’s what she wants?”
“With Reyes?”
Probably not. Grace hadn’t said anything, not in so many words, but in her less guarded moments, she looked at Zeke with a bewildering, complicated mix of emotions that could only mean one thing. “You could dance with her instead.”
His eyes narrowed suspiciously, and his next dizzy spin was a bit petulant. “Not like Reyes, I can’t. It’s a miracle I haven’t broken any of your toes.”
“Okay, so you completely missed that I was talking about sex, not dancing. I see.”
This time, Zeke stopped entirely. Another couple almost crashed into them, but he barely seemed to notice. “What?”
“Never mind.” Maricela urged him into motion again with a grin. “If you want to learn, I can teach you. About dancing, not sex.”
“I should hope not sex. Your brother would murder me. Slowly and creatively.” Zeke found the beat of the music again, settling into the steps of an awkward waltz. “And I know how to dance normal, you know. But that doesn’t help with these fancy rich people gigs. Gabe tried to teach me, but he’s not very patient.”
Gabe was currently holding court on the center of the dance floor with one of Hunter’s sisters. People had actually stopped to watch them as they glided across the ballroom in a spectacle of elegance and skill.
Maricela snorted. “Gabe’s a fabulous dancer. Terrible teacher, though.”
“So why don’t you do what he couldn’t? Make me a fabulous dancer.”
“Oh my God, come on.” She dragged him through the crowd by the hand, ignoring the whispers and the curious stares.
If she wanted to leave the floor in the middle of a number, she damn well could. No matter what they thought, they didn’t own her.
The back balcony overlooking the garden was deserted, probably because the couples looking for real privacy had already disappeared into the hedge maze. Maricela propped her hands on her hips and surveyed the space. “This will work.”
“Will it?” He glanced over her shoulder and grinned. “Better hurry. Ivan’s getting nervous.”
“Keep it up,” she muttered as she manually corrected his frame and posture. “I may normally be very sweet, but right now I’m tipsy. Who the hell knows what’s liable to come out of my mouth? Tease me at your own peril.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Quickly, she ran through instructions for a basic box step, then nodded to him when they could start moving in time with the music drifting through the open doorway. “Eyes up. And remember--my legs are shorter than yours.”
The reminder helped. Zeke was smart, coordinated, and trained for combat. Once he moderated his stride so he wasn’t dragging her around, the dance was far more graceful.
After a few moments of silence, he spoke. “You know Ivan means well, right?”
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br /> “Of course he does.”
Zeke’s face was uncharacteristically serious. “We all poke fun at him for being so serious, and having him follow you around has to be a little claustrophobic. But he’s the most loyal person I’ve ever met. You’re safer with him than anyone else in the world. Even me.”
“You’re preaching to the converted, Zeke.” His intensity didn’t abate, so she sighed and tried again. “In a perfect world, I wouldn’t need a Rider as a guard. But the world isn’t perfect right now. And if I had to choose one of you, it would be Ivan.” For so many reasons. So many things.
“Good.” His fierceness eased. “I just get protective. A lot of people don’t understand Ivan.”
“Don’t apologize. I’m glad he has friends looking out for him.” She lifted one eyebrow. “My turn?”
“To do what?”
“To play the overprotective friend.” Maricela stopped dancing but kept hold of his hand. “Grace has been through a lot, and she deserves to have some fun. If you want to be the one having it with her, go for it. But if all you want is to stop her from having it with someone else, please don’t. Just...let her be.”
For once, Zeke didn’t have a witty retort. He studied her face as they resumed their waltz, then finally nodded. “You’re a good friend.”
“I do my best.” The curtain billowing in the doorway moved a little, and she caught sight of Ivan standing in the shadows. Watching, his expression momentarily unguarded.
Envious, like he wanted to be the one dancing with her.
Her breath caught. But before she could make her excuses to Zeke, a loud group of revelers drifted through the open door at the other end of the balcony. Even if Ivan cut in now, it wouldn’t be a private moment, with just the two of them.
So she grinned up at Zeke and tilted her head toward the ballroom. “I could use a break. Are you ready to try your skills with a new partner?”
“Damn right, I am.” He offered his elbow and escorted her through the door.
As they passed by Ivan, Maricela slowed and leaned toward him. She didn’t mean to do it, but he was like a magnet--every time she got too close, the pull overwhelmed her. She squeezed her eyes shut and started to move away, but his fingers drifted over her arm.
She shivered, caught between the chill of the evening breeze and the heat of his hand. Then her eyes flew open and the heat took over, because he was stroking down, tracing a path of goose bumps down to the sensitive skin inside her wrist.
The contact lasted only a moment, but Maricela’s entire world shifted on its axis.
Zeke didn’t even notice. He steered her back into the party and relinquished her to a request by Gabe’s father. She danced with Miguel, smiled at him, almost certainly made small talk with him, but her attention was once again centered on Ivan.
He drifted through the crowd, and even when she wasn’t looking at him, she felt his gaze. She felt it on the inside of her wrist, on the back of her neck--on every spot he’d already touched her, and the places he hadn’t yet.
Yet.
Nita
Every year, when Nita stepped out onto the landing to descend into her personal hell, she spared a moment of silence to perform her most tragic ritual.
Ten years. Tonight, it’s been ten years.
One should always mark the anniversary of the night one had fallen hopelessly in love.
At least this year, Nita had a distraction available. Managing Grace and Laurel and Ana as they prepared for their first ball had given her an outlet for all the simmering tension she’d stored during the long days trapped in her mother’s clutches. She had orchestrated their entry into the world of Sector One nobility like a leader preparing her rawest recruits for their first battle. Dresses and makeup were armor, and the jewels adorning perfectly displayed cleavage were weapons.
Their own personal charms were doing the rest. Nita watched from beside a convenient potted tree as Laurel and Ana cut a swath through the hapless nobility. Ana had one of Gabe’s great-aunt’s hanging off her every word, while Laurel had entranced two of Nita’s twenty-year-old cousins. Both boys looked torn between lust, awe, and fear.
Nita empathized. Laurel provoked all three feelings in her, too.
Grace wasn’t faring so well. The Monteros had reacted with predictable speed to the unveiling of the gowns she’d made. Gabe’s younger father was twirling Grace around the dance floor, his handsome face all smiles and charm. They weren’t wasting time by sending in the cousins and uncles--if Grace wanted, she could leave the Reyes estate as Gabe’s newest mother.
Somehow, Nita doubted Grace wanted that at all.
Maricela was stuck dancing with the Montero patriarch, which might have been even worse. No doubt Miguel Montero was trying to smooth over any ruffled feathers caused by his son’s drunken idiocy. He probably thought he was succeeding, too. Maricela’s smile was gracious and warm and utterly convincing...if you hadn’t grown up with her.
Or if you weren’t a broody, obsessed bodyguard.
Nita sipped her champagne as she watched Ivan drift through the crowd like a moon orbiting Maricela. Pretending that she hadn’t noticed the way they were circling one another had grown difficult, but she and Maricela had a silent understanding, born of who they were and the lives they were expected to lead.
You never, ever talked about someone else’s hopeless love.
A ripple of murmurs spread through the crowd, and habit had Nita skimming the crowd for the source of the disturbance. It wasn’t hard to find. Gideon had taken to the floor for one of his rare dances, and on his arm...
By all the saints, Avery was stunning.
Her brown hair was piled on top of her head, baring a graceful neck and black pearl earrings. Her body wasn’t all that different from Nita’s--they were both big in the chest and bigger in the ass, with wide hips and solid frames. But Nita was short, with muscles under her generous curves, thanks to a childhood spent in a saddle and subsequent years of wrestling with clay and throwing huge pots.
Avery was...softer. More graceful. Elegant. She walked like she was dancing, and when she started to dance, it was like her feet didn’t even touch the floor. Her black gown hugged her body. The skirt flared as she spun, and every movement was liquid poetry.
Even her makeup was a work of art. Simple, smoky eyes, dramatic eyeliner, a hint of blush, and heart-stopping red lips. Classic and sophisticated. Perfect. As a master of the game of personal presentation, Nita couldn’t help but respect Avery’s skill.
And try to find an exit before--
“For heaven’s sake, don’t lean against the wall. You’ll crush your gown.”
Oh, shit.
Satisfied that her admonition would be heeded, Nita’s mother followed her gaze and pursed her lips. “She dances well. I suppose she had lessons.”
Avery had come from Sector Two, from one of the infamous training houses that had turned out the most skilled courtesans in all eight sectors. No doubt dancing had featured prominently among the many things she’d been forced to learn.
Desperately, Nita tried to shift the vector of the conversation. “I suppose so. But you must be pleased to see Gideon dancing. He didn’t dance once at the Monteros’ winter ball.”
“And why should his sudden appreciation for the activity please me?”
“Because you threw the best party. Everyone will be talking about it, Mama.”
Estela smiled and touched Nita’s cheek. “You always see the silver linings, don’t you?”
Her mother’s voice was so warm that familiar guilt curled around Nita’s gut and squeezed. When they were apart, it was easy to build Estela into a monster who wanted to wreak havoc on her children’s lives, but then Nita came home and her mother smiled and hugged her and praised her latest pottery work. She was protective and fierce, loving and brilliant. Nita loved her mother. She even liked her mother.
But she could feel the sword, too. Dangling over her neck, waiting to drop.
; Still, it always felt good to be at the center of Estela’s regard. She couldn’t stop herself from smiling in return. “I try.”
“Now...” Estela tapped her chin thoughtfully. “The question is, what do we do about her?”
Nita followed her mother’s gaze back to Avery, and there was the sword. Blissfully swift, she supposed. “Her sister is Lex Parrino, Mama. The queen of Sector Four, a war hero. I imagine we shouldn’t do anything.”
Her mother scoffed. “Relax, Nita. I’m not talking about having her killed. But there must be some way we can turn his head.”
She wanted to say so many things. The words tangled in her chest until it hurt, and she clenched her jaw to prevent any of them from bubbling up.
For all you know, that could be an innocent dance.
But who cares if it’s not?
I hope it’s not.
I don’t want him, Mama, and he doesn’t want me, and this is never, ever going to happen. Stop, please stop.
She’d tried everything. Her mother brushed away objections like annoying flies, because she loved her daughter and knew what was best, and what was best was thrusting Nita to the pinnacle of their world, even if the dizzying height would be too much for her to bear.
Estela made a soft noise of contemplation. “Perhaps Gideon suspects that your...practical education is lacking.”
“My practical education?”
“Sex, darling,” Estela answered absently. “Miss Parrino most certainly had lessons.”
A flush of embarrassment washed over Nita, followed by hot humiliation. Her face was on fire. How many times would she do this? How many times would she let down her guard, allow herself to be wooed by scraps of affection?
An actual sword would have been merciful. This was torture.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that.” Her mother made a face. “Do you honestly think you’d be the first noblewoman to receive professional instruction? Or nobleman, for that matter? For the saints’ sakes, Nita.”
There was no graceful escape. If she argued, her mother would push back, dismantling every protest until Nita wasn’t sure which of them was right. The easiest thing to do was to nod, even though her neck was so stiff it hurt. “I’ll think about it,” she managed through numb lips, then pushed away from the wall. “I should get back to the dancing.”