by Meghan Quinn
Nodding appreciatively, Beck takes his jacket, stuffs it in the seat with my helmet, and takes my hand in his while tucking his helmet under his other arm. “Come on, Sassy.”
“Where are we going?” I try to keep up with his pace, ignoring the way his palm feels pressed against mine.
“You’ll see.”
My heart rate picks up as he leads me down a dark alley, barely lit by the street lamps behind us. Nervous, a bit scared, and certainly questioning my sanity, I shake in place as Beck knocks on a black door. As if in a movie, a slot in the door opens and two dark eyes with heavy eyebrows hovering over them appear. “Password.”
“Puedo bailar,” Beck responds in a Spanish accent, turning my insides into mush, but for only a second, because where the hell is he taking me that requires a password to enter?
All I can think is, this is it, tomorrow morning, they’re going to find my half-harvested body along the beaches of Malibu with a note attached to me that says, “She didn’t blind date well.”
The heavy clinking sound of a dungeon lock echoes through the alley and Beck ushers me in.
I know, I should be stopping the progress down this dark tunnel with blind date number two and eyebrow security guard, but curiosity wins me over and instead of being the intelligent human being who thinks rationally, I’m that girl you scream at while watching a horror flick. You know, the one who’s a complete idiot and winds up getting killed off in the first ten minutes. The one you yell at and throw your hands up in the air out of pure frustration.
She deserved to have her head chopped off by that chainsaw, she should have “saw” it coming. We’ve all said it one time or another.
So go ahead, say that about me and when you do, please say a prayer as well that my organs are the only things harvested from my body, none of that Jack the Ripper kind of harvesting . . .
As Beck easily glides me through the dark hallway, I can feel my palm starting to sweat against his, my resistance growing stronger and stronger the closer we get to a loud booming door.
Organ harvesting party, yep, sitting right behind that door, the one where the zombie apocalypse is collectively starting, that’s the end of me.
Beck reaches for the door and I close my eyes, saying a mental goodbye to everyone in my life, wishing I’d texted Dylan before I came on this date.
When the door opens, I barely open my eyes to find a brightly lit room in red, orange, and gold hues with salsa music blaring through this underground room while a gaggle of different types of people move and shake their bodies on a lit-up dance floor.
Smirking back at me, Beck asks, “Ready to get a little dirty, Noely?”
Without waiting for an answer, he pulls me into the room, the beat of the music instantly sparking a wave of interest inside me. Beck starts shaking hands with patrons as we make our way down the stairs onto the main floor. This is not his first time, clearly, given how comfortable he is in the space. We reach a coat check and he hands the man behind the counter his helmet as well as my purse.
“Want something to drink?” he asks, leaning down to my ear so his scruff brushes against my cheek.
“Yes,” I answer, nerves heightening every move and press of his body against mine.
“This way.”
As we make our way past the dance floor, I can’t help but watch the couples grinding, twisting, and turning together. Can Beck dance like that? I give him a once-over and try to envision him grinding against me, his hips pressed against mine. My face flushes from the mere thought of our bodies touching so intimately. I have no idea if he can dance, but I’m kind of hoping he can, because I wouldn’t mind being held closely against him on the dance floor.
“What would you like to drink?” he asks me.
Taking in the scene before me, I smile and say, “A margarita please.”
“Smart choice.” Speaking fluently in Spanish, he orders drinks for both of us. He sounds so freaking sexy.
When he turns back around, I ask, “You speak Spanish?”
Looking out at the crowd, he nods. “Studied it for the past seven years.” He answers so casually, as if studying a foreign language is just natural, something everyone does. I wonder if his studying Spanish had anything to do with how long it took him to get a divorce? Was he traveling the world? To say this man confuses me is an understatement, but I’m also intrigued. I’m thinking that’s why I keep following him, and why I’m about to lose all inhibition on the dance floor.
“Here.” He hands me a salt-rimmed glass. Winking, he cheers his drink with me and takes a sip, watching my lips intently slip around the rim of my glass. He licks his lips when my mouth pulls away from my glass, his hand snagging around my hip, pulling me a little closer to him. The attention is heady and causing a yearning within me that is quite unexpected. Who is he? How am I reacting so strongly to this man?
I swallow the lime-flavored liquid, allowing the alcohol to heat up my body. Feeling a little nervous, I ask him, “What did you get to drink?”
“Water.” He takes another sip.
“Water?” My brow creases. “No margarita for you?”
“No alcohol.” Moving me closer, he asks, “Want to find a table, we can talk a little, get you warmed up to the music?”
“That sounds good.” From the look in his eyes, the hungry look, I’m going to need to drink a little bit more before heading out on the dance floor.
While we walk the perimeter of the dance floor, looking for a booth, I wonder why he doesn’t drink. Now that I think about it, he had water at dinner too. Interesting.
Chalk it up to the things I want to know about him.
Doesn’t drink alcohol.
Studied Spanish for several years.
Married at eighteen.
Broke up at twenty.
His divorce took eight years.
There are so many interesting puzzle pieces about this man that I’m actually kind of excited to fit all together.
Beck takes me to a half-moon shaped booth in the corner across from the live band. Secluded from other patrons around us, gaining an ounce of privacy just between us. Beck helps me slip into the booth first, then he comes up next to me and drapes his hand over the back of the seat, encasing me in his woodsy scent.
Mmm . . . he smells divine. How come I’m only noticing that now?
“This place is amazing, where did you find it?” I ask, taking a big gulp of my drink when Beck’s hand behind me starts drawing small circles on my exposed shoulder.
“A friend told me about it a year ago. I try to come once or twice a month.”
“Big dancer?”
He shrugs. “I’m all right. I just like the atmosphere. I’m all about living in the moment, Noely, and places like this, where you can let loose and experience life, these are the places I enjoy the most.”
“How could you not? The music alone makes you want to throw caution to the wind and shake your body.”
“I sure hope you’re feeling the same way once you finish that drink, because I have plans for you on that dance floor.” Looking over his drink, his eyes pinned on mine, I hear his silent message: things are about to get naughty.
Even though I’m slightly terrified, I think, bring it on.
***
“There is no way that’s what that line means.”
“It sure as hell does.”
“That’s ridiculous. What, did you study palm reading as well as Spanish?”
He chuckles and says, “I just know things. And that line right there means you’re allergic to coffee.”
I shake my head and laugh. “You’re such a liar.”
He strokes my palm with his finger, running it along every line, making my insides flutter and my breathing pick up with each stroke. He’s so close, his body practically on top of mine, his breath pressed against my ear, his scruff rubbing my skin ever so gently. And me, well, see my hips? Yeah, they’re slowly gyrating in his direction. I would like to blame the margarita, or even
the music, but I know that’s not the case. It’s my libido skyrocketing into dangerous territories from the way this man lightly strokes me in just the right way.
“Not a liar, just telling you what I see.”
“Is that so?” I lean in closer and ask, “Then how come I have coffee every morning and I’m fine? Seems to me like you just wanted an excuse to touch me so you pretended to be a palm reader.”
I hold my breath, waiting for his answer.
“You’re right. I did. Now give me a chance to touch you even more.” He retreats from the booth and holds out his hand for me to follow.
I take it without even giving it a second thought. Smiling devilishly, he guides me to the dance floor and immediately spins me into his arms where he takes my hands and links them behind his neck. Pulling me into his body, he places his hands on my hips and presses his forehead against mine.
As if it’s second nature to him, he starts moving us back and forth along the dance floor, his feet effortlessly gliding us. Intimidated at first, after a few passes across the floor, I start to feel the music and my muscles begin to loosen up.
“That’s it,” he whispers just loud enough so I can hear him over the music. “Loosen those hips, Sassy.”
A distinct trumpet and cowbell echo through the room, setting the pace and tone to the dance. It’s fast, yet commanding, encouraging us to grind together, and that’s what Beck does. His hands slide from my hips to my butt where he grips tightly and pulls me flush against his crotch. With my legs entwined with his, we stay in place as our hips gyrate together.
Breathless and turned on, I match his gaze with mine, his seductive eyes penetrating any last wall I might have had before this date, and for once in a long time, I let loose . . . completely.
“Just like that. God, you look so sexy.”
Leaning my head back, I let my hair fall behind me and give it a little shake before lifting my head back up and meeting his lust-filled, greedy eyes. His hands grip my butt tighter and I’m greeted by a noticeable hard-on.
I did that to him, and if that isn’t a turn-on, I don’t know what is.
My fingers start to play with his hair, twisting and turning the short strands, causing his eyes to haze over. Is it weird I want more? That even though our pelvises are pressed against each other, I want to be closer?
The music now flowing through me, controlling my every movement, I glide my hands down to his shirt where my fingers dexterously undo two more of his buttons, exposing more of his tan skin, his necklace in full view now. It’s a medallion I can’t quite make out, but it doesn’t matter right now, because all I care about is the muscular expanse of chest in front of me.
I slip my fingers inside his shirt and dance them across his chest, feeling the sinew of muscles flex with every move we make together.
When one of my fingers accidentally caresses one of his nipples, he growls into my ear and turns me around in his arms, causing me to temporarily lose my breath, that’s until his hands find mine again, securing my butt right against his crotch. I sigh and loop my hand around me to the back of his neck, anchoring me in place while he swivels our hips together, his lips pressed against my ear.
“Fuck, you feel good against me,” he whispers. His breath sends chills up and down my entire body as the music continues to guide me.
I push my butt even harder against his erection, heavy and obvious, swiveling my hips, loving the way I can feel his excitement so easily. I love that I affect him like this.
I’ve never been with a man so comfortable in his own skin that he doesn’t care about how I affect him. It’s like he’s proud of it. Of us.
It’s extremely rewarding.
Feeling the music, we dance slowly in tandem, letting the beat guide us. Still hanging on to him, my other hand now on top of one of his, he starts to feel the length of my leg, his body bending just slightly to reach the hem of my dress. When he moves his hand under the fabric, my breath stills for a second before he pulls away and lifts his hand back up my body until both of his hands reach my ribcage.
Oh God.
His head peers over my shoulder, his eyes trained down the valley of my cleavage. “I told you this dress was going to get you into trouble tonight and the way you’re moving against me, my self-control is slipping, Sassy.”
Taking a deep breath, I move his hand farther up my body and say, “Then let your will slip.”
“Fuck,” he growls into my ear, letting his hand move to just below my breasts. I suck in a breath from the contact and wait for him to move a little higher, but he doesn’t. Instead, he swivels his hips with mine and moves his hands down my sides until they’re resting on my thighs, his thumbs closing in on the juncture between my legs.
The heat level between us rises to inferno in the matter of seconds and my skin starts to prickle with need, a yearning I haven’t felt since . . . well since Jack, but before that, since I can’t remember.
“I don’t know how much more dancing I can do with you,” he says into my ear. “I’m about to combust here.”
I turn in his arms and look straight at him. “Then let’s get out of here.”
The way the words fall off my tongue sound so foreign to me, but then again, there’s not a chance in hell I want to take them back.
Chapter Fourteen
NOELY
Beck parks his bike and takes off his helmet as I do the same, letting the ocean breeze whip my hair around. The sweet smell of the salty sea makes me feel at ease as Beck turns toward me and in one swift movement, picks me up and swivels me around his hips so we’re facing each other and I’m sitting on his lap, the front of his bike propping me up.
Tossing our helmets to the side, he gives me a once-over and then pushes down on the sleeves of his jacket until it falls off my body.
When I suggested we leave the club, I was unsure where we would go next . . . or what we would do next, so I’m a little surprised that we are parked on a cliff just off the Pacific Coast Highway. Call me a little slutty, but a part of me thought we would be going back to my place or even his place.
Although, from the look in his eyes right now, he doesn’t necessarily care about the where.
Holding on to my waist with his strong hands, he looks me in the eyes and asks, “Have you had fun tonight, Noely?”
I nod and hold on to his white shirt, still loving how it’s open just enough that I can see the definition of his pecs.
“A good enough time that if I call you tomorrow, you’re not going to judge me for being so eager to talk to you again?”
“Honestly?” I move my hands a little higher on his shirt. “I would be insulted if you didn’t call me tomorrow morning.”
“Good, because I’m feeling this vibe between us, and there is no way in hell I’ll be able to keep my distance after I kiss you.”
“Kiss me?” I ask coyly, my body heating up before he even leans forward.
Biting on his bottom lip, he nods. “Yeah, kiss you.”
Keeping one of his hands firmly planted on my hip so I don’t move away from him, he trails the other one up my side until it grips my head and pulls me closer.
His lips are inches from mine when he says, “If you don’t want this, you have three seconds to tell me no. I can’t resist the pull between us. So tell me, Noely, do you want me to stop?”
“Not even a little,” I answer, my hands pressed against his exposed skin.
Closing in on those last few inches, he pauses right before his lips connect with mine, and the need to explode from the pent-up tension inside me is overwhelming until he leaves no room between us and kisses me. Oh God, does he kiss me. He kisses me with passion, with yearning, with a grip so tight on the back of my neck I can feel with the push of his thumb into my skin how domineering he would be in the bedroom. And I want that. More than I’ve ever wanted before.
I melt into his touch, into the way his mouth glides across mine, as if our lips are old friends, reacquainting one another
. Leaning into me, he pushes me against the front of his bike, stretching me out and moving his mouth deliciously across mine and then down my neck. My eyes open in shock from his nipping, but before I can really focus on what he’s doing, I’m caught up in the stars shining above me, and the ocean that splashes below me, and the way this man makes me feel warm, a little bold, and a whole lot of needy. For him.
The hand on my hip slips farther down my side until it meets the hem of my dress. While his lips kiss along my neck, to my ear, and back again, he slips his fingers under the fabric and drives them forward to my hip where he plays with the thin strap of my underwear. My breath catches in my chest from the way his fingers expertly caress my skin, making chills spread across my skin with one flick of his thumb.
And as I stare at the glittering sky, I keep repeating over and over in my head I’m not this girl, I’m not the girl who gets this physical on the first date. But there is no way I can stop him. I’m desperate for it. For him. I want more.
Sensing how relaxed he’s made me, he moves his head to my chest where he starts to kiss along my collarbone. Very slowly, as if he’s testing the waters, his hips start to mindlessly rock into mine, his hard-on evident with each tiny and gentle push forward.
God, it feels good.
“So good,” I whisper, loving how hot his mouth feels on my burning skin.
“You taste so good,” he mutters, his mouth moving lower until he’s kissing the swell of my breasts.
Yes . . .
More . . .
Lower . . .
“Hell,” he mutters, stilling my hips that started to rock on their own accord. He lifts his head from my chest and takes a deep breath. His hand lifts from my hips and runs over his mouth in disbelief. “I need to stop.”
“What? Why?” I ask, shocking myself. I should have stopped this the minute he twirled me around on his lap.
“Because if I don’t, we might get caught for indecent exposure, and I’m sure your morning show producers wouldn’t appreciate that.”
Ah! I didn’t even think about the morning show. Hmm. Why didn’t I think about that? Sitting up straight, I try to push down my tight skirt and shimmy away from the rebel himself before I allow him to stick his hand all the way up my dress to feel me up. And when I say feel me up, I mean squeeze my nipples. I want all the nipple squeezing right now. That’s how turned on I am.