Wreckless (17 page)

On one side,
La Rambla
was displayed in bold red, neon piping. Two rows of large palms lined the entrance. Enzo helped her out as the driver waited in line for the valet and, with every swing of the huge wooden doors that led into the club, the heavy beat of conga drums reached her ears.

When they reached the door, he turned to her. “You ready?”

No, she wasn’t. “Sure.”

A large bouncer lifted the rope for them to enter the foyer. He took the gold embossed card Enzo handed over and peered at it. “Through the doors, turn right, and up the stairs, sir. Rita, your hostess, will escort you to your private room.”

“Private room?” Either Enzo ignored her question or the loud music masked her words. Either way, she didn’t press him any further.

Because the music entranced her, as did the décor. In a rich blend of Spanish, Cuban, and Mexican art, the walls were decorated with mahogany beams and pictures of famous salsa aficionados from all three countries. She spied Francisco Vasquez, Celia Cruz, hailed as the queen of salsa, Tito Puente, and a black and white sketch of Arsenio Rodriguez.

African face masks interspersed the pictures to give an ethnic feel and, on the far side of the cavernous space, a live Cuban band, complete with the conga drums she’d heard kept dancers on the floor gyrating in a sea of writhing, sweating bodies.

Excitement ratcheted through her. She realized her love of salsa hadn’t died, just been buried underneath the pain of her life. Just for tonight, she willed the pain away. 

Enzo led the way up the stairs and she followed, although what she really wanted was to get on the dance floor and lose herself in the rhythm of the music.

At the top of the stairs, a dark haired woman stepped forward. She wore a short, white halter-necked dress with gold hoops dangling in her ears. Her makeup was impeccable, as was her smile.

“Welcome to
La Rambla
. My name is Rita, and I’ll be your hostess this evening. If you need anything, anything at all, don’t hesitate to ask.” She took the card Enzo handed over and led them along a wide, curved red-carpeted corridor. Beside a wood paneled door, she inserted the card into an electronic strip on the wall.

The room they entered was lined with dark red velvet. Low lights created an intimate ambience and speakers fed in music straight from the band. Her disappointment at missing the live band faded as she took in the layout of the room. Half suspended over the main dance floor, it gave a clear view through a floor-to-ceiling glass window. Inside the room, plush recliners with fat cushions ensured comfort and, on the large low table, a bucket of champagne rested in an ice bucket. Along one wall, a low bar displayed several bottles of liquors, cocktail mixers, and expensive wine.

She experienced a stab of anxiety. Enzo didn’t know she’d given up alcohol.

“Would you like a cocktail or a glass of Cristal?” their hostess asked.

He cocked a brow at her.

“I’ll start with a cocktail. A
virgin
cocktail,” she clarified when Rita reached for the Cuevas.

When Enzo’s expression turned puzzled, she hastened to add, “I’m pacing myself. No need to rush it, is there?”

She breathed a sigh of relief when his expression cleared.

“I’ll have a beer,” he said.

Dropping her tiny bag on the table, she moved to the window. Unable to stop herself, she tapped her feet to the music. The beat pulsated through her, waiting to run free through her blood. Enzo materialized beside her with his beer and her drink. She took a sip as he twisted the top off his
San Miguel
and took a long swallow.

Standing still was impossible. Almost in a trance, she moved her hips. Her torso followed. The sinuous movement surprised her with its familiarity.

“You haven’t forgotten how, have you?”

Glancing over, she found his gaze on her.

“When you give into it, salsa becomes a part of your soul. No matter how long you abstain, it remains in your blood. It’s a lot like great sex,” he breathed in her ear as he slid behind her. One hand snuck around her waist to rest on her stomach. The other lifted the bottle to his lips. To the beat of the drums, he moved his pelvis toward hers, nudging her forward. They swayed together, their bodies reclaiming the rhythm they’d found a thousand years ago in a salsa club in London. He allowed her another sip of her cocktail, then he took her glass from her and set it on the table with his half-empty bottle.

He took her hand, led her into a double turn, before slamming her into his body. Both hands slid down her sides to mold her waist into the beat. Her hips moved of their own accord, her legs widening to accommodate the length of muscled leg he slid between hers.

Beneath her fingers, the black silk of his shirt singed her palms. God, he was hot. His heart pumped along to the tempo of the music. He twirled her away from him, brought her back almost instantaneously before bending her over his arm. She fell into the rhythm as if born to it, and the passion in his face as he danced made her want to weep with joy.

Faster and faster they moved, until cymbals crashed around them in a deafening crescendo.

When he pulled her up from another deep dip, she was flushed and her hair was in disarray, but she didn’t care. She felt more alive than she had in the past year. His arms closed around her, while his head descended to seal his mouth to hers. Heart beating wildly, she rose on tiptoe and kissed him right back, telling him without words how much he meant to her. At last he lifted his head, lingered for a last kiss before he pulled away.

“Happy birthday, baby.”

Her spirits dimmed at the hated endearment, but she shrugged off the feeling. Tonight wasn’t about the past or even the future. Here and now was all that mattered.

Twirling away from him, she picked up her drink and took a long sip. “Thank you so much for bringing me here. This place is amazing.” She looked around. “But why a private room instead of down there?” She waved to the crowd below, now moving as one to the rhythm of a rumba beat.

“Because from here, we can enjoy the best of both worlds.”

“You mean, join the crowd downstairs or have our party here?”

“Yeah. Or we can enjoy a more…exclusive party. Upstairs.”

The way he said the words made a tingle dance along her spine. The look in his eyes reminded her of earlier, in the car, when she had the feeling he was holding something back.

“What sort of party?”

“Finish your drink. Rita will give us a tour.”

With a start, she looked around. She’d completely forgotten about their hostess. But they were alone. “Where’d she go?”

“She’s close by. It’s her job to be discreet. Ready to head upstairs?”

She hesitated, noting the hint of reluctance in his voice. If he didn’t want to go upstairs - whatever happened there - why did he suggest it? “Are you?”

He shrugged. “We can go downstairs and mingle.”

The band had started another pulse-raising song. 

Again, she hesitated and took a sip of her drink, hoping for the Dutch courage which never came. “What’s on this floor?”

“More rooms. Some cater to bigger parties, but most are like this.” He picked up his beer and drained it. “So, what’s it to be? Downstairs? Or upstairs?”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

As much as she tried, Lexi couldn’t read the look in his eyes. After a moment, she made up her mind.

“Downstairs. I want another dance.”

An expression close to relief flared through his eyes. What the hell was going on? What was he hiding from her? Whatever game he was playing, she wanted to know. “I’ve changed my mind. I want to go upstairs.”

He raised a startled gaze to her. “You sure?”

She shrugged. “I get the feeling it’s why you brought me here. So let’s get on with it, shall we?”

A slow, decidedly reluctant nod. “If that’s what you want.”

“What I want is for you to tell me what’s going on!”

“I could tell you. Or you can see for yourself.”

“Fine.” She set her glass down and ran a nervous tongue over her lips. “Let’s go.”

For several heartbeats, he didn’t move. Then he reached out and pressed a button on the wall. Seconds later, Rita appeared. “Would you like another drink? Our chef prepares the best enchiladas north of the border if you’d like something to eat?”

“No, thanks. Maybe later. Right now we want to take a tour upstairs.”

If Lexi had hoped to read something in Rita’s face, she was disappointed. Without missing a beat, their hostess gestured toward the door.

“Of course. If you’ll follow me?”

She led the way deeper into the semi-circular hallway until they reached another foyer. Wide gold-carpeted steps led up to a door painted black with a gold knocker shaped like a Mayan mask displayed in the middle. She rapped it twice. It opened to reveal a slim, well-dressed man.

Rita stood aside, a smile still on her face. “Diego will take care of you from here. If you wish to return downstairs, please inform him and I will come and escort you.”

Enzo nodded.

Lexi could only manage a smile. The threat of the unknown veered her emotions from heady excitement to acute trepidation. She followed Enzo and Diego along another shorter hallway. Strobe lighting flashed as they drew toward the end and, as before, she heard pounding music. But the music here was much more subdued, slower and more suited to tango than salsa.

They emerged onto a large landing, and she stood transfixed at the scene before her.

Down shallow steps, the sunken dance floor was divided into two halves.

Couples and lone dancers.

On one side, couples, some clearly professional dancers, executed the complicated moves of the Argentine tango with exquisite precision. Sinewy bodies glided, buttocks clenched, and legs flicked with superb control.

On the other side, individual dancers, both men and women in glamorous outfits, danced with free abandon, their movements sensual and sexy. They swayed, they slid, and they rubbed, in highly suggestive ways that made the air clog in her throat.

The music ended and everyone changed partners, sliding smooth arms around the nearest body and continuing to dance as if they were one entity.

She could have stood there watching all night.

She looked up, away from the scene in front of her, and sucked in a breath when she saw the dancing wasn’t restricted to the dance floor. Tiered balconies curved on both sides, overlooking the dance floor below. Here too, everyone danced, but changed partners every few minutes, moving with fluid grace into the arms of the nearest person. Only one or two stood apart, sipping their drinks and watching.

“This is the heart of
La Rambla
, where music takes over the senses and all inhibitions are left behind.”

She jerked at the sound of Diego’s voice close to her ear. The hand Enzo curved around her waist tightened, and she sought comfort from it.

“You can participate as much, or as little, as you choose. The bar is over there.” Diego nodded to their left. “Or if you prefer, just order whatever you need from a waitress. The tab will be put on your room. On either side of the dance floor, there are rooms with more privacy, feel free to use them. Enjoy
La Rambla
.” Diego gave a shallow bow and retreated into the darkness.

On closer inspection, she saw a couple in the so-called private room. Peering closer, she saw just what they were doing. The guy's cock was in the woman's closed grip and she had her tongue firmly in his mouth. As Lexi watched, his eyes opened and he stared straight at her.

Heat engulfed her face as she glanced away.

Private rooms, but within sight of anyone who cared to glance in.

A shaky breath escaped her parted lips. She couldn’t look at Enzo, and she forced herself not to look at the dancers, for fear he’d see what she ached to hide.

“If you want to dance…or do anything else, I won’t stop you,” he breathed in her ear.

Her gaze flew to his, her mouth drying at his words. The look on his face sank her heart.

“You know, don’t you?” she asked bluntly, fighting the tide of shame that crawled through her.
Please let him say no, please—

He responded with a single nod. She wanted to run and hide.

“How?”

“Something about a truth or dare confession?”

She squeezed her eyes shut for a second. “Cara told you.”

Again a nod.

Far from thinking the events of a year ago had been put under lock and key, it seemed the past was determined to keep surging up and biting her in the ass. “Why?”

“I wanted ideas for your birthday.”

“And she told you to bring me here. Just like that?” She tried to read his expression, anxious for any signs of distaste or disgust.

He shrugged. “She seemed to think it was something you needed to experience. Was she right?”

“You should’ve asked me.”

“Would you have come tonight?”

Would she? She shuddered. Most likely not. She’d kept her secret buried for too long, bore the prude tag for too long, to just expose it at the drop of a hat. Even after all she’d experienced in Enzo’s bed, the thought that she was somehow lacking still niggled. But to rid herself of it,
like this?

She turned away. “Your sister has a big mouth.”

“But she’s got guts. Gotta give her that.”

She heard admiration in his voice. “So what is this? A test? An experiment to see if
I’ve got guts?”

“Hey, you can walk away without a backward glance, if that’s what you want. Or you can go with your instinct. It’s entirely up to you.”

“And you? How do you feel about doing me in front of strangers?”

His jaw tightened. “This isn’t about me. It’s about you and I guess some sort of demon you seem to be fighting.”

She sucked in a shocked breath. “
Jesus,
I wouldn’t go that far.”

“So why did you never tell me about it? Why keep it secret? You’re not the first person to fantasize about this sort of thing. There’s no reason to be ashamed of it. Trust me, I know you’re not a prude.”