Authors: Marie Donovan
“B
UDDY
. H
EY
,
BUDDY
. I
S THIS
the club you wanted?”
Marco dragged his gaze away from Rey’s perfect profile. The cabbie was staring at her, too, her glossy red lips shining even in the shadows. He cleared his throat. “This is it, thanks.” The rhythmic bongo drumbeat and piercing trumpets of a hot salsa tune pulsed into the street. He’d purposely avoided the club downtown where Francisco tended bar.
He helped Rey out of the cab and paid the driver. The lapels of her black velvet coat parted briefly, showing a long expanse of silk-stockinged thigh. She caught the path of his glance and smiled.
All right. He had to know. “What did you decide to wear?” She’d come out of her room wearing the long cloak-type garment and hadn’t let him see what she had picked for their evening of salsa dancing. The only thing she’d said was that her dress was short and tight, just as he’d requested.
“You’ll see when we get into the club.” She held her jacket closed, her eyes dark and mysterious with some smoky eye shadow.
He put his hand on the small of her back and hustled her into Club Tropical, eager to strip off her coat. The
pink-and-green-neon palm trees over the narrow entrance reflected off the golden clip fastening up her hair.
He dragged his stare away from her to scan the crush of club goers. If Rodríguez had sent someone, Marco didn’t recognize him.
“Hey, Francisco,
¿qué pasa?
” Marco spun around as a short man in an expensive Italian suit slapped him on the shoulder. “Sorry, you’re not Francisco.”
“Francisco?” Rey turned to him, smiling. “No, he goes by Marco.”
Busted. She’d blown his cover. And it was his own fault. He gripped her wrist, ready to run if the guy posed any danger.
The little man broke into a grin. “Are you Francisco Flores’s brother? He used to tend bar here before he got hired at that new club downtown. I’m Antonio, the club manager. Come see me if you need anything.” He was already moving to greet another patron.
Double busted. Rey yanked her wrist from his grasp. “You have a brother named Francisco?”
He nodded.
She narrowed her eyes. “He’s the professional model, not you.” It was a statement, not a question.
“That’s right.” He pulled her into an alcove near the coat check and spoke in a low, urgent tone. “I offered to take his place while he auditioned in L.A. for a soap opera. It was his big break, but his modeling agency wouldn’t let him cancel his appointment with you.”
Rey glared at him, her mouth pursed. It was so important for her to understand, to forgive his deception. He wanted to totally come clean with her, but he was al
ready pushing his luck here in the club. He’d left his pistol behind and had only a switchblade hidden in his boot.
She sighed, her face relaxing into its customary beauty. “All right. I understand doing a favor for a brother. I knew something was wrong, but I thought you were getting back into modeling after taking a few years off.”
“No, I’ve never modeled.”
“I could tell.” She raised an eyebrow. “So what do you do when you’re not rescuing your brother?”
Rescuing the world, it felt like. “What I told you before. Import and export, international business.”
“In Miami?”
“Yes.” They needed to leave before Francisco’s friend Antonio returned with any more questions. “I’ll understand if you’re upset with my deception and want to go home.” He angled his body toward the exit.
“No, Marco, I forgive you.” She finally smiled at him, her moist red lips parting invitingly. “Let’s stay and dance.”
Equal parts elation and desperation rushed through him. What if someone else recognized him?
“I’d be very disappointed if we left. And you’d be disappointed if you didn’t get to see my dress.” She finally opened the lapels of her cloak, unveiling herself.
Marco’s tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. She was a goddess. Her blond hair gleamed, twisted off her neck with a golden clasp. A golden halter dress fastened around her neck and skimmed over her plump breasts, tiny waist and voluptuous hips. Her nipples poked at the fabric like two Spanish doubloons.
“What do you think?” She twirled around and he groaned. A long, smooth expanse of back curved down
to the tiny dimple at the base of her spine. If he hooked a finger inside the dress, he would touch the bare curve of her ass.
He yanked off his own leather jacket and grabbed hers. Tossing them at the coat-check attendant, he shoved the claim ticket into his rapidly tightening pants pocket. “Let’s dance.”
He guided her through the crush of people. Heads turned as they found a spot at the edge of the dance floor. She stood taller than the other women and most of the men, a golden beacon shining in the dark room.
Just as they reached the dance floor the band segued into a fast-tempoed song. She hesitated, obviously unsure of her next move.
“It’s easy. All you have to do is move to the music.” He put his hands on her hips and guided them back and forth.
“So salsa dancing is mostly shaking your ass,” she shouted over the horn section.
“It’s more complicated than that, but ass-shaking is a major part.” Although the swing of her breasts under the tiny halter was also a big attraction.
He saw several men lurking nearby but ignored them. He knew he was rude in not letting any other men cut in on him and Rey. Salsa dancing was usually informal, with partners changing several times during an evening.
Rey leaned into him, her nipples pressing against his chest through the thin gold knit. “I think some of those men want to dance with me.”
“Too bad.” The band slipped into a slow number, the singer crooning about a lost love.
“What if I want to dance with them?” Her voice was teasing and husky.
“I don’t want my woman to dance with anyone else.”
“Am I your woman?” Her blue eyes were serious.
“You know you are.” He swallowed hard. “Reina, I want to tell you something.”
A younger man swaggered over to them and asked Reina to dance. By the time Marco sent him away with a blistering barrage of Cuban discouragement, the moment for confession had passed. He’d have to wait until they had more privacy.
Until then he’d take advantage of the sexy salsa rhythms. He brushed his fingers over the dimple at the base of her spine.
She leaned into him, her breath quickening. “Yes or no?”
“Yes or no what?”
“Have you decided if I’m wearing any underwear?”
His cock stiffened even more. “I’ll need to investigate further.”
Antonio appeared behind Rey, his expression urgent. Marco pulled his hand out of her dress and swung around.
“Two men were asking questions about you at the bar.” Antonio spoke in rapid Spanish, guessing correctly that Rey wouldn’t understand. “I didn’t think they were your friends.”
Marco whipped around to see whom Rodríguez had sent, but the crowd blocked his view of the bar. “You’re right.” Marco was already moving toward the nearest exit. “It’s probably the lady’s ex-boyfriend and his brother. When she broke up with him, he slapped her around.”
Antonio spit out a foul Spanish curse. “Follow me.” He made his way through the dancers.
Rey’s eyes widened. “Marco, what’s happening?”
He didn’t know Antonio but had no choice but to trust him. “Antonio has someplace special to show us.”
“
Sí,
very romantic,” the club manager called over his shoulder. The band was muted as he led them through a door labeled Private and up a darkened flight of stairs.
Antonio flipped a switch, and small crystal wall lamps revealed a long hallway paneled in rich, dark wood. “Here we are.” He stepped to a large panel and punched a code into a hidden keypad. A door swung open on silent hinges.
“A secret room.” Rey looked from one man to another. “I can rely on your discretion that no one learns about these rooms?”
Marco shook his hand, speaking quietly in Spanish. “I will not betray your kindness.”
“
Bueno.
Give me half an hour to find these men and get rid of them.” Antonio gestured at the narrow bar set along the side wall. “Please feel free to sample some beverages. No one will bother you here.” He closed the door noiselessly behind him.
Marco walked over to the bar and found what he was looking for. He’d bet Rey had never tried a
mojito,
and he could use a drink, too. “Do you like limes?”
“Limes?” Rey turned to him with her hands on her hips. “Your friend whisks us off to some secret salsa-club Batcave and you ask me about limes?”
Uh-oh. She was royally pissed. “I have rum and cola if you’d prefer.”
“I’d
prefer
that you tell me the truth, Marco Francisco Flores-or-maybe-not-Flores.”
“Actually my full name is Marco Santiago Flores.”
“Well, Marco Santiago, why don’t you tell me what the hell is going on?”
“L
OOK
,
THAT HAD TO BE
Flores’s brother dancing with the blonde with the juicy ass.” Chucho licked his lips. “Man, when we find him, I want an hour alone with her.”
His brother scoffed. “An hour? You’d only need three minutes.”
“If you’re lonely, Nico, we should find a goat for you.”
Nico muttered an epithet and craned his neck. “Holy shit, he looks a lot like Flores. But
el jefe
says to do nothing. Just find where he’s staying.”
“Nothing?” Chucho sulked, caressing the switchblade in his pocket. “I want to cut that golden dress off her.”
“Stop playing pocket pool and pay attention.” Nico grabbed his brother’s ear and twisted as he lost sight of their target.
“Ay! Let go!” Chucho rubbed his ear. “We can’t miss them if we stand by the bar. They’ll get thirsty soon.”
A new voice came from behind them. “Looking for someone?” asked a short man in a fancy suit.
Chucho sneered. “Beat it, Tiny.”
“Oh, I’m not Tiny.” Two huge bouncers had come up behind the man. “This is Tiny.” He gestured to one bouncer. Tiny had thighs as big as the trunks of palm trees and biceps the size of coconuts. A thick scar cut through his black brow, and his shaved scalp gleamed pink in the spotlights from the stage.
“And this is Sammy.” The bouncer on the right cracked a feral smile, its white gleam bisecting the dark
skin of his cheeks. A diamond-encrusted tooth winked in the dim light.
Chucho and Nico stepped back, only to find the wall behind them.
“Now that you know our names, maybe you can tell us yours.” The short man’s eyes glittered ominously. “We can all be friends. Tiny and Sammy love to make new friends.” The bouncers grinned and cracked their knuckles.
The brothers glanced at each other: what now?
“I’
M WAITING FOR THAT
explanation.” Rey crossed her arms and fumed as Marco took his own sweet time crushing leaves and adding rum and other liquids.
He finally set two drinks on the granite bar top. “Let’s dance.” Marco walked to an intercom system in the wall and twisted a dial. A set of hidden speakers piped in the salsa band’s throbbing rhythms.
“Marco.” She had to almost shout over the music. “Marco, I don’t really want to dance.”
He shook his head and dragged her close. Instead of swinging her into the complex rhythmic patterns she’d observed downstairs, he wrapped his arms around her and put his mouth next to her ear. “Reina, I need to tell you something, but it’s not safe here.”
She tried to pull away to stare at him, but he held her in an iron grip. “Not safe?” Her throat went dry. “Why aren’t we leaving right now? Or calling the cops?”
He shook his head. “I swear, I’ll tell you as soon as I can. There were two men downstairs who want to find me. We’ll leave as soon as Antonio gets rid of them.”
“Gets rid of them? Like ‘sleeping with the fishes’ gets rid of them?”
He finally let her go. “Gets his bouncers to throw them out, that’s all.”
“Are you in trouble with the law?”
“No, not at all.” He looked faintly amused and picked up his drink.
“Any alcohol or drug problems?” She really hoped not. They’d been careful with protection, but the thought of him abusing that wonderful body made her skin crawl.
He choked midsip. He looked at the drink in his hand and set it down. “I’ve spent every single day and almost every night with you for the past two weeks. Have I ever been drunk?”
She shook her head. A couple beers or a glass of wine was the most she’d seen him drink. “And drugs?” she pressed.
He grabbed her hand and clasped it against his heart. “I swear on the soul of my father. Drugs are filthy poison and the creatures who sell them are animals.”
Rey studied him. As far as she could see, he was telling the truth about drugs. And he’d almost laughed at the idea of being a criminal. “All right, I do believe you, but you’re still not off the hook.”
“I understand. But come try your cocktail. It’s a
mojito,
Miami’s answer to the mint julep. It’s not as good as when you pick the limes fresh off the trees, but you still get a taste of Miami.”
Rey sipped from the icy glass. Sweet mint bubbled over her tongue, balanced by the tang of the half lime floating in the goblet. “It’s very good.” She drained her glass and held it out for a refill.
Marco laughed. “Are you sure you want another right now? There’s a lot of rum in there.”
“Swedish Christmas punch is hard liquor mixed with red wine.”
He poured a fresh glass for her. “If you can handle that, my little
mojito
is like a soft drink.” He sipped from his own glass.
Rey leaned her hips against the leather-topped table. Despite her alcohol tolerance, she hadn’t eaten since lunch. She drank half of her
mojito
and held the icy glass against her burning cheek.
“Are you all right, Reina?” Marco set down his drink and moved closer to her.
“Just a little hot, I think.” The little room was close and stuffy.
“You’re blazing hot,
querida.
” His eyes darkened to tawny brown.
“I need to cool off.” She mischievously ran the glass over her other cheek and down her bare neck. A drop of condensation ran into the hollow between her breasts. “Ah, that’s better.”