That was easily the most erotic invitation she’d ever received. Rafael’s sly smile didn’t hurt his cause either. “I thought you meant to avoid distractions.”
“I misinterpreted Augustín’s advice. He concentrated on what happened in the bullring, not the days before.”
“Still, it’s late, and if I go home with you, you won’t get any sleep.”
“Neither will you.” He took her hand and led her out to his car. Santos, Cirilda and Fox had gone in the front door, and Maggie and Rafael left without anyone standing watch to notice.
“I’m sorry we haven’t had another chance to dance,” she said. “If we practiced a few moves, we could do even better.”
“Passion is all flamenco needs. You can’t practice it like the steps for a tango.”
“Yes, you can,” she insisted. “New moves can be created, and they shouldn’t just be flung at your partner while you’re on stage.”
“Flung? What did you think of the first time we danced together?”
She’d been too excited to remember more than the thrill. “I wanted to make you sorry you’d assumed I wouldn’t know flamenco.”
“I was surprised you took the dance away from me, but I wasn’t sorry.”
“Then I failed miserably.”
He reached over to squeeze her knee. “I don’t think so.”
His apartment was a neat as it had been on her previous visit. “Where did you learn to keep house so well?”
“Prison.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
He drew her into his arms. “Don’t apologize. I learned a great many useful things there. But not this.”
He spread teasing kisses up her neck and licked the tender hollow behind her ear. He leaned back to unbuckle her belt and wrapped it around his hand. “This would make a fine weapon.”
“I was thinking only of fashion. How silly of me.” She drew her knit top over her head and laid it on the back of the couch. She wore the white lace bra that used to have matching panties. He handed her the belt, and she tossed it over the bra. She turned in slow circles around him. “This is a dance too, isn’t it?”
He took her hand to guide her close. “Yes, all of life’s a dance.”
She reached up to kiss him. “If you have the right partner,” she whispered against his lips. There couldn’t be just one person meant for another, but they blended so perfectly physically, and emotionally, she wished the rest of their lives were as easily meshed. She closed her mind to concentrate on the heat of his skin, the scent she’d grown to love, and leaned into him when he’d tossed his shirt toward the couch and missed.
He scooped her up into his arms and laughed with her. “I shouldn’t have said what I did about American girls.”
“No, you shouldn’t, but I’ve forgiven you.”
He set her on her feet and helped her out of her skirt. “You have beautiful legs. Have I ever said that?”
“No, but you may say it as often as you like.” She kicked off her shoes, and spread out on his bed still in her lingerie. She considered how he might look in something other than black, but the images weren’t appealing. He laughed often with her now, but his darker, more mysterious nature lay just beneath the surface. She thought she was much better off not knowing more about him than she already did. It was just enough.
He stretched out beside her and unhooked her bra. “You distract me even when you’re not here. Do you ever think of me?”
“Occasionally.” She ran her fingers through his hair rather than admit how often. “You distract me too, then.”
“Like this?”
He leaned down to brush his cheek against her now bare breast, and she slid her fingers up his thigh. “Do you mind if I begin with your toes and kiss my way up?”
He leaned back. “How far up?”
“Maybe your knees?”