I narrowed my eyes, moving to leave. “We’re done here.”
“Wait, Mamacita.” He grabbed my wrist, pulling at me. “Don’t you want to dance?”
Shocked by his drunken audacity, I couldn’t respond. A hand from behind fell across the small of my back, a voice hovered at my ear.
“Don’t worry.”
I caught my breath. David.
His chest pressed against me as he reached around and removed the man’s hand from my wrist, twisting it up behind his back. Leaning across the space, he spoke so low I couldn’t make out his words, though I recognized the smooth and steady cadence of Spanish. From the way the man’s eyes widened at the threat, I had a feeling David intended for me not to hear. Scared sober, the reformed offender was quick to bow an apology in my direction and left the area before a single person around us even realized there’d been an altercation.
“He won’t be bothering you again,” David whispered.
Or anyone else for that matter. I turned toward him, wondering what he’d said to dissolve the situation so quickly.
He wore a black button-down, although unlike Jon’s typical wear, it was soft and unstarched. The sleeves were rolled, and it hung untucked over his khaki pants. The clean scent of his soap lingered in the air. Our eyes locked, and the same electricity as before surged between us. I silently repeated Jon’s name over and over in an effort to keep myself under control. It did little good. And I hated myself for it.
“Where did you come from?” I murmured.
His eyes never left mine, roving, as if searching for the right thing to say.
A new song began to play, answering for him with a slow, sweet pull. Did it matter? My heartbeat quickened as I leaned in, a singular thought pressing on my mind. Don’t leave.
The music nearly masked my voice. “Dance with me?”
His brow dipped with a flicker of concern, but he simply nodded once, and the same hand he’d placed on my back when he’d arrived now guided me onto the dance floor. The song swayed with us, and he did his best to keep from invading my dance space, but between the crowded floor and our now unquestionable attraction to one another, it proved impossible. Before long we danced mere inches apart, our eyes locked in a fixated stare.
The sea air encircled us, the soft swirls working in and around and through. I couldn’t study his face enough, his eyes darker in the moonlight, his hair combed back, away from them, unlike on the beach. We tried to break our gaze, but in doing so our cheeks met and our bodies drew even closer. Another breeze blew across us, and he shivered against me. I was trembling already, and his arm tightened, erasing what little space remained.
The crowd disappeared from my vision, the only sounds the faint whisper of the music, his breath at my ear. Every sway grazed his lips against my neck, unleashing a rush of waves beneath my skin. My spine tinged with heat as his hand rubbed along my back and his fingers gripped at my waist, knotting the fabric of my dress in his grasp.
When the last note played, we lingered for a moment before he tried to step away, the magnetism between us refusing to subside, our hands still joined from the dance.
“Bria, I . . .” His voice was barely audible before he caught himself, glanced down, and reluctantly dropped my hand. “I have to go.” He looked into my eyes one last time, turned, and vanished into the crowd.
I stood on the dance floor, motionless in the flow of people. My mind raced. What had just happened between us? Why had he left so quickly? When would he turn up again?
And, most importantly, how did he know my name?