Strangers in the Night
Avon, Massachusetts
This edition published by
Crimson Romance
an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.
10151 Carver Road, Suite 200
Blue Ash, Ohio 45242
Copyright © 2012 by Inés Saint
ISBN 10: 1-4405-5159-6
ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-5159-8
eISBN 10: 1-4405-5139-1
eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-5139-0
Some portions of this work were briefly made available for sale on the Amazon Kindle under the title
Opposites Detract
by Taly Saint.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.
Cover art © istockphoto.com
To Oscar, for believing
To Rick and Tommy, for inspiring
To Wilfredo and Inés, for knowing
To Vera and Albie, for cheering
July 23rd, Chicago SummerDance Festival
Guantanamera, guajira, Guantanamera.
Celia Cruz’s powerful, husky voice sang out from the speakers as the live orchestra took a break. An eclectic crowd gathered on the unique, recycled milk carton dance floor, swaying as Celia’s warm, sensual rendition of the popular Cuban song invited them to loosen their hips for the long night of salsa dancing ahead.
The moon beamed shafts of light through the trees, casting shadows that seemed to dance along with the crowd. And though the city lights overwhelmed most of the stars above, an unrelenting few shone down.
On one corner of the dance floor, Keila Diaz sang along and unconsciously grooved to the music as she looked around for her older sister. They were going to support their good friend, Robbie, who’d just led that night’s dance lesson.
Though they hadn’t been able to make it to the lesson, the real fun was about to begin.
“How did your audition go?” an excited voice came up behind her. Keila turned, smiled, and hugged her sister.
“I think I did well. It almost scares me to say it out loud — you know how I always try to remain neutral. But they all wanted to talk to me afterward, and they seemed excited about my performance.” Keila held her breath, nervous energy flowing through her all over again.
“You’re anxious,” Tania observed.
“It’s just … this orchestra suits me, they have a lot of public support and they play the classics along with more modern fare. And I
really
want to come back home. It’s painful to want something so much.”
Tania seized Keila’s hands and slowly began swiveling her hips, trying to get Keila to do the same. “Did you spiccato and pizzicato and all that neat stuff?” she asked and Keila signaled a yes. “Then don’t get worked up about it. You already gave it your all and there’s really nothing left to do but hope for the best, push it aside for a while, and dance.”
Keila closed her eyes and slowly breathed out. There was nothing more escapist than shutting your mind off and just losing yourself to music and dance. Gradually, she began to move again, marking the beat of the conga drums with her shoulders. Tania smiled and gave her a look that said,
there you go!
“Guantanamera” began to wind down just as the live orchestra began their rendition of Tito Puente’s “Ran Kan Kan.” The primitive, pulsing beat of the conga combined with the scintillating sounds of the trumpets sent an energetic buzz through the crowd.
Tania and Keila looked at each other and smiled wide, their rhythm picking up, their individual styles creeping in. Though salsa was essentially a partnering dance, there were more than a few people on the dance floor with enough fancy leg work and body actions to dance solo when no partner could be found and the night provided enough anonymity to throw your cares away.
Old pros soon took to the floor, immediately carving out enough space to display their expertise. A few amateurs timidly looked on, swaying slightly, while other free spirits did what came naturally and let their bodies lead the way.
People from all cultures, social classes, and backgrounds came to
Chicago SummerDance
. They were there to learn, have fun, and leave their troubles behind. People only looked at each other to share a smile or copy a step.
Robbie soon found them, and they exchanged enthusiastic greetings before he had Tania go off to dance with a distinguished-looking older man who was just starting to learn to salsa. Robbie then had Keila assist him in demonstrating a few hand juggles and double spins to couples nearby.
• • •
Jake Kelly stood just outside the dance floor, scanning the crowd. Grant Park’s Spirit of Music Garden was living up to its name.
Every single person there seemed to be lost in their own little world, as if that particular corner of Chicago was theirs alone. The vibrant flowers along the adjoining paths complemented the swirl of colorful skirts on the dance floor, and with the exception of the dance teacher’s occasional shout outs, the night belonged to music and dancing. Even the warm, humid air, lightly spiced with the scent of roses, seemed to accentuate the sultry movements.
The flare of a crimson skirt caught his attention and he turned to see the subsequent flash of a shapely pair of legs. His eyes strayed to the dancer’s hips and he gazed at the rhythmic swivels and swerves.
When he glanced up to see her face, he saw her expression was one of fun and sweet abandon, as if being among so many people was almost the same as being alone and free. She obviously had no idea she was being watched.
She spun around, and he took in her curvy figure. Funny, he normally wasn’t into her type. He usually liked busty, tall, leggy women.
The young woman reminded Jake of an actress in an old movie his mother loved,
Gilda
. He’d seen some old footage of the same actress once, dancing for troops during World War II. The young woman on the dance floor looked just like that, a perfect pin-up girl for a lonely soldier.
Except this girl was in full color, her soft, golden brown waves touched by the soft glow of the stage lights in front and the city lights above, not in a distant black and white film.
The dance instructor, clad in tight black pants and a satiny purple shirt, went to her and together they demonstrated a few complicated steps. The instructor then left to help someone else and Jake continued to watch the young woman, who now danced with a little boy.
But she glanced up at him suddenly and he held her eyes, feeling an unfamiliar jolt. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to look down at his watch, but not before he noticed she also looked away.
Seconds later, the salsa instructor was standing beside him. When he caught Jake’s eye, he nodded knowingly toward the young woman and grinned.
“Is she one of your instructors?” Jake asked, knowing he’d been caught watching.
“No, she’s a friend, in town for just a couple of days. I asked her to come down and help,” he explained.
“I was thinking she looks like the actress in this old forties movie,
Gilda
,” Jake said, uncharacteristically feeling a need to explain.
“Ah. Rita Hayworth.” The instructor bobbed his head in agreement. “Rita’s father was a Spanish flamenco dancer, you know.”
Jake didn’t know, but he nodded politely. They were silent for a moment, and then, “You’re Jake Kelly, right?”
“Right,” Jake repeated. Though he wasn’t exactly well-known, his image appeared often enough in local social media.
“I’m Robbie.” The instructor extended his right hand, which Jake shook. “Is this your last crazy night out on the town before you announce your candidacy and the media stalking begins?” Robbie asked, eyes twinkling.
“Not exactly — how do you know I’m going to run?”
“Word gets out,” Robbie said. “Is
dancing
on your agenda tonight?”
Jake finally smiled. “No. I’m waiting for a friend; this is just a convenient place to meet.”
At that moment his cell phone tone signaled he had a text message. “Stood up?” Robbie asked.
“No, she’s just running late.”
“Then dance. Trust me, it’ll do you good.” Robbie put his fingers to his lips and whistled quick and loud. The young woman Jake had been watching turned toward the sound and Robbie waved her over. She looked at Jake and visibly hesitated before walking over to them.
“This gentleman
needs
to dance,” he told her when she reached them.
“Needs to?” He thought her voice would be sultry for some reason, but it wasn’t, it was sweet.
Sultry or sweet, Jake really didn’t want to dance. “I really don’t — ”
But the instructor gently took hold of their arms and turned them toward each other before more forcibly shoving them to the nearest empty space: a dark corner of the dance floor.
The young woman finally looked up at him and he looked down at her. Her eyes were a warm shade of topaz and the waves in her hair untamed. Warm and untamed — definitely not his type.
• • •
Keila looked up at the intense, brilliantly blue eyes that had been watching her earlier. The man in front of her seemed full of himself, she could tell by the way he looked at her and by the way he held himself. “Don’t worry,” she finally spoke. “We don’t have to dance.”
But he didn’t move. Finally, he looked to his side, observed how the young man there held his partner, and turned back to Keila. He copied the stance and caught her left hand in his right, sliding his left hand around her back. The instant his hands were on her, Keila’s pulse picked up.
The orchestra began playing Sonora Carruseles’ “Micaela,” a vibrant, spirited song with a powerful beat that lured bodies to surrender. “Have you ever danced salsa?” she asked, instinctively stepping closer and raising her right hand to his shoulder.
“No, never,” he replied, his voice low.
“Oh, okay.” She cleared her throat. “We’ll start with the basics, then.” Assuming the correct posture, she instructed, “Step forward with your left foot as I step back with my right, like this.”
“Good. Now step back and I step forward. Like that.” They began to move slowly, but in sync. “Try to rock your hips, just a little, like this.” She moved his right hand to the swell between her waist and her hip, the way she’d done many times before when helping Robbie with his pupils. But this man’s hand was warm and firm and she felt an uncomfortable sense of awareness.