Under His Spell (The Miami Tycoon) (5 page)

Erica winced at the hardcore valley-girl vocab. Emily tended to be merciless in making fun of people who talked like that.

“Ohh my god, like I seriously will.” Ashley either didn’t register or didn’t care about the sarcasm in Emily’s voice, and Emily had smiled good-naturedly while she said it anyway. Erica let it go and helped Ryan flag three cabs to get the whole gang to the next bar.

Somehow, Erica got wedged in between Anthony and Nick in the cab. She tried to relax and control her breathing. Beneath the sickly sweetness of Anthony’s cologne, Nick’s warm scent of soap, tobacco, and sex was making Erica dizzy. She did not remember anything they talked about during the ride, and hardly noticed Anthony’s hand creeping near her thigh. It was all she could do not to slide nearer Nick and rest her head on his big, comfortable-looking shoulder.

Nick was having trouble concentrating as well. His hands buzzed, didn’t want to be so close to Erica and not be able to touch. He almost wanted to sit on them to keep from brushing her hair out of her face or circling her little waist or... He maintained his little banter with Anthony as Erica stayed silent, somehow managing to keep his mouth moving, instead of doing what it wanted to do, which was kiss Erica. The cab ride was interminable for both of them; only Anthony seemed to be oblivious to the potent chemistry occurring only inches away.

When the cab did finally stop, near a throng of people standing outside a three-story adobe building, Anthony stepped out first. Erica lingered, not wanting to break the closeness she and Nick had, breathing his scent in deeply before finally stepping out into the cool, wafting breeze of the Miami night.

Nick and the entourage slipped seamlessly past the waiting line and into the ground level of the bar. Cielito Lindo, known colloquially as simply Cielito, was the Miami nightlife scene’s most coveted ticket. It was not the bass-thumping, strobe-flashing overstimulation of most of the other downtown clubs. The three floors were dimly lit with strings of globe lights, each playing a different style of music: salsa, reggaeton, and merengue—and the rooftop (origin of the bar’s name) had a small band playing slow, sexy Argentine tango songs. Each floor’s bar had its own theme and specialties – mojitos, cuba libres, daiquiris and of course, blood orange margaritas. The globe lights on the rooftop bar were blood orange-colored too, giving everything the seedy glow of a red-light district. The building itself, though it lacked elevators and forced entrants into closely spiraled stone staircases, radiated old-world elegance and luxury. The clientele had a similar air; young professionals wearing expensive-looking clothing and faces of veiled intent.

As they hurried up the staircase to the rooftop, they passed through each floor – improbably attractive, well-heeled couples dancing salsa, the younger, wilder attendees pulsating on the reggaeton dance floor, the subdued sleaze of the tango dancers on the roof. All the bartenders were dark-eyed, variously central and south American, trading in on their swarthy good looks to sell drinks. The occupants of each floor seemed to have bought plenty—the atmosphere of the whole place was slick with booze and a sense that anything at all could happen. The wildness, woven through all the different songs, floors, and ethnically-diverse partiers, permeated Erica’s already dizzy mind.

Once they reached the top floor, Jess scouted out a table and instantly claimed it. The women of the group gravitated towards the table, and the men to the crowded bar. The table was on the far side of the roof, overlooking the patio connected to the first floor. Erica, seated closest to the edge, looked over and saw that there was a small lagoon, complete with waterfall and dimly lit grotto, in a corner of the patio. More than a few men and women were taking advantage of the pool’s shadowy lighting, and getting serious in the darkest corners of the water.

When Nick returned to the table, carrying two margaritas and a spiced rum on the rocks, the eyes of nearly all the single women of the bar (and some of the accompanied women as well) were glued to his face and body. Unaware of the stir his walk had caused, he handed the margaritas to Emily and Erica and sipped his own iced rum.

“Oh Jesus, thank you.” Emily looked disproportionately grateful. She’d been stuck in the cab with Ashley and Jess, and looked liked she’d been severely taxed by the ride.

“Nicky, where’s mine?” Ashley made a face that she must have intended to be a seductive pout.

“Calm down, Anthony has yours and Jess’, and Ryan’s got his and Jill’s. Plus, you, my dearest employee, could stand to take a breather from the alcohol.” Nick had said it with a smile, but underneath it was disapproval and concern.

Ashley stuck out her tongue, like a spoiled teenage girl being reprimanded by her father. “I worked hard this week, and I’m getting a margarita. You should get one and loosen up!” She wandered off in search of Anthony and her drink.

“Dear god, I thought the cab ride with that little drunkie was never going to end. Curse smartphones, I tell you. She pulled up the Pinterest board for her wedding. She isn’t even engaged yet! Boy, do I feel sorry for her boyfriend.”

“Robert is kind of long-suffering.” Jess looked sympathetic as she spoke. Nick pulled up a chair at the table where Erica, Jess, Emily and Jill sat. “Ashley’s a bit of a handful,” Jess said.

“No kidding. That girl is a candidate for reality television if I ever saw one. Drama empress.” Emily took a long sip of her drink. “In other news, this is the best margarita I’ve ever had, and I’ve had a lot of margaritas.”

“They are good. I hear the secret ingredient is a drop of goat’s blood in the rim salt. Gives it that pink color.” Nick’s face was faux-serious. Erica was pleased she could differentiate between that and true seriousness; Emily obviously couldn’t, and looked horrified.

Jess gigged and smacked him. “Emily, pay no attention. This one’s a trickster. Never trust a real estate agent. I would know.”

Jill smiled her shark smile. “So, Erica, how are you feeling about your first week as an agent? Think you can hack it?”

There was a moment of silence. Out of the office, Jill was even more intimidating. The arch of her eyebrows looked sharp enough to cut, and the face beneath was unfeeling and masklike. A beautiful mask, to be sure, but made to conceal the calculating mind beneath.

“Oh, if I can’t, then maybe I’ll just be a bartender here. You can come too, if you’re looking for a side hustle. Maybe they need someone to sacrifice goats!” Erica smiled blithely.

The laughter at the table was uncomfortable. Jill’s eyes shot daggers at Erica. Emily immediately brought up the fact that she’d read about the big sale the firm had made that week in the paper, and conversation resumed normally. After a few moments, there was another lull, this time thanks to an unfamiliar woman approaching the table.

“Hello.” She was tall, statuesque, wearing a yellow silk dress that set off her burnished-bronze skin. Her accent seemed to be Portuguese. And she was speaking only to Nick; the rest of the table might as well have not been present. “They are about to play a favorite song of mine. Will you dance with me?”

“I’m so sorry, I’ve already promised to dance with my friend here.” Nick motioned to Erica, who blushed a deep red, the russet satin of her dress setting off the color in her cheeks. The woman in yellow said stiffly “I see,” and slipped away as silently as she’d arrived.

Erica was panicked. “Oh, I’m sorry, I don’t really know how to dance to this music. You really should go dance with her.”

Emily, baring her teeth in what might have been a smile, kicked Erica under the table.

“Tango is the easiest dance in the world! It’s just walking, set to music. I’m a good leader, you’ll have nothing to worry about. I promise. I can’t let a girl like you, in a dress like that, turn me down.” The expression on his face was new to Erica: a kind of mischievous, daring, cheekiness. Erica wasn’t sure what he was thinking; the cheekiness wasn’t in keeping with the stance he’d professed back in the office. Could one dance the tango and remain a perfect gentleman? Erica wasn’t sure it was possible.

Emily nudged her foot again. “Oh, why the hell not. Just don’t embarrass me, ok?” Erica downed the rest of her drink.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Nick and Erica shared a private smile, and got up to dance. Jill looked sour.

And so they walked to the floor, and the song changed as Nick placed Erica’s hands on his shoulders.

He danced like a dream, a dream that Erica had been trying not to have. The music was a darker tango in a minor key, at a slow but unrelenting pace. Erica hardly had to think about where to put her feet, because Nick guided her seamlessly into each step, letting her know which direction they’d be moving next with the lightest pressure of his hand on the small of her back. The red glow, the cool night, the music, the liquor sliding down into her belly, the heat of the man in her arms...Erica felt like all the circumstances of the night were conspiring against her. She did not want to sleep with her boss. She did not want to sleep with her boss. She repeated the mantra in time to the rhythm of the music, adding in choruses about why it would be wrong and morally repugnant, not to mention might put her out of a job. Still, the music beat a path in her brain, and it was not a path to chastity.

Nick’s hands were buzzing again, this time with the pleasure of actually holding her. She was so small, so tractable—she moved at the slightest suggestion of his body. She moved like water, coming to meet him at every turn, every step.

He leaned her over for a small dip, then caught her up and pressed her thigh upwards over his. She made the step admirably, laughing softly in his ear.

“Why are you laughing?” he whispered.

“Why is this so easy,” she whispered back, in a non-answer that somehow made perfect sense to both of them.

Then, regrettably, the song ended. They stepped back but continued to hold each other, Nick’s searching look on Erica’s face. She broke away first, muttering an excuse about the bathroom and her mussed-up hair. She quickly ran away.

Emily saw Erica’s flight and followed her to the bathroom, where she found her standing in front of the mirror, hand to her cheek, eyes closed.

“Holy fucking shit, Erica. Have you secretly been taking tango lessons or something? Every single person on this roof stopped to watch you two. Even ol’ yellow dress, who by the way is clearly some kind of professional dancer. You guys were un-fucking-believable. He is so absurd. Who knows how to tango? He is absurdly hot. Oh my god, Erica, if you do not have sex with that man then I will.”

“He is such a good dancer, Em. It was like dancing on air.”

“Hold off on the clichés and the rhapsodizing one second, Erica! You need to get that man in bed. We aren’t talking dreamy dance sequences out of a fucking black and white movie, you need to get naked and horizontal with him. Wake up! Erica! Are you even listening to me?”

Erica’s eyes snapped open, and she smiled at her friend. “All right, all right. Yes, I’m acting ridiculous. But I really do feel like swooning. What even is swooning? I don’t know, but I feel like doing it.”

Emily grinned widely back. “As long as when you swoon, you fall on your back. On to a bed. With your boss.”

“Shit, horndog! Cool it or I’m calling Manny to get that whip I was hearing about.”

“Erica. He. Is. So. Hot.”

“Shhh, I know. I know he is hot. I know he is my boss. I do not know what I am going to do about either of those things.”

“Really, truly, though, all you need to do is lie back and spread ‘em.”

Erica swatted at Emily, who ducked and left the bathroom.

“All I’m saying is if he fucks like he dances, you are going to miss out big time!” she said in a sing-song voice as she walked out of the bathroom.

Erica messed with her hair a little more, watching herself in the mirror. Who was that woman in the mirror? Somebody who slept with their handsome, sexy, surprising boss? Somebody who held down urges and desire in favor of virtue and ethics? She saw them both, swimming just below the surface of her gaze. Which would rise to the top for air was a question only of circumstance.

She went back to the table, shrinking under the questioning glances of a few strangers who’d obviously not yet forgotten the tango performance she and Nick had put on. When she arrived, Jill announced that Nick had gotten a business call and had to leave. Erica’s heart sunk.

“Yeah, it seemed really urgent. He, like, ran out of here!” Ashley was apparently still standing. With another drink in her hand, even.

“Aw, don’t cry, Erica, you can dance with me.” Anthony this time, smirking at Erica. “Although I can’t promise I can dance like Nick.”

Erica smiled wanly. “Aw, thanks Anthony. I am a little tired out, though, I don’t think I can dance anymore. Think I’ll just hang out for a few.”

Anthony’s tone changed, became a little kinder. “In that case, let me get you a drink. I’ll be right back.”

“Thanks, that’s nice of you.”

“Grab me one, too! Thanks, you’re a babe!” Ashley scooted her chair over to Erica’s and got her phone out. “Erica, have you seen my inspiration board for the wedding yet? Robert hasn’t asked me yet, but it won’t be long now. I’m thinking an autumn wedding. First, let me show you the place settings.” Ashley seemed to be gearing up for a lengthy show-and-tell. Erica hoped Anthony would be back with her drink soon.

Emily swooped over. “Ashley, I thought you were gonna show me the inspiration board for the reception? I really want to see those pics of the life-size chocolate fountain.” Ashley’s attention switched over to Emily at her prompting.

Erica looked at Emily gratefully, and Emily muttered under her breath, “Maybe you should go see what Anthony is doing, hmm?” Erica took the hint and hurried off after Anthony.

He was standing at the end of the bar, holding two drinks and looking surprised to see her. “Couldn’t stand to be without me for one more second, huh?”

“Shut up, Anthony, you are so full of it,”

“If by ‘it’, you mean incredible handsomeness, charm, and good taste, then yes.”

Erica snorted. “Yep, that’s exactly what I meant. So. How come you came here all by your incredibly handsome lonesome tonight? Couldn’t trick anyone into being your date?”