Unwrapped (10 page)

Chapter Three

They danced sections of the routine several more times, sometimes just repeating a single phrase of movement over and over. I was glued to the scene so tightly I probably could have danced their choreography by now. I certainly wouldn’t have minded wrapping my legs around Nicolas’s waist like Valentina did. Watching them dance, I realized how deceiving Valentina’s body was—she was willow-slim but strong as hell. Her arms were cut and the lines of her leg muscles showed through her black fishnets. I had no idea how much time passed while I stood transfixed, but eventually my stomach growled. Pulling my phone from my purse, I saw it was nearly one.
Maybe Lucy will be ready for lunch.
I was debating texting her or just walking down to the hair and makeup trailer when I heard a voice at my side.

A deep voice. With an accent.

“You found the coffee?”

I looked up from my phone, and my heart jumped into my throat.
Answer him.
All I could manage was a nod.

“Good.” He smiled. “And how was it?”

God, he was just
so
good looking, and he stood so close. An American would never have stood so near a stranger. I wanted to talk to him, and
he’d
approached
me
, clearly interested in chatting, but my tongue was doing this thing where it swells and takes up all the space in my mouth and feels like I just dipped it in Novocaine. Just when the silence got unbearable and it appeared he might leave, I was rescued.

“There you are.” Valentina came up to Nicolas from behind. “I thought you were ready for lunch.”

“I am,” he said to her. Then he glanced at me. “Maybe you can recommend a place nearby?”

I nodded again.
Come on, words.
“Sure.”

He smiled. “Tell me your name.”

“Caroline,” I managed. Victory!

“Caroline.” Damn, my name on his lips was sexy. “My name is Nicolas, and this is Valentina.”

I nodded at her and she gave me a gorgeous smile. It was distressing that she was even more beautiful close up than from a distance.

“Are you one of the makeup artists?” Her accent wasn’t quite as strong as his.

Self-conscious, I touched my hair. “Me? No.”

“Oh. I thought maybe you were.” She gestured toward me. “You’re so pretty.”

A blush warmed my face. “Thank you. It’s my friend who’s the makeup artist. I just came to watch.”

“Did you enjoy watching today?” Nicolas asked.

“Yes, I loved you—I mean, I loved it. You’re both so good, it was amazing.”

“Thank you.”

“Will you dance again today?”

Valentina shook her head. “We are finished for today here. Tonight we’re teaching at an event at the hotel.”

“What kind of event?”

“It’s a dance put on by a ballroom organization in Detroit, I think.”

I took a deep breath.
Be brave, be brave, be brave.
“Is the lesson for beginners?”

“It could be.” Nicolas paused. “Are you the beginner?”

“Sure, it’s for anybody!” Valentina threw her hands in the air. “You should come. It will be fun.”

“I—I don’t have a partner.”

“It’s OK, no partner needed,” Nicolas assured me. “There are always some singles and we dance in sometimes to even it out. I can dance with you.”

My knees wobbled. Honest to God wobbled.

“But you have to tell us where to go for lunch in exchange.” His eyes challenged me with teasing demand. “And you have to join us.”

“Yes, of course,” insisted Valentina. “We get so bored of each other when we travel, don’t we, Nic?”

“Uh, I should probably check with my friend…” I was becoming a bit rattled by their attention. People walking by were staring a bit, unless it was just my imagination.

“OK. Maybe we will get our things and meet you by the makeup trailer?” Valentina looked over her shoulder in that direction.

“Sounds good.” I dropped my phone in my purse. My hand was sweaty. “I’ll just go grab her.”

They both smiled at me before walking away, and I took a moment to appreciate Nicolas’s fine ass once more before turning on my heel and racing back to the makeup trailer.

“Lucy!” I burst through the door, breathless.

“What?” She was cleaning off the mirror in front of her station.

“He invited me for lunch. And a tango lesson.” Dropping onto the chair behind her, I clutched my chest. “I might have a heart attack.”

Lucy laughed, tossing a paper towel in the garbage. “Really? What about the girl?”

“She invited me too.”

Lucy wiggled her eyebrows. “A threesome?”

“I said
lunch
.”

“
And
a tango lesson.”

I rolled my eyes. “They’re teaching tonight at some event at their hotel. I don’t think that’s code for orgy.”

“I’m just saying anything is possible. Embrace it, it’s your birthday!” She slung her purse over her shoulder. “Come on, let’s eat. I can go to lunch now too.”

A few minutes later, the four of us met up and agreed to have lunch near the hotel where Nicolas and Valentina were staying, which was within walking distance. They wanted to change out of their formal clothes, so Lucy and I offered to walk over with them and wait in the lobby. We headed outside, and Nicolas and I both slipped on sunglasses. His were aviator style and did amazing things to his cheekbones. Lucy and I walked behind them, and I tried to stare at him without being obvious, but apparently I failed.

“Close your mouth, hon,” said Lucy under her breath.

Snapping my jaw shut, I watched my feet on the sidewalk for a moment, but pretty soon I was staring again. I’d never found facial hair attractive on a guy, but hot damn the stubble on his face was perfect. I wondered what it would feel like under my lips. Against my breasts.

Between my thighs.

Oh, God.
Into my head popped a scene from the book I was currently reading. What had he said to her last night?
Kneel above my face. I have to lick you.

My hoo-ha tingled at the thought. I stared at my feet again. What would it be like to have a man you desired say something like that to you? And then actually do it? Good God, even if any of the guys I’d been with had said something like that to me, I’d probably have said,
Oh, no, you don’t have to do that
or panicked about the way I look or smell or taste down there.

Hoo-ha? Down there?

What was I, fucking twelve? My problem wasn’t a guy—it was me.

Irritated with myself, I picked up my head, determined to be more like the women in my books. Women who went after men they wanted, unashamed and unafraid. Women who said words like
cock
and
clit
, at least in their heads. Women who had sex in elevators or offices or stairwells or back seats or showers or—

Nicolas glanced back at me. “So will you come tonight?”

Of course my secret dirty mind went there, but I just smiled at him and reminded myself to breathe. “I guess so. Do I have to wear anything special?”

“No. Just something you can move in.”

“A skirt or dress is nice. And heels, definitely.” Valentina smiled at me over her shoulder. “A pair of sexy heels.”

“I think we can manage that,” Lucy said. “We’ll go shopping after lunch, Caroline.” Apparently she didn’t think my closet held anything suitable.

“Sounds good.”

“So how long have you two been partners?” Lucy asked as we strolled down Congress toward Beaubien. She tried to sound innocent, but I could tell she was fishing for information.

Valentina looked at Nicolas. “Two years, is it? Almost two years.”

“And you’re both from Argentina?”

Nicolas nodded. “Buenos Aires. But we live in New York now.”

“Did you come here just for the commercial?” I was proud of myself for voicing a question. “How did they find you?”

“I believe someone from the company saw us dancing at a show and inquired about bringing us here for this.” Nicolas paused to let Lucy ahead of him and fell into step next to me. “Then we were contacted about teaching at this event tonight, and the timing worked out, although I almost told Val to bring another partner because I’m so tired of traveling.” He smiled at me. “Now I’m very glad I didn’t.”

My heart stuttered. Was he talking about the commercial or meeting me? I wished I could see his eyes better—they were hidden by the mirrored lenses of his sunglasses.

He asked me what I did for a living, and I told him about my job, which he thought was funny. He had lots of nieces and nephews, and said he loved them all but wouldn’t want to be trapped in a room with them all day. When he found out my last name, he burst out laughing. “So you are Miss Peach?”

“Well, yes.” My insides melted at the warm, sexy sound of his laughter. “What’s so funny about it?”

“Nothing. It’s perfect for you,
Miss Peach
.” He leaned into me, nudging me gently with his shoulder, causing my breath to catch in my chest.

“How long have you been dancing?” I asked.

“Forever. Tango has always been part of my life. It’s like another language to me.”

I tilted my head as I considered that. “I’ve never thought of dance that way. I studied ballet for years, and I know dance can tell a story, but a
language
is something different, I think.”

He nodded. “Exactly. When I’m dancing with my partner, it is a conversation without words. I say something and she responds, but we must communicate with only our bodies. There is no…” He searched for a word and then asked Valentina something in Spanish. “Script—that is the word I wanted. There is no script.”

The way he said it was more like
screept
, and I hid a smile in the wool collar of my coat. “But wasn’t your dance today choreographed? That’s a
screept
, isn’t it?”

He grinned at my teasing. “Yes, but that was something different today. That was a show; it was not improvised as tango should be.”

“So if it’s improvised, how do you know what moves to make?”

“Well, the music tells me, and I lead my partner. She listens to my body with hers, and she answers me with her legs. You will see. I will show you tonight.”

I nodded, rendered silent by the thought of his body having a conversation with mine. At least it wouldn’t require words—walking and talking was hard enough. I was pretty sure I’d go mute again once his arms were around me.

***

At the hotel, Lucy and I decided to sit in the bar and have a glass of birthday champagne while we waited for them to change. We wandered in and chose a cocktail table surrounded by four chairs near the front.

As soon as we sat down, Lucy thumped me on the leg. “Oh my God, he
so
wants you.”

“What?”

“It’s totally obvious!”

“It is?”

She rolled her eyes. “Are you kidding me? I know you’re shy, but you’re not stupid, Caroline! I heard him talking to you about tango and his body saying things to yours tonight. He so wants you!”

My cheeks burned. “He was talking about tango being another language for him. He wasn’t saying anything about me specifically.”

Lucy gave me a knowing look. “I’ll bet you fifty bucks—no, a hundred bucks!—he’s number three.” She held up her pinky so we could seal the bet.

“A hundred bucks? Neither of us has a spare hundred bucks.”

She splayed her hand on her chest. “
I
won’t need a hundred bucks, because I’m positive I’m right. Think you’ll lose, do you?” While I was thinking, she waved her pinky in my face again. “Come on, Miss Peach. Make the bet.”

“What about Valentina? Do you think they’re a couple off the dance floor?”

“I did,” Lucy admitted, “but now I’m not sure. And I’m willing to take the risk, because I saw how he looked at you. I heard what he said to you. It’s called flirting.”

“I
know
what flirting is. I just don’t get why someone with a girlfriend that hot would be attracted to someone like me.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Then make the bet.”

I hooked my pinky through hers. “Done.”

“And
you
can’t do anything to sabotage it,” she warned.

“Like you said, Luce, I’m shy, but I’m not stupid. And you can’t do anything to embarrass me. Promise.”

Her eyes danced. “No way.”

Chapter Four

Before I could hit her, our champagne arrived. We hadn’t even taken a sip when Nicolas and Valentina entered the bar. Both wore jeans now and carried jackets.

“Should we just stay here?” Valentina planted herself on the chair next to Lucy. “Ooh, champagne, that looks good.”

“It’s Caroline’s birthday, so we’re celebrating today,” Lucy said. “But we haven’t toasted her yet.” She lifted her hand to signal to the bartender, and Nicolas hung his coat on the back of the chair next to me.

“It’s really your birthday?” he asked as he sat down.

“Yes.”

“Happy birthday, then. How old are you?”

“Twenty-three. How about you?”

“Twenty-six.”

“How long have you lived in New York?”

“Just for the past year. I like it there, but I miss Buenos Aires.” He jerked his head toward Valentina, who was ordering something off the menu. “Not her. She would like to stay in New York forever, I think. She loves it there.”

I was about to ask him flat out if they were a couple when Lucy interrupted.

“So, I was thinking. How about a private lesson for Caroline? I want to buy it for her for her birthday.”

I shot her a look that said
I will kill you
. “Lucy, stop it. They’re too busy for a private lesson.”

“Not at all, we can do it,” Valentina said.

“Of course we can.” Nicolas smiled at me. “You know, we were saying upstairs that the workshop tonight won’t be the best place for you to learn tango for the first time. One-on-one instruction is better.”

Lucy nearly fell out of her chair at that.

“Yes,” said Valentina. “Let’s meet after we’re done teaching. Maybe ten o clock right here?”

The expression I call Lucy’s Cheshire Cat Face appeared as the bartender delivered two more glasses of champagne. “To Caroline.” She raised her glass. “May she have the best birthday ever.” She held up three fingers, kissed them, and blew the kiss at me.

“To Caroline,” Nicolas and Valentina echoed before lifting their glasses to Lucy’s and then mine.

I swallowed several mouthfuls of champagne.

***

We ended up ordering lunch in the bar, and a bottle of wine too. And then another. Halfway through the second bottle, Lucy got a text that she was needed back on the set for the afternoon.

“Crap.” She looked at me. “That means we won’t have much time to go shopping before eight o’clock cocktails.”

“No big deal, Luce. I’m sure I can find something to wear on my own.”

She didn’t look convinced. “I’ll meet you at home. We’ll shop my closet.”

“Deal. Do you want me to walk back to the set with you?”

“No, that’s OK. You stay and enjoy, I’ll see you later.” She put some cash on the table and gave me a quick hug. “I stand by my words,” she whispered in my ear. “I think he’s way into you. So live a little, OK?”

A few minutes after Lucy left, Valentina yawned. “Oh my God, I’m so sleepy from all this wine. I think I have to go take a little nap.” She put a hand on Nicolas’s arm. “You two stay and finish it.”

“Um, I don’t think I’ll be able to drive home if I finish that wine,” I said. My head was already buzzing.

“So don’t leave at all.” Nicolas poured more wine into my glass. “You’re coming right back here anyway.”

“I can’t stay here until ten o’clock!”

“Why not?”

“Because…” I searched for a reason and came up short. “Because I just can’t.”

“Don’t try to argue with him, Caroline. He can be very persuasive.” Valentina winked at me as she slid off her chair. “Call my room if you want to go over anything before we teach tonight,” she said to Nicolas.

They have separate rooms
, trilled a little voice in my head.

With a little wave, she left the bar, and I was alone with him. I still wasn’t sure Lucy was right, but the more Malbec I drank, the more relaxed I felt, and I was able to converse with him without the usual anxiety.

“So tell me more about tango,” I said. “It always looks so romantic.”

“Well, what you see on television or in the movies is not really how it’s done on the dance floor. It looks very exciting, but the reason tango is such a romantic dance is because of that connection between the man and the woman. The conversation, like I was saying before.”

I nodded rapturously and swallowed more wine. I was interested in what he was saying, but quite frankly Nicolas was so hot I’d have listened to him talk about the wallpaper with just as much enthusiasm.

“It is not about the figures, the steps,” he said. “It is about the music and the embrace. In Argentine tango, the embrace is everything.” Nicolas lit up as he talked about tango, and even though English was not his first language and his descriptions of the dance were sprinkled with Spanish words I didn’t understand, I was enraptured.

He poured another half glass for me. Was it my third? My fourth? The details of the afternoon were starting to get hazy.

When he excused himself to use the bathroom, I checked my phone. It was after three. If I had any hope of getting home safely, I had to stop drinking now. Good Caroline and Smutty Caroline had a quick argument in my head.

Good Caroline:
Be responsible. You can’t drive like this. Stop.

Smutty Caroline:
Be realistic. You’ve got a gorgeous man with an accent and a great ass to yourself, paying all sorts of attention to you. When will this EVER happen again?

GC:
You just met him. He’s leaving tomorrow.

SC:
Exactly. This is just for fun. Can’t you just have a little fucking fun on your birthday?

GC:
What if his intentions are not honorable?

SC:
They goddamn well better not be.

“Everything OK?” Nicolas asked when he returned. He gestured to my phone. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to keep you here so long. If you need to leave, it’s OK.”

“I don’t
need
to leave, I just—”

“Then stay.” He put his hand over mine. The look in his eyes banished Good Caroline to the ends of the earth.

“OK,” I whispered.

He smiled. “Will you dance with me? Let me show you what I’ve been talking about.”

I hadn’t even realized music was playing in the bar. I cocked my head and listened a moment. The song was some kind of loungey electronica. “But this isn’t tango music.”

“Doesn’t matter what it is. We just need a rhythm. Come on, your lesson begins now.” Taking me by the hand, he led me over to the dark, empty dance floor. My heart went into jackhammer mode as he turned to face me, letting go of my hand.

I glanced to one side. What if people were watching?

“Look at me, Caroline.”

“But people are—”

“I don’t want you to look at or think about or listen to anything but the music and my body. You must completely surrender to it. Understand?”

Oh dear God, my panties. I nodded.

“Good. Now stand up straight and keep your chin lifted, your eyes on mine.”

I did so, and felt my core muscles tighten involuntarily.

“Now come here,” he said. I took a step forward and he wrapped his right arm around me.
Tight.
So tight his fingers cupped the side of my ribcage, his fingers nearly brushing my breast. “Put your left hand on my back.”

Gingerly I placed my palm on the back of his shoulder blade, feeling the warmth of his body through the soft fitted cotton of his t-shirt. In my heels, I was only a couple inches shorter than he was, and my lips were dangerously close to level with his.

“Move your hand toward my spine. The embrace must be closer.”

Biting my lip, I forced myself not to freak out and slid my hand toward the center of his back, moving closer to him. My breasts now rested snugly against his chest and my nipples were so hard he could probably feel them through our clothes. The contact sent darts of lust straight between my legs.

“Better. Our feet must still have room to move, but our upper bodies must be connected. Now lift your right arm.” As I held it slightly away from my body, he traced the underside of my arm from my tricep to my wrist before taking my hand. Chills swept across my back.

“Breathe, Caroline.” His voice could melt butter. “You’re stiff.”

Yes, but are you?
“Sorry.”

“That’s better.” He twisted side to side from above the waist, taking my torso with his. “This is how I communicate my intention to you. Through my upper body.”

What about your intention for your lower body?

He made the movement smaller, more subtle. “Can you feel that?”

“Yes,” I whispered.

“Good. You will take no step that you do not feel through the embrace. Do not anticipate. Do not think beyond the moment.’

I nodded. He needn’t have worried—thinking was out of the question.

“So in tango, the walk is very important. When I indicate, I want you to take the first step with your right leg, long and slow, letting your foot caress the floor.”

I swallowed. “Which direction? Forward or back?”

He laughed, low and gentle. “You have to feel it.”

For a long moment, he did nothing, just held me close to his body. Heat pooled at my center as I waited for him to move me.
Breathe, Caroline.
I inhaled, and
oh jesus
he smelled good. Even better than my sheets. Of course, then I thought about him
between
my sheets, which sent liquid fire shooting through my veins.
I bet he’s amazing in bed. I bet he knows exactly how to use his unbelievably hot, hard body.

Hell yes, I’d surrender to him.

I forced myself to stop thinking dirty thoughts and listen to the song that was playing. It had a slow, steady pulse, like a heartbeat. Closing my eyes, I let the rhythm of it seep under my skin and cleared my mind of everything but the sensitive connection between our bodies.

The impulse came from his chest. He shifted his center of gravity toward me, and I understood—he wanted me to move backward. Letting my foot sweep on the floor, I stretched my right leg behind me and Nicolas stepped forward, leading me back. When I was centered again, Nicolas hesitated before leading another step back, and I extended my left leg behind me. I nearly anticipated the third step in the same direction, but remembered what he’d said about not thinking ahead. So as my feet came together again, I waited again to feel his lead. My eyes remained closed.

“Good girl.” His voice made my body shiver a little. “You’re listening.”

The compliment brought a smile to my face. “I’m trying. I never thought walking to music could be so difficult. I think I’m sweating.”

“It is not the walking that is difficult,” he said, moving me forward this time. “It’s learning to listen to another body with your own, learning to move instinctively. No, no—now you are tightening up in the back. I feel it.”

“Sorry. I think I’m concentrating too hard.”

“Don’t concentrate. Surrender.”

I relaxed my back and arms again, and as we moved slowly around the dark, empty floor, I realized he was right about what made tango so sexy. It wasn’t the flashy lifts and flicks and turns, it was the sensual communication between partners, the total commitment of two bodies to each other and to the rhythm. I wrapped my arm tighter around him, bringing my hand up to the back of his neck. His skin was hot.

“Yes,” he murmured. He began to add pauses to our walking, exquisite hesitations that had me suspended between steps, waiting to feel the impulse through his body. Sometimes he moved on every beat, sometimes on every two or four. Our embrace was so close, my body so attuned to his, that following felt effortless.

But my heart was racing. The longer I was wrapped in his arms that way, the more turned on I was. I tried to stay relaxed in the embrace, but my insides were coiling tight. The seam of my tight jeans was rubbing me just the right way, and I was so aroused by the contact between our bodies and the intensity of our connection to one another, I thought I might have an orgasm right there on the dance floor. Was it only me? If our lower bodies were closer I could’ve at least tried to see if he was hard. The only other thing I could think of was tripping him so he’d fall backward and I could land on top of him. I’d never straddled a man in my life, but there was a first time for everything.

Smutty Caroline was getting ready for the leg sweep that would take us both down when I felt his lips.

On my throat.

For a moment, I thought I was imagining it. The touch was so light, and my skin was humming from the wine. But then I realized he’d stopped dancing. The only body part he moved was his mouth, and it was traveling up my neck.

“Oh, God,” I whispered. His breath was hot on my skin but it sent chills cascading down my body. “Nicolas…”

“I’m sorry.” His voice hushed and gravelly. “I’m getting carried away. But you’re so beautiful, and you smell so good, and you move so perfectly.”

“Don’t be sorry.” The words came out in a rush of breath. “Get carried away.”

He kissed each of my cheeks before slanting his mouth over mine, letting go of my hand and threading his fingers into my hair at the back of my head. He kissed the way he danced, with strength and intensity, but also rhythm and grace, his lips sometimes hovering just lightly near mine and sometimes pressing hard and opening wide. His tongue slid between our mouths, and a groan rumbled low in his chest. I brought my hand to his tight, trim waist and slid it up his hard upper body. The image of Valentina’s hand doing the same from behind him at the start of their tango this morning flashed in my head, and it turned me on so much I moaned softly.

“Caroline.” Nicolas’s voice was strained. “Do you want to go upstairs to my room?”

Don’t think.

“Yes.” I pulled my head back and met his eyes. They were cloudy with desire. “Yes. I do.”