Island Tango (Silver Goddess Series, Book One) (2 page)

He smiled sensually, as Herculea’s pulse quic
kene
d even more.  It was definitely not the kickboxing class that was making her heart continue to leap like
this, she admitted to herself.

“Did you tango in Buenos Aires?”
He asked with a hint of flirtation.

“No, I’m afraid my work was purely academic.” She replied, as his smile broadened.

“What a shame.  The tango is the rhythm of life. 
El ritmo de la vida.
  Maybe I could be your partner sometime.”

Herculea was
taken aback
. 
Single at
36, she had been asked on many dates over the years.  Men had requested her company for coffee, drinks, dinner, movies.  But dancing the tango?  This was a fi
rst.

“Maybe you could be.” Herculea answered shyly.

“
Me llamo
Pedro.”

He extended his hand as she reluctantly offered hers, aware that it was still clammy with sweat.  Pedro’s hand felt cool, she noted.

“
Herculea.  Nice to meet you.”

Pedro narrowed his eyes in puzzlement.  “Herculea?  What kind of name is that for a Peruvian girl?”

Herculea’s lips twisted into an amused smile at the familiar question.  People always inquired about her unusual name, and she was proud to oblige them with the story of its origins.

“Well, m
y mother loved Greek mythology.  When I was born, she
named me for the ancient c
ity of Herculea, hoping that I
would grow into a strong woman.”

“Well, you
look strong to me, Herculea.  Strong and beautiful.”

He gave her another seductive smile as she snapped back to reality again.  How long had she been standing her
e
talking to him?  She should be on the road to her apartment, not flirting with a
charismatic
stranger.

“Thank you.” She sa
id graciously, before adding, “But I really
have to go now.  I have a meeting to get to.” She explained, instantly annoyed with herself for telling him why she had to leave.  It was none of his business, and she needed to add a little mystery to this encounter.

“Before you do, may I take your phone number?” He asked, whipping out his cell phone.

“OK, ye
s.” She spoke the number to him as he immediately plugged the digits into his phone.

“I will be in touch about that tango.”  Pedro promised before giving her one last intense look and strolling over to the weight room.

For a moment, Herculea stared after him, intrigued and unsettled at the same time.  Men like Pedro had brought her nothing but misery.  Well, misery mingled in with some irres
is
tible episodes of passion.

Herculea briefly panicked as she looked at the time on her cell phone.  3:15.  Her meeting was at 4:30. Herculea wasn’t feeling too hopeful about making it to the meeting in her characteristic punctuality
.  S
he sprinted to her
car
.  Flipping the air conditioner to full blast, Herculea started the ignition and
sped
to her apartment
.

After sailing through more than one yield sign, Herculea found herself in the assigned parking space of her garden apartment.  Relieved, she glided up the stairs to her second floor unit, still
drinking
water to appease her parched throat.  The kickboxing class was just
a small
part of her intense workout regimen.  Herculea
preferred dancing
salsa
, swimming
laps
, and practicing
yoga the other days of the week.  Exercise was her retreat from the stresses of her work as a cultural anthropologist and university
professor
. She relished every drop of sweat as an individual accomplishment, all contributing to an Olympic-sized pool of strength and endurance.  Her mother didn’t name her Herculea for nothing, she thought with dignity.

Stripping down to nude, Herculea caught a quick glimpse of her body in the bathroom mirror.  At just 5 feet two and a quarter inches tall (five feet three inches on her driver’s license) Herculea was petite yet surprisingly lithe and
shapely
.  She frowned at the slight jiggle of her inner thighs, the one part of her that she could not seem to tone no matter how much she exercised.  Then, her gaze lifted to her core, a bona fide jelly belly as a chubby teenager, now the strongest part of her.  Not a six pack, but a
toned
yet femininely round tummy that did justice to a bikini, she thought.  Her dark brown hair fell in sharp layers just below tan shoulders, framing a soft and pretty face.

The handsome image of Pedro floated onto the edge of her consciousness, but she hurriedly pushed it off the cliff.  She would go out with him if he called, but she didn’t want to waste any time thinking about him now.

Herculea stepped into the shower and let the cool water drench her overheated body.  She scrubbed her face briskly with a mango
exfoliating cream
before lathering ocean breeze soap all over her body.  Moments later, shower complete, Herculea trailed watery footprints to her bedroom
.
She peered into the
closet to find something to wear for her meeting.  She hoped the meeting would be brief, as she already felt her stomach grumbling for dinner.  There would be no time to eat, she reasoned, slipping into an ivory silk blouse and navy blue pencil skirt and pulling her wet hair into a messy bun.

“I can’t get through this meeting without eating
something
.” Herculea said aloud, not bothering to put on any makeup.  She made a beeline for her cozy kitchen, painted in gentle shades of lavender and cream.  From the cabinet, she snatched a packet of
roasted
sunflower seeds and tore it open.

“Not enough.” She mumbled through unsatisfying mouthfuls of the salty seeds.  Delving deeper into the cabinet, she found a chocolate chip granola bar and threw it into her purse, smiling.  This snack would appease both her sweet tooth and healthy lifestyle.  Seconds later, she was out the door and in her
car
, sneaking in bites of the granola bar as she drove the short ride to the university.

*****

Inside the Social S
ciences building, Herculea walked down the corridor to
Kent
’s office.  She had met
Kent
Rossing six
years ago after earning her Ph.D. from Princeton University. 
Kent
, recently minted from his own doctoral program at Cambridge University,
had
befriended her
as the two adjusted to life in N
orthern California.  A native of England,
Kent
Rossing spoke with a delectably refined
accent.  With his sandy blond hair and shocking blue eyes, he was a good looking guy, or “bloke” as he might say.  But nothing romantic had ever transpired between them.

“Knock knock,” She said cheerily, walking through his open office door.

“Herculea, good afternoon.  How are you?”
Kent
offered her a warm smile and politely stood up as she entered the room.

“A little rushed today.  I hope I’m not late.  My workout ran over time at the gym.” She apologized, as a flash of Pedro’s smoldering stare ignited in her mind.

“Not at all.  I admire your tenacity at the gym.  It’s a place you don’t find me often enough.” 
Kent
said modestly.

“You’re in great shape.” Herculea countered honestly. 
Kent
was tall and solid
, without a trace of the unattractive beer belly she found in so many men her age and older.

“
I appreciate the compliment
.” He lowered his eyes, and Herculea thought she detected a mild blush creep into his cheeks.  “Shall we get started?” He asked in his regal English accent.

“Indeed.” She replied in mock British fashion, giving her friend a quick wink. 
Kent
smiled and pulled out a chair for her before opening a thick file folder on his desk.

“I received an itinerary this morning from the dean.”
Kent
announced, referring to their pendi
ng trip to Brazil to report on c
apoeira.

“Did you receive a Portuguese phrasebook as well?” Herculea asked nervously.

Kent
was fluent in Spanish, and she could revert to her native language
easily
.  But neither she nor
Kent
could communicate in Portuguese.

Kent
laughed. “No, but I’ve been learning a few words. 
Obrigado
, for example.”

“Even I know that means ‘thank you,’
but we’re going to need more than that!” She exclaimed, now laughing as well.

“I have no doubt that we’ll manage,
Dr
. Sanchez.” He emphasized her title, adding, “They call you that for a good reason.  You earned that title, and you know it.”

“Thank you, Dr. Rossing.” She grinned.

At that moment, her cell phone rang.  She reached into her purse as a number she didn’t recognize appeared on the screen.  She let it go to voicemail, wondering if that could already be Pedro calling.  No, don’t be an idiot, she thought. Men like Pedro didn’t call this soon.

Returning her focus to the meeting with
Kent
, Herculea listened as he combed through the itinerary their boss had arranged.  It would be a whirlwind trip, as her assignments generally were, with little time to sleep and no time to sightsee.  Their entire week in Brazil would
revolve around interviews with c
apoeira artists and observations of performances.  Her head started to mildly throb just thinking about it.  Mentally, she made a note to arrange for a soothing massage after the trip.

“Herculea, you look stressed.”
Kent
said perceptively and with more than a hint of compassion.

She sighed.  “I am.  All this traveling gets to me sometimes, as much as I love my job.” She admitted, looking
Kent
directly in those piercing blue orbs.

“I know what you mean.  But think of it as an adventure.  And summer vacation is just around the corner, so hopefully you’ll have time to decompress then.”

This was true, Herculea realized.  It was already May, and the spring semester was nearly over.

“You’re right,
Kent
.  I think sipping umbrella drinks is in order for this summer!” She giggled.

“If you can find a place to do that in San Francisco, then please let me in on your secret!  I moved from one rainy, dreary climate to another, it seems.  I might as well move to Seattle and call it a day.”

Herculea laughed out loud, a hearty, sincere laugh that made
Kent
join her as he peered admiringly into her chocolate brown eyes.  For the next hour, the coworkers pored over their itinerary, scribbling notes and checking that all arrangements had been secured.

Suddenly, Herculea could not stifle a yawn.  “Oh, wow.  I’m so tired.  I think we have all the info we need for our trip next week.  Don’t you?”

She looked at him expectantly, hoping the workaholic would agree so she could go home and
eat
some dinner.

“Yes, I think you’re right.  Go home and get some rest.  You’ll need it.  I’ll see you on Monday.” He gave her a small smile, but she detected that he had not been quite ready to finish the meeting.

“OK,
Kent
, sounds good.  See you soon.”

She slung her purse over her shoulder and walked out of the office.  Once in the hallway, she dug into the handbag for her cell phone.  The mysterious caller from earlier had left a voicemail.

“
Hola
Herculea.  This is Pedro from the gym.  I would like to take you
out on
Thursday evening.  Are you free?  Wear your da
ncing shoes because I’m taking
you to tango
.  Call me.”

Herculea saved the message and walked on slightly wobbly legs to her car.  Why had he called so soon?  Was this man for real?  Reluctantly, Herculea forced herself to think of the motley crew of men from her past.  There were a handful of lovers in her history, and all of them seemed to share a common quality: danger.  She found it impossible to resist a virile lover who moved to a triple time beat initially before slowing down to an almost backwards motion when the relationship became more serious.

“
Ay,
co
ñ
o!
Forget them!  I want dinner.”

It had begun to rain, a
typically
misty Pacific Northwest sprinkling that
formed fog in
the distance. 
In her head, she formulated a succulent meal
to cook for dinner
: r
isotto with spinach
and walnuts
, a fresh garden salad topped with organic cherry tomatoes and homemade ranch dressing
.  Chocolate pudding with whipped cream for dessert.