Lucky Charm (12 page)

It had been a very long time since she’d danced and she was surprised to find herself feeling a little thrill of excitement at the idea. It would be fun and it was obvious that he would know how to do it right. Everyone kept saying she should have fun. Maybe she would. There was no way she would pass it up.

She grinned and nodded.

“I’ll be back, Miriam,” she whispered as she pulled the barrette from her hair, then twisted it up to clip the mass loosely on top of her head.

Miriam looked at her. “Where are you going?”

“To dance.”

The man waited for her at the edge of the dance floor, a proper Latin gentleman in his sixties perhaps. Once he’d been a very handsome man and in many ways he still was.

Bowing a little, his accent rich and thick but easily understandable, he said, “Shall we show them how it is done?”

She smiled and took his offered hand. He swung her out onto the dance floor, then his other settled correctly in the small of her back and she straightened. He led her into a meringue, her hips swaying, her back straight and her chin up as she’d been taught. It was lovely fun. The band switched to salsa and Ariel grinned at her partner. His eyes sparkled as he smiled back. They slid smoothly into the dance.

His eyes alight with real pleasure, he said, “My name is Miguel. Where did you learn to dance so well?”

“Ariel. Some friends, Jesus and his wife Maria, taught me years ago,” she said, with a smile, remembering.

Before. Her breath caught for a moment.

“They taught you well,” he said.

She smiled even more widely, pleased that he thought so.

Matt was left at the table with Rick. The two women had gone to the ladies’ room. It was a prime chance to pick Rick’s mind, except Rick wasn’t looking at him, his attention was on the dance floor.

“Don’t tell Missy but I wouldn’t mind a piece of that. She’s got a nice rack but look at those hips go, can you imagine that in the horizontal bop?”

Looking out on the dance floor, Matt saw Ariel dancing with an older Latino man. For all her small height she somehow managed to look imperious and, with her hips shaking like that, incredibly sexy. She’d pulled her hair up on top of her head, showing the long, lovely lines of her throat.

You have no idea
, he thought, remembering how she’d felt beneath him.

She was beautiful in that dress and even more so without it. The memory of his hands and mouth on that lovely ivory fullness, of the smooth rise of those hips as she took him, had him hard again in a second. Sudden and sharp, he felt a rush of need, the need to have her again, to make her his. He fought it back. It was too much of a complication.

Then Carly and Missy returned and he had to make a concerted effort to turn it off.

Carly gave a dismissive glance to those on the dance floor as Matt got up to let her slide in, Rick doing the same for Missy.

The conversations started again, talk of sales and money. Matt listened most of the time and tried not to watch the dancers on the floor.

Or one in particular.

With thanks, Ariel begged off another dance. She was in good shape but it was becoming obvious that she was out of practice. It wasn’t that she didn’t know the steps but it had been years since she’d danced, even longer since she’d worked with the folks that taught her. Even this much had her sweating. She’d be drenched if she kept it up, plus she was ignoring the people from Marathon, which wasn’t politically correct. Given that, she asked Miguel if she could take a break and he bowed graciously over her hand.

Steve was headed her way, clearly intending on dragging her out on the dance floor but she dodged him and got another virgin margarita to sip.

“Where did you learn to dance like that?” Miriam asked, astonished.

Ariel smiled. “From friends who knew how to do it right.”

That had been before, at another job and a different life. Before. Before everything.

“Steve’s circling again,” Miriam warned.

Rolling her eyes, Ariel said with a grin, “Like a shark after chum in the water.”

“And you’re the chum,” Miriam answered.

With a dry look, Ariel said, “He just thinks I am.”

Miriam had already had one too many margaritas. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were very bright as they roamed the room. Her man-seeking radar was on full blast. One thing Arial was learning about her new friend was that Miriam was man hungry. Miriam liked them handsome by preference but mainly she just liked men.

“Dig the guy at the end of the bar,” Miriam said, her brown eyes avid. “Wouldn’t you like a piece of that?”

The man at the end of the bar wasn’t one of the Marathon crew but he was definitely attractive and knew it. Chocolate brown hair, nicely built but too obviously on the prowl with so many of the women from Marathon here. His eyes measured and assessed each one. No doubt about it, Miriam had an eye for a good-looking man and she’d already set her sights on several.

Ariel shook her head and smiled. “No thanks.”

With a shake of her head, Miriam indicated her sorrow at the chance she was missing.

“Gotta go, you want to hold our place?” Miriam asked, sliding off the barstool so Ariel could take her place. They’d been taking turns sitting, to spare their feet in heels

No sooner was Miriam gone than a hand slid around Ariel’s back, questing fingers trying to go too far around the other side. Ariel clamped her arm to her side and wouldn’t budge despite the not-so-subtle prodding fingers. She turned to face Steve but not too far.

“I’m claiming my dance,” he said.

He was leaning too close. The alcohol on his breath was strong enough to light and turn him into a fire-breathing dragon. Ariel was tempted to wave her hand in front of her face to clear the fumes.

Sighing, she said, “I just finished dancing, I really need to take a break.”

He grabbed her wrist. “Come on, Ariel, it’s only one dance.”

“No,” she said quietly, prying his fingers away.

Apparently that wasn’t an answer Steve was used to hearing. “What do you mean, no?”

Her gaze went to the Latino gentleman on the other side of the bar.

His eyes narrowed as he took in the situation, then he nodded. Escape.

Ariel breathed a sigh of relief. Now all she had to do was lose Steve.

“Looks like Steve is going to add another notch to his bedpost,” Rick said, his eyes on the group at the bar.

Matt looked. The good-looking guy had his arm around Ariel again, leaning close.

Somehow, he didn’t think so. Not if he’d judged the lady right and it seemed he had. She was drinking something that looked like a margarita, though. The alcohol might have gotten the better of her. A spark of something, he didn’t know what, made him want to get up and remove that obviously unwelcome hand.

As Ariel detached the hand and writhed away from the possessive arm, Matt said, “Seems like he’s met his match.”

If he’d been home, if it had been under any other circumstances, Matt would be over there right now telling them man to take his hands off the lady and asking what part of the word no the man had missed. That had clearly been Arial’s message. If it hadn’t been for Bill, for what he was trying to do and the time he’d spent trying to get where he was with Carly, he would have done it.

The image of Ariel going after those men with a two-by-four came to mind. The lady could take care of herself, he reminded himself and he knew she had guts. She shouldn’t have to, though. It grated on him. He wished things were different. Very different.

“Give him time,” Rick said. “Steve will wear her down. He always does. Breaks in a lot of the new ones. Of course, she’s only here temporarily.”

Ariel wasn’t dumb.

This Steve was still trying, though.

Matt had to give him points for persistence but it was starting to annoy him.

Still, Matt had gained more information on Ariel, which he’d wanted but it wasn’t good.

Temporary. How long until she was gone?

Hooking her foot on the barstool slightly behind Steve’s knee but not touching it, Ariel said, “No, I don’t want to dance with you.”

“You’ll dance with him but not with me, huh?” he said.

Turning in the barstool sharply, she snapped her foot against the back of his knee and he staggered. As drunk as he was he lost his balance. She hopped off the other side of the barstool and started down the dance floor. Steve came after her and caught her wrist. He was relentless, that was certain and not used to taking no for an answer. It was starting to get more than a little uncomfortable.

Peeling her wrist free, she stepped back as Miriam reappeared and a few of the others came to her rescue. They pulled Steve away, Aidan talking to him urgently.

Breaking away, Steve marched back to her barstool and tossed back her margarita. The expression on his face was comical as he realized that there was no alcohol in it but Ariel refrained from smiling. It would only add insult to injury, making him that much more determined.

Embarrassed at his behavior, Miriam said, “Ariel, I’m really sorry.”

Ariel had forgotten how ugly the dating scene could sometimes get. The twist of her heart reminded her once more of what she had lost. She pushed it aside.

Waving her hand, she smiled and said, “Don’t worry about it, Miriam. It’s not your fault he’s a jerk.”

Miguel, on the other hand, was soothing to her nerves. He led her into the dance without comment, understanding without being told her need for silence.

It was a tango, intricate steps, not the silly stylized dance you saw so often on TV but smooth and flowing. Not something you would usually hear in a bar. She glanced at the band. The leader grinned at her slyly, challengingly. As she followed Miguel’s lead, she stuck her tongue out at the band leader. He laughed and gave her a small bow.

“I think perhaps,” Miguel said, “your evening is not going well now.”

She smiled a little. “I think perhaps you’re right. Sadly, I think this will be the last dance for me tonight.”

With a sigh of real regret, he said, “It’s a pity.”

“For me, as well,” she said, laughing as he dipped her down and brought her sharply back up.

With a small bow, Miguel escorted her off the floor and then kissed the back of her hand with a smile of farewell. It was easy to return the smile.

A hand slid over Matt’s thigh, high and on the inside. His body, already primed, reacted predictably.

“Did you forget about me?” Carly asked, smiling coolly.

Matt cursed himself for his wandering attention.

Eyes on the ball, Matt
, he reminded himself.
You need to know more about Marathon, not Ariel O’Donnell.
He owed too much to Bill to let him down.

That girl drew his eyes like a moth to the flame, nonetheless, and she was as dangerous to him.

Cool and a little distant, Carly was definitely more his type. Not complicated. Not like Ariel O’Donnell with her curious mix of strength and fragility, bringing his protective instincts raging to the fore.

Carly knew what she wanted and set out to get it.

Like she’d set her sights on him when she’d seen him standing at the bar.

“No, Carly, I hadn’t forgotten about you at all,” he said and smiled wolfishly.

Rick stifled a snicker. His eyes hadn’t wandered, he was still watching those at the bar. For some reason, he seemed unduly interested in the goings-on of those he deemed underlings.

Or Ariel.

“What?” Matt said, unable to resist his curiosity.

“She tripped him,” he said, in admiration. “He won’t like it but it was smartly done. Okay, so maybe she’s not as dumb as I thought.”

No, she wasn’t. She was smart, quick on her mental feet, braver than hell and Matt couldn’t get her out of his mind. He had to, he should. He couldn’t help but look. She was out on the dance floor with the old man again. A tango. The girl could move, that was for certain. Smoothly, seductively and with incredible grace. He couldn’t help wondering if she could do the Texas two-step as well as the Latin dances. Did she even like country-western music?