Save the Last Dance Page 9

  “Hey, Lady, you got a license to drive that thing?”

  Mariah jumped and almost fell out of the saddle. She grabbed Sueño’s mane and hoisted herself back into sitting position.

  Rodrigo leaned on the rail fence, a huge grin on his face. He looked so absolutely gorgeous that her anger transformed to a welcoming smile. With his ever-present five o’clock shadow and thrift shop clothes, he still defined sex appeal the same way rain defined Seattle. He’d look good in anything.

  Or nothing.

  Sueño ambled over to Rodrigo and put his head over the fence so his new buddy could scratch it.

  “Hi,” Rodrigo said softly, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes.

  “Hi.” Her smile turned to a frown. “Are you okay?” Anguish and defeat were stamped on his face. For a brief moment, a door to his soul opened, and he let her inside. She saw everything that he was, had been, and could be. His essence, his uniqueness, his joys, and his sorrow caressed her. She knew him. It was profound and unexplainable. Before she could make sense of it, he booted her back to the sidewalk and slammed that door shut.

  His devil-may-care mask slipped in place.

  “Me? Yeah, I’m fine.” His eyes raked her body appreciatively as he slipped into his self-defined role as a rogue. “I had a great time last night.”

  “So did I.” He wasn’t fine, and she’d glimpsed the depths of his despair.

  He cleared his throat, stared down at his feet, as if embarrassed. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you, bella.”

  Mariah felt immediately wary. “And that is?”

  “Would you teach me to ride like you do?”

  “It takes years to learn to ride like this. What do we have? A month?”

  Rodrigo just shrugged.

  “I could teach you enough to be able to stay on.”

  “Okay, I’ll go with that.”

  “When do you want to start?”

  “How about now?” Rodrigo pointed at his cowboy boots. “I’m ready.”

  A giggle bubbled up inside her. The man could be so darned charming. “Okay, cowboy, hop on.”

  Rodrigo didn’t wait for a second invitation; he scrambled over the fence to Sueño’s side. He stood there looking at the horse, as if expecting him to kneel like a camel. Mariah concentrated on a field of wildflowers beyond the arena, fighting back a snicker. Sueño tilted his head to regard the dude with interest. He most likely thought it would be a cold day in equine Hades before he knelt down in order for anyone to get on his back.

  Finally Rodrigo spoke. “Exactly, how do I get on?”

  Mariah was certain Sueño rolled his eyes. She patted her horse reassuringly. The two of them would suffer through this together. “You’ve never been on a horse?”

  “Uh, no, never. Remember? I’m a city boy.”

  “Yeah, but not even a pony ride?”

  “Nope. I was a poor city boy.” His eyes narrowed. “You’re getting a big kick out of this, aren’t you? Both of you.” His gaze passed over Sueño and back to her. Sueño nipped at a fly on his chest and cocked one hind leg to take the weight off it. Feeling itchy, he rubbed his head on Rodrigo’s t-shirt, leaving a big streak of dirt. Rodrigo pushed him away. Sueño ignored him and leaned his hairy body against the man’s chest.

  “Well, it’s just that you’re always so smooth and sure of yourself. It’s nice to see you are human.”

  His face clouded over, as if she’d struck a nerve. “I am human, Mariah. Don’t ever make the mistake of giving me more credit than that.”

  “Okay.”

  She showed him how to get on, while Sueño stood patiently with a long-suffering expression on his face.

  “Now what?” He grinned down at her like a little boy on his first pony ride, which was pretty much the reality of the situation.

  Mariah demonstrated how to hold the reins. Of course, he took that opportunity to hold her hands and seduce her with his eyes. The man worked the sex angle every chance he got. His cocky attitude concealed his earlier misery, yet it still lurked in the depths of his brown eyes. He put on a brave act, but he couldn’t hide it from her. Who was this man? What troubled him so deeply?

  She adjusted his stirrups then led him around the arena at a walk. “Close your eyes, Rigo.” Like a good little boy, he complied. “Feel the movement of the horse in your seat, keep your hips loose. Move your seatbones in rhythm with the horse’s hips. Do you feel it?”

  “Nope. Could you help me?”

  She adjusted his hips and thighs to make him more secure in the saddle while he stroked her hair. She tried to ignore his fingers slipping through the long strands. “Keep your weight in your heels. Don’t grip with your thighs or pinch with your knees. That’ll pop you right out of the saddle.”

  “Maybe I should just pretend like I’m having sex.”

  “With Sueño?” She refused to take the bait.

  He frowned as he considered that possibility. “Maybe we should practice this without the horse first, so I can get a better sense of my timing and find my rhythm.”

  “How are you going to learn to ride without being mounted on a horse?”

  That statement brought a broad grin from him. She’d walked right into his trap. “Baby, are you seriously asking me that?”

  “You are incorrigible. And impossible. And—” Mariah sighed with resignation.

  “And what?” he prompted. “Impossibly handsome, charming, and good in bed, too. Trust me on that last one.”

  “I’ll have to since I don’t plan on experiencing it firsthand.”

  “Oh, baby, give me a chance to show you what my special talents are. You won’t regret it.”

  This arrogant pseudo-cowboy needed to be taught a lesson. She’d heard enough sexual innuendos for one day. Thank you. Mariah slapped Sueño on the butt. “Hold on, Latin love god!” she yelled as Sueño took off in a brisk jarring trot around the arena. Rigo held onto Sueño’s mane for dear life while his crotch pounded unmercifully against the saddle.

  Mariah marveled at his unique talent for combining Spanish and English obscenities as he told Sueño exactly what he thought of him. “Shit, Rye, stop him! Please! He’s killing me!”

  She hated to see an over-confident jerk like him reduced to groveling. “Okay, are you going to behave?”

  “Yes. Yes, I promise! Stop this equine jack hammer before I’m sterilized!”

  Just for good measure, she let them take one more turn around the arena then signaled for Sueño to stop.

  Sueño must have figured this dime store cowboy had hammered his back long enough. He screeched to a halt. He looked at Mariah as if to say the guy needed to learn to ride on a merry-go-round first. A sensitive guy like Sueño shouldn’t be subjected to his bumbling attempts. He should have dumped him and been done with it.

  Rodrigo yelped as his crotch was jammed against the front of the saddle. He held his hands up in surrender as Mariah approached. “I’ll be good, no more torture. I want to have kids someday. Dammit, Rye. Are you trying to turn me into a gelding?”

  “Ah, you do learn.” Laughter bubbled from Mariah’s lips. On a whim, she reached up and hugged Rodrigo’s waist, pressing her cheek against his belly. Leaning down, he held her tightly to him. His chest rumbled with laughter.

  Once he put his mind to it, Rodrigo caught on quickly. He understood the need to keep his body’s center of gravity in line with the horse’s center of gravity. He stayed in sync with Sueño’s movement at the walk and did a decent job of steering by the time the first lesson ended. Sueño, on the other hand, considered the entire ordeal boring and yawned repeatedly. He wondered when the pony ride was going to end.

  “You’re not bad, cowboy,” Mariah told him after he dismounted, and they put Sueño away. “Not bad at all.”

  Rodrigo grinned back. “I could show you a few things I’m much better at.” Without warning, he pulled Mariah into his arms and gave her one of those deep, wet kisses she was growing to love so much.


  “You are so adorable,” she blurted out. This man wanted to have a little vacation fling, but she’d jumped off the cliff into the raging waters below not caring if she drowned. She was in over her head and sinking fast.

  And she had no interest in reaching for a life preserver.

  * * *

  Rico stared at Mariah. Her eyes glowed with passion and something else. He knew that look.

  No, Mariah. Don’t think that. Don’t. I can’t give you anything but sex. That’s all. Let’s keep it simple. Don’t fall for me. I’m no good for you. Hell, I’m no good for myself.

  His raw emotions ran too close to the surface. Guilt and frustration drove him over the edge. He captured her chin in his hand. His lips devoured hers without any concern for her comfort. His control disintegrated. He pinned her against a stall door and took possession of her with a hunger driven by urgency, as he used her to purge Carmen’s stamp on his soul.

  Instead of fighting him off or retreating, she matched his desperate passion with her own. Her fingers dug into his thick hair, pulling him closer. Their mouths melded together, tongues wildly mating as their breath intermingled. He sucked her tongue into his mouth then nipped at her lips until they were swollen and tender. His mouth traveled across her face, leaving a trail of wet kisses. She kissed his forehead and his eyelids while running her fingers through his unruly hair. His hips moved against hers in an instinctive rhythm. He fastened his teeth on her neck, nipping hard enough that she cried out. He paid no attention. Marking her, he craved something that was his and his, alone. She bit at his earlobe, extracting her revenge and driving him insane.

  Rico wanted this woman in the worst way. Her wet mouth, full lips, and soft curves brought his body to a fever pitch. He crushed her against him, forcing her to feel the extent of his need. Cradling her butt in his hands, he lifted her into the air and sat her on top of a saddle rack. She wrapped her long legs around his waist to keep her balance as he ground his crotch against hers. His body burned hot with desire. He hadn’t experienced this intensity, power, and depth of emotions in a very long time. He fought the feeling, but failed miserably, as she ignited long-dead passions. She made him forget everything else; including the torch he carried for Carmen.

  “Rigo, I want to help you. Let me help you,” she whispered breathlessly, her mouth against his neck.

  She wanted to help him? Panting, he pulled away, nagged by a thread of decency. It was just his luck that his conscience decided to make an appearance just when he was about to get lucky.

  He couldn’t take her for the first time perched on a saddle rack. She deserved better than that. He laid his head on her shoulder, his chest heaving, his brain churning, his cock throbbing. Taking deep breaths, he attempted to regain some semblance of control. Her fingers gently stroked the back of his neck and her long legs gripped his waist.

  “Please.” She teased him with her hips.

  “No, not like this. We can’t.” She’d never know what those words cost him. He extracted himself from her embrace. Lifting her off the saddle rack, he set her feet firmly on the floor.

  This woman captivated him, intrigued him, and turned him on. She challenged his seductive talents, and he loved a good challenge. He had to keep it purely physical so no one got hurt when it ended. Inevitably, it would end because the heartache that came from caring about someone wasn’t worth it.

  If only he could keep his head in charge. Big or little, it didn’t matter which one, as long as his heart stayed out of it.

  Yeah, he had oceanfront property in Arizona, too.

  Chapter 7—The Home-Cooked Meal

  On a foolish whim, Mariah invited Rodrigo to dinner that night. She regretted the invitation the moment the words escaped her mouth.

  Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

  What was she thinking to invite temptation to her house? She might as well open the door stark-raving naked, too. Either way the man would interpret this as an invitation to stay the night. She pictured him standing on her front porch with a toothbrush in one hand and clean underwear in the other. Of course, he’d be grinning that dangerously irresistible grin. She briefly wondered—boxers or briefs.

  Okay, back to the problem at hand which didn’t involve Rodrigo in nothing but underwear. Not that he wouldn’t look all kinds of dangerous and delectable in said underwear.

  Mariah sighed. She had more urgent issues, as in, she couldn’t cook to save her soul. Like a lamb being led to slaughter, Rodrigo had no idea what he was getting himself into. Did she want to kill the man or sleep with him? Or neither? Eating her cooking had brought down many a strong stomach. Sleeping with her wouldn’t exactly impress Rodrigo either if Warren was any judge. After all, if she’d burned up the sheets with her love-making expertise, Warren wouldn’t have felt the need to look elsewhere.

  She took some solace in that kiss earlier today. Her inexperience had held its own against his experience. He’d been tuned in and turned on. The intensity of it should have frightened her. Yet deep down, Rodrigo would never hurt her, not physically. Instead he drove her wild with a craving to know him in ways she’d never wanted to know a man, while his possessive mouth heated her from the inside out. She’d matched his passion touch for touch, mouth against mouth, and tongue to tongue. He brought it out in her as naturally as breathing.

  What would sleeping with him be like? Bare skin, straining bodies, wet sheets. She leaned her head against the cupboard door. She’d better stop this right now, or she’d be answering the door in her birthday suit. Though, that would be one way to distract him from her atrocious cooking. Shaking her head at the hopelessness of it all, she grabbed the phone book and looked for somewhere to order takeout.

  Mariah glanced at the clock. She’d daydreamed way too long. There wasn’t time to drive anywhere to get takeout, and delivery on the island wasn’t an option.

  Frantically, she dug through her cupboards and refrigerator. Within five minutes she assembled a small assortment of ingredients on the kitchen counter. She smiled to herself. She could do this. She found a cookbook and opened it to the spaghetti page. Anyone could make spaghetti, right? She stuck a couple potatoes in the microwave and set it for twenty minutes. So what if it wasn’t gourmet cuisine. Rodrigo didn’t seem to be a picky eater.

  * * *

  The prospect of a home-cooked dinner appealed to Rico. If Mariah cooked half as good as she looked, it’d be one heck of a meal. And dessert. He’d volunteered to bring dessert. Maybe he should purchase a little chocolate sauce and whipped cream. Ice cream wouldn’t be necessary, not where he planned on putting that chocolate sauce and whipped cream.

  He packed a few things needed for an overnight stay in a small bag. Making sure he included a few boxes of condoms, he checked the box for quantity and smiled. Sí, that should do the trick. Sure, a little presumptuous of him, but he was Latin after all, and he always came prepared. Despite his ego having taken a beating in the past few years, a man could always hope.

  Twenty minutes later, Rico wandered around Mariah’s house while she finished dinner. Her tastefully decorated living room contained several pieces of antique oak Mission-style furniture. French doors and large windows took advantage of a spectacular view of several small islands and beyond to San Juan Channel. Colorful lawn furniture sat on the deck.

  The woman was sitting on a small fortune in property.

  Rico caught sight of something familiar stuck in a bookcase. Glancing over his shoulder to make sure she wasn’t watching, he snatched his Yankees baseball cap from its hiding place. Grinning with satisfaction, he shoved it in his coat pocket.

  A half-dozen framed magazine covers graced one wall. Each cover displayed a home or room designed by Mariah. He’d known she was talented, but he hadn’t realized how talented.

  Dinner was another story altogether. Mariah placed a plate in front of him with a flourish. Rico’s eyes grew big. Dios. He’d assumed she cooked as well as she did everything else. He assumed wrong. It was ques
tionable whether or not the substances on his plate were even edible.

  Rico shuddered and picked up his fork. Mariah hovered behind him, wringing her hands, and waiting for him to take the first bite. He put the fork down and stalled for time by taking a sip of wine. Controlling his rebellious stomach, he gripped the fork and tentatively inspected the objects lolling around on her good china. At least none of the suspicious items moved when he jabbed them. Like a game show contestant searching for answers, he attempted to discover the mystery foods’ identities.

  Rico’s sister had learned to cook by using him as her guinea pig. To keep from starving, he’d developed a cast iron stomach and could eat anything. Tonight, his stomach may have met its match.

  Canned tomato sauce covered a glob of overcooked spaghetti. A slice of American cheese garnished it instead of grated Parmesan cheese. The garlic bread provided an excellent source of charcoal if a person had need for such an item. Maybe he could scratch out a help message on the table top with it. Limp, green stems appeared to be the remains of asparagus boiled to mush. A once fat Idaho potato was a sad, wrinkled reflection of its former self.

  Whoever married this woman would be wise to confine her to the bedroom and lock her away from the pots and pans, he decided, feeling smugly chauvinistic. Tons of babies would keep her out of the kitchen and in his arms.

  Rico recovered from that vision with a start. Shit, not his arms and especially not the baby part.

  Sitting down, Mariah toyed with the food on her plate, but Rico bravely slogged through the meal with his stomach intact. Barely. He’d have to thank his sister for all those years of eating her cooking, and his guru for all that mind-over-matter stuff.

  After dinner they went outside and sat in the porch swing on the deck. A half-moon shone across the water as the waves lapped gently on the rocks and sand below. Mariah laid her head on his shoulder and sighed. Rico put his arm around her and drew her closer, relishing the warmth and comfort he gained from her. After his screwy day, he needed it.