Page 57 of Indulging Temptation (Tempting the Heart #1)

She crosses her arms and does this adorable shift in her stance, extending one leg forward.

Fuck me . It would be the leg where the slit to her dress is.

A slit that is damn near at the top of her thigh.

Tempting me by the second to say fuck Salsa night and take her somewhere where it’s just her and I.

Somewhere we can do what we have come to do best. Speak to each other in the silent form of pleasure.

Existing as a couple within the confines of however long it takes for me to get her to come.

Since that’s the only way she lets me know she cares about me.

“So I can see who my competition is.”

“Aww, Lo, that’s not how you are. You’re a girl’s girl.”

She stomps her foot, and the impact to the concrete causes her dress to shift slightly, leaving very little to the imagination.

“I know,” she grits, seeming annoyed with herself. “I am. And here you are having me all…” She stops herself, clearly flustered. “All…”

“Jealous?”

“Yes.” She lets out the breath she was holding.

“Is it fucked up for me to say that you look exceptionally sexy when you’re jealous?”

She rolls her eyes.

“That depends if you are purposely trying to make me jealous or not.”

I shrug, giving her no answer.

“Santino!” She walks forward, gently tapping my chest with a flat palm that I cling onto like a lifeline, holding it, squeezing her wrist with enough pressure that lets her know, that I’m not letting her go.

Not now. Not ever. Giving her weary mind and heart the silent confirmation it needs.

She says my name again, this time lower, breathier.

Caught between a plea and a whimper she’s trying to stifle.

“Mi cielo.” Her face warms at the nickname. Same way she warms a part of me buried deep inside I thought was broken a long time ago, without even realizing it. “You have nothing to be jealous of when it comes to me.”

“Then why did you say you’d bring a date?”

“To get your attention, Lorena.”

“Why?” she asks with her voice cracking, speaking as if she doesn’t realize how special she is, to me or to this world, and it breaks my heart.

“Because it’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“Does that mean that I’m your date?” Hope blossoms within her irises.

“That depends. Will you let me in close enough to you to date you and not just make you come on demand?”

I’m about to get an answer. The one I’ve waited what feels like eons for but as fate will have it, we have company. I let go of her hand, and we put a few inches of distance between us as we’re greeted by Tomás.

“There you two are!” he exclaims, completely oblivious to the moment he just disrupted.

Lorena looks at me, then Tomás, a host of unspoken words lingering in her eyes.

“Are we waiting on anyone else?” Tomás asks.

“Nope, just us,” Lorena says.

“Alright then, let’s Salsa.” Tomás leads the way to the door and just like that a pin is put in our conversation. For now, that is.

If there’s something that I avoid more than dealing with my present problems, it’d have to be reflecting on the past. Memories don’t comfort me as much as they should.

Nostalgia often feels like a cruel joke and a testament to how quickly life can change within the blink of an eye.

But sometimes, the past has a way of sneaking past the barriers I’ve created in my mind, like it is now, as one song bleeds into a more familiar one.

One I heard most nights when my parents would embark on their nightly after dinner Salsa dancing ritual.

The song playing, La Vida Es un Carnaval by Celia Cruz, was one of my mother’s favorite songs.

And it’s the one she taught my father how to Salsa dance to, and eventually my brothers and me.

Salsa played a huge role in our family life before things broke and shattered.

It’s the one piece of my mom’s culture I’ve been able to keep alive, outside of what I infuse into my cooking.

Since, outside of a few phrases here and there in Spanish, she never taught me or my brother’s the language.

But the mark my mom left on me, giving me an appreciation for the beautiful music of her culture, and in part mine, I will always have it in me.

Something that I will show Lorena, right here and now.

“Dance with me,” I say it as a command, taking the drink she’s been nursing for what feels like an eternity away from her, and walking her out onto the dance floor.

Our fingertips brush up against each other, and I take the lead, stepping one foot forward, and in perfect synchrony, her foot moves back.

We start with small steps. I move forward, she moves back, then vice versa. Moving with the beat gradually working its way up, until we become one with the music, and each other.

Growing tired of the space between us, even though it gives me a mouthwatering view of her hips each time she sways them, I decide to up the stakes a bit. I lift my arm, my fingers entwine with hers, melding to one another’s as we move together as one like a well-oiled machine.

Lorena follows my lead, with a mixture of grace and hesitation, making sure she doesn’t land into me when she spins closer.

Her body is in perfect tune with the music, same way my body and all my concentration are on her.

Timing her movements in my head, waiting for the perfect way to lock her body against mine, needing to feel her closer to me.

This time when she spins beneath my hand, I seize the opportunity to take hold of her, gliding my hands down to her hips, securing them in place.

Her back arches like a piece of fluid art, falling back with sensual poise.

With one hand holding her up, I take the other to her thigh.

Kneading it. Allowing myself that brief indulgence under the guise of the music filling the air.

As she straightens her spine, I switch tactics. Keeping one hand on her back, I offer her my other hand up at a ninety-degree angle for her to hold onto, keeping her close enough that we can continue dancing but also finish our conversation from before.

“So am I?” I breathe, keeping with the tempo.

“Are you what, Tino?”

She moves her hips, going to step back, but I tighten my grip on her back, locking her in place, allowing my lips to travel to her ear.

“We were talking about dates. Remember?”

She nods yes.

“Am I more than a dick for you to ride on?”

I can tell my words are making her as flustered as they are turned on, encouraging me to keep going.

“Or a face that you can sit on, feeding me that delicious cunt of yours from the tap?”

My words linger in the air, and all she can say or do in response is whimper.

The song ends, and as another begins with a much slower tempo, her lips finally part.

“Of course you are.” The excitement I feel is not reciprocated in her face, and it’s as crushing as it is confusing.

“What’s the problem?” A loaded question, since one of our biggest problem is her brother whose presence burns in both our peripheries. Thankfully, he’s still off at the bar and on his phone, which is not like him since he loves dancing Salsa.

She goes to answer, but as she parts her lips, tears form in her eyes, and my hand goes to her cheek, ready to wipe them the second they fall. Though like the strong woman she is, the one I admire but wish she knew she didn’t have to be alone, she holds them back from falling.

“I don’t know where to begin,” she lets out.

“Talking to me would be a start.” Her gaze darts over to the other side of the dance floor to the bar Tomás is sitting at.

“Forget them,” I snap. “Forget anything and anyone that isn’t you and me right now.”

And please. Please. I fucking beg of you. Tell me what’s on your mind. Tell me what I need and want to hear.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because we’re supposed to work on your image, and if we…”

“Fuck my image,” I interrupt her.

Fuck everything right now.

I’m so close to getting her to open up to me. I can feel it. All she needs to do is allow herself this moment of vulnerability. One that I will help her with, so I can prove to her that I’m not going anywhere.

The music continues to play. People continue to dance around us. We’re quite literally in the middle of the choreographed chaos, but all I can focus on is her, as I wait with bated breath, watching her chest rise and fall as she tries to speak.

Knowing that the middle of the dance floor is not conducive to the conversation we’ve been waiting years to have, I take the initiative and reach for her hand, guiding us away from the crowd to the far corner of the room.

When the change in scenery doesn’t instantly do the trick to get her to talk, I decide to go ahead and break the ice.

“Lorena, I need you to know that all I want is you. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.

I. Want. You. In all moments. In all capacities.

In all circumstances. Fuck the consequences.

All that matters is this.” I motion between us. “ Us . You and me. That’s it.”

Emotion glosses her irises, my words sinking into her, giving her the motivation to part her lips to speak. “But Tino…” She hesitates. Stopping herself…like always.

“But what?” My hands already on both of her shoulders, I gently shake her, begging her in silence to speak her mind before I do verbally. Needing her to let go. To give in to me . “Talk to me,” I plead.

She shakes her head, looking down at the ground, away from me. Desperate for her to speak, I drop a hand from her shoulder to her chin, gently angling it back up to me. “ Please.”

A heavy sigh falls from her lips, though the tension in her shoulders loosens. I can feel the weight of her words, preemptively attacking my core, stabbing me in the chest with the magnitude of emotion radiating from her, all before she even mutters a single syllable.

Seconds pass. Not many. Maybe five. Ten at most. But each one feels like an eternity.

Pure and utter torture. Patience has never been a strong suit of mine, but for her, I’ll be as patient as I have to be.

I’ll wait as long as needed, so that she knows I’m not going anywhere.

She doesn’t have to be afraid anymore or run from her feelings.

I’m where I’ve always wanted to be. Standing in front of her, with my heart on my sleeve, waiting for her to claim it as hers. So she can be mine and finally allow me to be hers.

Finally, she blesses my eardrums with her voice. “I don’t know how to…”

I stroke my thumb at her chin. “How to what?”

“How to make things last forever.” The pause she takes isn’t because she doesn’t have more to say. I can see there’s a floodgate on the precipice of being blown open by the weight of years’ worth of repressed feelings.

It’s finally happening.

She’s opening up to me.

Realizing the importance of this moment, and fully aware of all that comes with it, I stand staring at her, waiting for her to lay every feeling, concern, and anything else she has to give onto me.

Willingly. All so I can have this moment and many more with her, by my side, and with me forever in her corner.

“I don’t know how to allow myself to feel happy, and worthy of that happiness, when I know in the back of my mind, something bad will happen, and steal it from me.

Something bad always happens. If it’s not you.

It’ll be me. And if it’s not one of us, there will be some tragedy that will wedge itself between us, tearing us apart.

So, what’s the point? What’s the point of letting yourself feel something that won’t last forever?

Why allow yourself happiness or love, if it all has to end, someway or somehow?

!” She tries taking a deep breath, but it comes up shallow.

She’s spiraling, on the verge of an anxiety attack.

I take her into my arms, hugging her, wrapping my arms around her, letting her know that I’m here.

That she’s okay. That this, us, all of it, will be okay.

“I don’t want a broken heart,” she murmurs into my chest.

“Who said I would break your heart?”

She doesn’t answer. Her chest heaves, and the wet warmth of tears dampen my shirt.

I take a step back, breaking our hold so I can look into her eyes. “Lorena, what makes you think that? I would never.”

“You may not. But that’s how life goes. You open up to someone and let them in.

Days mesh into weeks, months become years, and before you know it, if you’re lucky enough, your individual lives become one as your hearts grow to adapt to building a life together.

All for it to just end. All for one of us to be left with a broken heart.

” The tears aren’t held back anymore; they are streaming down her face.

We need to get out of here. There’s so much I want to say, but I’m afraid words alone aren’t going to cut it. I need to show her.

I scoop her up in my arms, and I take her to the only place I can think of that will ease her worries and convey to her how I feel. I need to reassure her that love, as scary as it may seem, is worth the fall, and I’ll always be here to catch her.

I’ll prove it to her.

And I know just how I’m going to.