Since her final break with Danny, Nydia had consciously thwarted the advances of any man who appeared even remotely interested in her. The owner of one of the restaurants whose books she maintained had asked to take her out, and she was forthright when she told him she never mixed business with her social life. What she didn’t tell him was even if she didn’t work for him, he wasn’t someone whom she would consider dating.
And she had been truthful when she told Millie that she was happy for Danny, but there was no way she wanted to revive her relationship with him. Fame was certain to change him; she refused to compete with his homeboys and other women for his attention, and she was certain he would cheat on her because it would be hard for him to resist all of the panties thrown his way. Nydia had attended a number of social events where Danny had performed with the house band, and she’d overheard women talk about wanting “to do” the lead singer. One even went as far to say: “The minute he drops thatputaI’d be on him like stink on shit.” She’d dropped him months ago, and they were welcome to him.
“I don’t think I can eat another morsel,” she whispered to Jasmine, as the waitstaff cleared away the remains of dinner; at the same time dessert tables were set up on the far side of the ballroom.
“I’m going to wait for dessert,” Jasmine said. “I want to see what . . .” Her words trailed off when the DJ lowered the volume on the soft jazz that had played throughout the dinner and his sonorous voice echoed throughout the ballroom’s hidden speakers.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the bride and groom decided they wanted more dancing than talking and toasting, so it’s time for you to get up and move. And since this is a celebration I’m going to start you out with a Kool and the Gang anthem.”
Nydia smiled when “Celebration” blared from the powerful PA system. Many of the guests were up on their feet as they sang along with the classic tune. She did not have time to react when Philip stood up and extended his hand.
“May I have this dance?”
She met his bright blue eyes, smiling, and placed her hand on his outstretched palm. “Yes, you may.”
Nydia did not lack for partners as she danced with Jasmine’s father, Cameron’s father, brothers, and brother-in-law, and Jasmine’s uncle Keith. Keith and Danita Moore had closed their Long Island bed-and-breakfast for the weekend to attend their niece’s wedding.
She’d just returned to her table when she saw Lamar approach, knowing he had come to claim his promised dance. Not only did he look good, but he also smelled wonderful. His cologne was a tantalizing combination of sandalwood and musk. Even with four-inch heels and her stylized hair atop her head, he still towered over her by at least four inches. And seeing him this close also made her aware, despite the cropped gray hair, he was younger than at first glance.
“I suppose you’ve come to claim your dance,” she said, smiling.
Lamar smiled. “Sí, señorita.”
Nydia did not have time to react to his speaking Spanish when he led her out onto the dance floor and spun her around and around to Marc Anthony’s “Nadie Como Ella.” She knew Jasmine had added that particular song to the playlist because it was one of her favorites sung by the salsa Grammy winner.
Within seconds of Lamar resting his hands at her waist, she lost herself in the man and in the music as he led her across the dance floor, easily following his fluid movements as if they’d choreographed it. Her hips had taken on a life of their own as she dipped and swayed to Marc singing “No One Like Her.” Lamar wasn’t just a good dancer, he was excellent, twirling her around and around on her toes before dipping her low to the thunderous applause reverberating throughout the ballroom.
The song ended, her head inches above the floor, Lamar’s warm breath sweeping over her mouth. “Please let me up.” Her heart beat a double-time rhythm as she struggled to catch her breath. And sharp pain from the incision on her right side was a reminder that she was still healing.
Lamar flashed a wide grin, his perfectly aligned teeth showing whitely in his face. “Gracias por el baile.”
“Where did you learn to speak Spanish?”
“I’ll tell you if you agree to another dance.”
Her right side was throbbing from the exertion. Nydia shook her head. “Only if it’s a slow number.” As if on cue, the lights dimmed and the DJ announced he was going give everyone a chance to catch their breath with some slow jams.
Lamar tightened his hold around Nydia’s waist. “The DJ must have read your mind.”
She laughed. “Lucky me.”
“No. Lucky us.”
Nydia rested her left hand on Lamar’s shoulder. “Where did you learn to salsa?”
Easing back, he stared down at her. “I thought you wanted to know how I learned to speak Spanish.”
“That, too.”
A beat passed. “I learned it from one of my college classmates who was from East Harlem.”
Nydia stopped in mid-step and would have lost her balance if Lamar hadn’t steadied her. “I live in East Harlem.”
He blinked once. “You’re kidding.”
She shook her head, smiling. “No I’m not. Talk about a small world.”
Lamar dropped his arm but did not let go of her hand. “Come with me. We need to find a place where we can talk without having to shout over the music.”
