Who was I kidding? He was much better looking than anyone in the club I’d seen so far.
I purposely turned away, running into someone almost immediately. “Oh, I’m sorry.” I’d forgotten I was going to pretend to be local, speaking only Portuguese.
The man’s eyes lit up and he gave me a onceover. “An American girl.”
“Guilty as charged.”
“Would you like to dance?”
“You know what? I would.” I finished my drink, placing the glass on a table and allowed him to lead me to the dance floor. The beat was fast, the crowd a little wilder than before and soon, the neon lights drifted into strobe mode.
“You’re a hot girl.”
“You’re not so bad yourself.”
The moment was somewhat thrilling and I was finally able to let go, spinning around him while undulating my hips.
I should have known better. As soon as I turned around, Donatello was standing only a few feet away.
My dancing partner noticed him immediately, showing signs of being uncomfortable. He tried to ignore that we were being watched. So did I.
But the hot Brazilian leaned forward, trying to act nonchalant. “Do you always take your bodyguard with you?”
“Him?” I pointed and the guy barely glanced over his shoulder before nodding. “He’s not with me. Whoever he is, just ignore him.”
I’d give the guy some credit. He did try to do exactly as I said. We danced to another song, even laughing as we did until Donatello changed positions, his dark and dangerous appearance putting a damper on everyone dancing around us.
“You know what?” the guy finally said. “I don’t think this is going to work out.”
With that, he walked away, even disappearing into the crowd. I stood staring after him and in truth, all I could do was laugh. The same situation had followed me from New Orleans. I would never officially be able to get away from who I was.
Maybe a huge part of me wasn’t trying too hard. I just wanted to find something special like my brothers had found. Was that too much to freaking ask?
After taking several deep breaths, I realized I could play this one of two ways. I could get very angry, demanding Donatello leave now or else. Whatever my threat might mean to a man of his stature. Or I could turn the tables. The way I figured it, he owedme. For breaking into my house in New Orleans as well as the one in Rio.
For going through my private things, including the hiding spot I’d developed. For chasing me down like some fugitive. For treating me like a child. For spanking me.
And for making it impossible for me to have a normal date of any kind.
Alright. That meant I had to change tactics. Fine with me.
When the beat turned more tribal, I started dancing toward where Donatello was standing. He pretended as if he wasn’t paying any attention at first. But when I swished my hips, the tiny sequins in the dress shimmered in the strobe.
He turned his head in my direction, stoic as I’d ever seen him but also never blinking. The closer I came, the more his eyes seemed to be hooded. By the time I was a foot away, his chest was heaving.
I was enjoying myself, moving to the music, taking my time to revel in feeling freer than I had in a long time. Maybe the reason was I’d gotten out of town. Or perhaps it was because of the handsome company who refused to leave me alone. I guess I should be flattered. Right?
When I dared dance around him in a circle, he shifted his head from one side to the other. By the time I’d danced my way back in front of him, every muscle in his body was tense. I continued dancing, inching closer and closer.
He brought his drink to his lips, but before he had a chance to take a sip, I took the glass from his hand. Now I backed away, shifting back and forth as I brought the rim to my lips. Hisgaze was dark and foreboding, a promise of all things dark and dangerous. I was enthralled by the way he was studying me, his features even more chiseled than normal.
After tossing back almost every drop and bringing the glass down with a dramatic flair, I offered what had to appear as an evil smile.
“What are you doing, Emmeline?”
“Dancing. I prefer that over lurking, which is exactly what you’re doing. Or perhaps stalking. You used to do a lot of that.”
“Stalking? I never stalked you.”
