The Games (Private #11)(25)
She bought a caipirinha, a potent cacha?a rum drink and sort of Brazil’s national cocktail.
Luna walked on, sipping the minty, sweet booze, feeling the alcohol fire through her, aware of but not acknowledging the men who openly admired her as she passed. The fact that Lapa could be a little dangerous after dark only added to the general thrill.
I want fear tonight, she thought. I want drama and passion and sweat.
Her brain began to imagine the forbidden pleasures the night might bring, and she felt herself tremble with excitement and—
Luna’s cell phone rang. She stopped on the crowded sidewalk, dug her phone out of her evening purse, checked the number, and felt the anticipation drain out of her.
Cupping her hand around the mouthpiece, Luna answered. “Antonio?”
“I’m sorry, baby,” her husband said. “I have to work late.”
“I figured,” she said. “Sleeping at the office again?”
Her husband, defensive, said, “Just a few more days, Luna, and I’ll be—”
“Gone for the next sixteen.”
Exasperated, Antonio said, “You understand what I’m doing is important?”
“Sorry, but I’ve got to go. My movie’s about to start.”
Luna hung up and then turned the phone off.
Tonight is not about Antonio and his career, she thought. Tonight has zero to do with the Olympics. It’s about me. It’s about the needs of Luna Santos.
That decided, she set off again toward the entrance to Rio Scenarium, a famous samba club, trying to imagine what her new lover had planned for the evening. He’d said that after drinks and dancing he would take her someplace gostosa, someplace hot.
Luna hoped it was a first-class love motel. Rio was peppered with facilities that catered to couples in need of a discreet meeting place. Some of these were spectacular, just like the finest suites in the finest hotels in Copacabana and Ipanema, except you paid by the hour.
The year before, with her old lover, Luna had been in one that had its own pool, sauna, and all sorts of accoutrements that made her…well…very satisfied.
The bouncer at the samba club leered at Luna as he opened the door for her. She didn’t give him a hint of encouragement. She would never cheat on Antonio with such a man.
Luna had a high standard for lovers. They had to be educated, well spoken, and within ten years of her age. They had to be physically fit and more than capable in bed, and a sense of mischief and daring helped immensely.
Her new lover met all these requirements and more. He was frankly gifted in affairs of the flesh. Luna shivered as she entered the club. Pounding samba music played. Lights flashed over a packed dance floor. The ceiling soared two stories up. The second floor was more like a balcony where partyers drank and commented on the skills of the writhing bodies below.
Luna sniffed at the sweet smell of sweat and raging pheromones in the club and got even hornier. She scanned the eclectic interior, paying scant attention to the suits of medieval armor on one wall, clock collections on another, and mirrors and paintings on a third. She wasn’t seeing her man.
Luna got a double caipirinha this time, sipped at it, loving the way the mint, ice, sugar, and rum slid down her throat and made her feel like someone else indeed. She moved closer to the dance floor. In the strobe light, the mob of dancers looked like one sensual creature and—
Luna felt strong hands on her hips, felt a man press himself just hard enough against her bunda that she knew he was as aroused as she was. Purring with pleasure, Luna threw her arm up, back, and around his neck, delighting at the way he nuzzled her.
She gasped softly at his slow, grinding embrace and then pivoted to press her breasts and hips against him.
“Doctor,” she said, pouting. “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming to see me tonight.”
Dr. Castro let his eyes go dreamy, kissed her passionately, and said, “How could a man ever stay away from a woman like you, my little orchid?”
Chapter 25
AS THE MUSIC beat faster and the dancing became more and more frenzied, Luna throbbed in his arms. Doctor was a master of samba, of offering and denying, of sweating and sliding against her until she was drunk with wanting him and then changing to cold and removed, which drove her passion to flames.
Doctor was a mystery and that made him all the more alluring to Luna. She had no idea what his name was; she called him Doctor, and he called her Orchid. They’d met two weeks before at another dance club and there’d been this immediate physical connection that didn’t require details like backgrounds and names.
The music wound down into a slow bossa nova that made her want to press into him all the more. But Doctor held her at bay, a brush of hips here, a moment chest to chest, but no delicious melding of bodies.
Luna said, “Sometimes I see you staring off, Doctor. Are you thinking of your other lover?”
“There is no other lover,” he assured her.
“Wife?”
“I had one. She passed.”
“So sad for you, but a pleasure for me. Where are you taking me?”
“That’s a surprise,” he said. “Shall we get our drinks and go?”
Luna just wanted to go, but he’d ordered them glasses of wine. He got plastic cups, poured the wine into them, and they left the club arm in arm to join the rest of the mob drinking and partying in the streets.