July (Calendar Girl #7)(5)
A seductress. Now there’s something I hadn’t been. It sounded so ridiculous, especially in light of the heated conversation we just had, that I tipped my head back and laughed. A full-bellied, snorting, hiccoughing guffaw, that rose in volume and hysterics.
Heather’s eyebrows drew up toward her hairline. “Um, okay...well, no more ‘tini’s for you!” She winked, effectively lightening the situation.
I placed my elbow on the counter and my chin into my hand. “Today has been odd. Hell, the past month was nuts. This just tops the crazy cake I call my life.” I shook my head and ran my fingers through my hair. It was getting really long. Maybe I could swindle some time away from the Latin Lov-ah to score a haircut.
Regardless of what she’d said, Heather made us both another drink. “Can we call a truce? I really don’t want you hating me, and I did misunderstand the meaning of what you do.” Her blue eyes seemed round and big on her pretty face, innocent even.
I held out my hand. She glanced at it, a weariness making her movements slow when she clasped mine with her own. We shook. “Truce.” I smiled. She grinned back and repeated the word.
“Two ladies shaking hands over a couple of alcoholic beverages can be cause to make a man nervous. What are you two conspiring?” Anton entered wearing a flowing pair of white linen pants that had a drawstring hanging precariously close to his manhood. He paired the pants with a crisp mint green dress shirt that he left open, exposing his finely sculpted abdomen. Perfectly manicured toes peeked out past the loose fitting pants. Damn, even his feet were lickable. That right there said more than it should about the insanely beautiful specimen standing before me. I watched him move with the grace of a cougar even with the bulk of his muscles to weigh him down. Anton wasn’t short but he wasn’t extremely tall. I’d guess around five foot eleven, which was fine for me since I was only five foot eight, but I typically preferred my men taller like Wes and Alec.
Wes and Alec. Two men, two completely different feelings rushing through my system at the mere thought of them. One had lasting implications of a future together and the other, lasting desire.
Anton moved to Heather and placed an arm around her shoulders. “So, H, Lucita here is going to be the love interest that I cannot have in the video?” He squeezed Heather’s bicep pulling her into his side in a friendly hold, but his eyes never left mine. She nodded mutely and rolled her eyes. He brought his opposite hand up toward his face where he proceeded to pet the flesh of his bottom lip with the pad of his thumb as he assessed me. It was as if his fingertips were tracking all over my form the way his eyes moved over each new surface of skin.
Not gonna lie. I swooned. Hard. Damn, he had it going on in the looks department as well as the way he moved and spoke. The hint of his Puerto Rican accent, the way his words seemed to roll off his tongue like sex incarnate…did something to me. Something I did not want to feel after what I’d just gone through in June with Aaron. Nevertheless, low and behold, this guy, the Latin Lov-ah, must have had supercharged pheromones because I felt each and every one of them like a physical blow to my sex.
“You are damn fine, girl.” He tipped his chin up at me. “You got moves?”
“Er, as in what type of moves?” I asked.
He spun away from Heather, on the tips of his toes and moved in a series of fast circles until he made his way around the long counter and slid toward me on a clap, a shimmy of his hips, and a pop of his chest. Anton stopped a hair’s breadth from my face, smelling of soap and coconut, reminding me of lying out on a sunny beach in Hawaii. I wanted to be lying on a beach in Hawaii right now, preferably underneath this sex god.
“Moves, mu?eca,” he whispered. I could feel the heat of his breath against my face, small puffs of air tantalizing my nerves and awakening lust receptors from their month long sleep.
I held his gaze with my own then leaned close, resting my cheek against his so I could whisper into his ear. “What does mu?eca mean?” The words were soft, almost a caress against his skin.
“Doll.” His voice was gritty, as if he swallowed a spoonful of sand.
“And Lucita?” I let my lips hover close enough to his cheek that I could feel the stubble on his jaw.
He groaned and laid a hand on my hip, a feather light hold that my mind dismissed casually. “Little light.”
Little light? I moved my head back breaking the intensity of the moment and the halo of lust surrounding our close proximity. “Little light?” I couldn’t hold back the giggle that escaped. “Why?”
With the lightest touch of the tips of two fingers, he traced the ball of my shoulder and slid those digits down along the sensitive skin of my arm. Gooseflesh rose against the surface, a gnarled pair of claws worked their way up from where he held my wrist up my arm, over my chest to coil around my heart and squeeze. Blackness entered my vision and the sound of a heartbeat thudded loudly. My skin felt tight, constricted, every nerve prickling with the desire to run, cower…escape.
“You ready to get pounded?” he growls, his breath hitting my face with little flecks of spittle.
My body presses against the concrete wall of the library. The sickening sound of his pants being unbuckled and the noise of the zipper going down is like my own personal death knell. I scream as loud as I can, but he swoops down so fast and bites the sound from my lips and then slams my head into the concrete. Pain flashes across my vision like stars in an open dessert sky.