The Slayer (Untamed Hearts #2)(49)

She glared at him. “We’re the same people. Why does everything have to be divided? How are we that different?”

“When a Catholic church opens here, I’ll go.”

“Church is church.”

“No.” Chuito actually shuddered, as if the idea was so foreign he couldn’t bear thinking of it. “For all I know, they’re picking up snakes in that big, wooden building. Just looking at that church scares me.”

She gaped. “I’m from that church. That’s my father’s church.”

“I know,” he said with a pointed look. “That’s why it scares me. Wyatt hides from your father. I watched him sit outside and hide. Wyatt’s the biggest redneck in Garnet. If they hate him—” He snorted. “Co?o. No.”

“It’s not scary.” She took a deep breath and remembered the card from Chuito in her purse. She didn’t want to fight tonight, so she walked up to him and whispered, “You think I handle snakes?”

He shrugged. “Maybe.”

Alaine reached out and touched his arm. She ran her fingers over his forearm, knowing the snake tattoo he had hiding under his shirt. “Maybe I do.”

“Mami, no.” He pulled his arm free of her grasp. “It’s late.”

“You said you’d dance with me until the sun came up,” she said as she arched an eyebrow at him.

“I never said that.”

“Just like in the song,” she pressed, making her voice gentle and pleading on purpose. “And you owe me a dance.”

He hesitated, looking to the stereo system in his living room he’d bought when he got his UFC contract. “One dance?”

She shrugged rather than commit to just one.

“He should have given you more,” he whispered, almost to himself, as if he couldn’t let go of Alaine’s issues with her father. “You don’t need his money. I made sure you don’t need him. It’s the principle. You’re his daughter.”

“Are you gonna dance with me?” she asked with a smile. “So we can see how good I am at handling snakes.”

“That’s not funny.”

“It’s a little funny,” she teased and then went ahead and put her arms around his neck, hanging off him just because she felt like it. “Dance with me.”

“One dance,” he agreed, giving her a hard glare that wasn’t nearly as fierce as he was clearly trying to make it look. “Just one.”

Chuito attempted to pull free of her, but Alaine wasn’t letting go as she said, “More than one.”

He still scowled but countered, “Two.”

“Until the sun comes up.” She gave him a wide, mischievous grin, because he looked very handsome with his shirt unbuttoned and those black slacks clinging to him in all the right places. “’Cause I don’t have to work tomorrow and you stay up all night anyway. Why waste time? It’s fleeting. We should make memories instead. Beautiful memories.”

He didn’t agree, but he pulled away and went to the stereo. He hooked up his phone and played the same song they’d listened to in the car. Alaine met him in the living room and draped herself over his back just as he turned up the music, a little louder than usual, but it was okay.

They were all alone.

Always alone.

The night was theirs.

Chuito grabbed Alaine’s hand, and pulled her around until she was flush against him. He wrapped an arm around her waist and held her so much closer than he usually did.

“Like this, mami.” He ran his other hand down her leg, slipping it to the inside of her thigh and forcing her to widen her stance. “Be soft this time.”

“I’m soft.” Alaine’s breath caught at the feel of him so close. He fit the two of them together like broken puzzle pieces, putting one of his legs between hers, making it almost sexual with the way it forced their lower bodies so close together. Then he grabbed her hand and stepped back, forcing her to move with him. She tried to let him lead, but she was distracted and whispered, “This is new.”

“Same thing, just closer.” His voice was low, his accent more pronounced all of a sudden. “I’m tired of dancing with you like I dance with my mother.”

“This isn’t salsa?” she asked, even as she closed her eyes to smell him, inhaling the scent of his expensive aftershave.

“You’re not soft.” Chuito slid his hand on her back lower and squeezed her hip. “Who’s in charge on the dance floor?”

She pressed a wide smile into the curve of his neck. “You are.”

“Just move with me; you’ll get it.” His thigh was still between hers so that she was practically sitting on it, and it left her feeling hot all over. She wasn’t nearly as focused on dancing as he was, and it was obviously frustrating him. “Co?o, mami, forget you’re white for a moment. Move your hips.”

“I’m moving them.”

“No, with mine. I’m a man. I’m not supposed to know how to move mine better than you move yours. You’re a woman. Move them ’cause that’s what God made them for.”

She giggled. “That’s sexist.”

“That’s nature,” he argued, his grip on her hip still tight, forcing her to move with him. His other hand felt so big over hers as he grasped it more firmly. “You’re not soft right now. See, you got to lean into me. I move. You follow. Move with me. Why don’t you have rhythm?”