Chapter
One
On a
frosty New York night less than a week before
Christmas, people hungry for
a break from city stress filled the trendy Café Espana.
Actually, overfilled. People, stuck in the long line
outside, glared with
envy at those who lingered at tables or competed for
attention at
the bar.
“Let’s
finish our drinks and get out of here,” Rafe
McMaster muttered to his brother Nate. Though he
realized the people
freezing outside thought he was lucky, he knew
different. Luck was a
commodity in short supply.
“What’s the rush?” Nate asked. “Got any place
better
to be?”
Rafe
scowled. “Gotta pack my gear. Early morning
flight.”
“Where’re you off to this time?”
“Gig in sunny Spain. That’s why I wanted to meet
here. Figured
it would get me psyched.”
“Has it?”
The
sour expression on Rafe’s face must have been
enough answer to that stupid question. What had Rafe
been thinking to drag his brother out for a drink
tonight?
Nate
whistled. “Working this close to Christmas? I can see
how thrilled you are.
Maybe you can get out of it.”
Rafe
shrugged. “Client wants the filming done now. It’s an
infomercial-type ad he
wants me to turn into high art.”
“I thought you decided to keep away from that
stuff. Devote
yourself to your art.”
Rafe
chose to ignore the sarcasm in his brother’s
voice. “Most of the time. But I’m short
on cash, which makes this deal look real good. I’ll
work one day and make
enough to fund my own projects for a month.”
Though
Nate looked skeptical, he raised his glass. “Here’s to
paying the bills—and
to new starts. How’s your love life?”
“Don’t go there.” A month after Rafe
and his ex-fiancée Terri had called it quits, all he
wanted was to be left
alone. Every member of his big Irish family, on the
other hand,
appeared committed
to not to letting that happen.
Seductive
flamenco music drowned out whatever response Nate was
about to make. Rafe found himself moving to the infectious
beat, a
momentary distraction from the gloom that had dogged
him since Terri… Just
then, a man and woman sprang up in a spontaneous
dance. Conversations
stopped. All eyes were riveted on the gorgeous couple.
He had to clamp
himself to his chair to keep from leaping up and
joining them. If only he
had his camera…
The
music was incandescent magic, but what really grabbed
him and wouldn’t let
go was the woman. Tall with rounded breasts and hips
his fingers
ached to touch.
She wore her dark chestnut hair in a traditional bun
gracing her long neck.
Dark eyes flashed fire and promised ecstasy and agony,
full red lips,
perfect nose and chin. Hell, every man in the place
had to want her, had to
be jealous of her partner. Bewitched, Rafe stopped
thinking and gave himself up to pure sensation. He
squirmed, painfully
aware of an inconvenient hard-on—and the way the
dancer had grabbed
hold of his soul.
*
* * * *
The
music, always the passion of the music. The music
compensated for so much
that had gone wrong. When she danced, Elena Sandoval
could imagine herself
home, far from this cold, foreign place. Home, where
she longed to be at
this most beloved time of the year. She stamped her
feet and threw her head
back in time to the reverberating beat, reveling in
each click of her
heels. For the first time since arriving in New York,
she felt warm and
alive. Gracias a Dios, just one more night
until she
returned home.
She
locked eyes with her dance partner, the man who’d
brought her to
New York, Francisco
Reyes. Her partner in work and play, her lover.
So
caught up in the music and the dance were they both
that Elena had just
about forgotten where they were until an explosion of
applause burst her
dream bubble. Following Francisco’s lead, she nodded
to
their impromptu
audience and let him whisk her back to their awaiting
friends at a crowded
table.
“A
fitting prelude for making love tonight, mi
amor,”
Francisco murmured so only she could hear.
She
flashed a sardonic smile. “Maybe, but only because we
are going home tomorrow. If we had
to stay in New York any longer, you’d be sleeping with
your friends’ dogs.”
She sat down and turned her face from Francisco.
“Perfect.
You two must dance together again.” Lorenzo, their New
York
business partner,
toasted them both.
“Back
home in Sevilla. That’s the only place we
will dance.” Elena took a sip of her drink.
“Our
star has grown homesick,” Francisco said.
She
swallowed her sherry and cast a sour look in his
direction. “Homesick would
be an improvement. Ay, Dios, why didn’t you
tell me how
unsympathetic this place is.”
“Unsympathetic?
Hardly. Look at this wonderful new bistro, opened a
scarce few weeks ago,
just in time to welcome you.” Lorenzo’s gesture
encompassed the large
room and the crowd. “And, after your dance, I wager
there are plenty who
would be more than happy to proffer a very personal
welcome. Let’s make
sure to extend that interest to Sherry Amor.”
Everyone
at the table laughed before moving on to other topics.
Other dancers rose
to take the floor and the spotlight. The general
consensus was that none
came close to the perfection of Elena and Francisco.
Perfection. What a joke on him, on all of
them. Francisco would pay dearly for his energetic
display. He’d had to
dredge up the strength and will to dance with Elena,
and he’d carried it
off. The triumph of modern medicine. Too bad it had
such finite
limits.
He
didn’t want to think about this right now, tonight,
when he was with Elena
in this glittering place, enjoying good friends and
food—pleasures he’d so
often taken for granted. Pleasures like being with
Elena.
In the
coming days, the memory of tonight would keep him
warm, bring him comfort
and courage. Would that the same memory could also
comfort and encourage
Elena in the harsher times to come.
Basta!
No more maudlin thoughts…