The Way He Moves. Marcia King-Gamble
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She was tempted to confront him just for the satisfaction of seeing him squirm. But what if it wasn’t Marc? Serena wished she could discuss her options with Pia. But her psychiatrist friend was too busy flirting with the hot-looking officer. Later maybe, they would have one of their talks.
To take her mind off the man who reminded her so much of Marc, Serena gulped her rum punch and focused on the female members of the Rhythm Dancers group. The women wore everything from microminis and swirling ankle-length skirts to Daisy Dukes, those sexy low rise cut-offs that Argentine women would only be seen in if their bodies were perfect, but Americans wore confidently regardless of their size.
Serena smoothed the skirt of the turquoise sundress and glanced down to admire the silver three-inch heel sandals she’d thought were sexy. At five feet eight inches she hardly needed the additional height, but standing out in a crowd helped boost her confidence. She fingered the teardrop pendant and returned her attention to the dance floor.
Across the way, a tall, olive-complexioned man lifted his glass and winked at her. Simultaneously the ship’s whistle blew and a voice boomed over the intercom.
“It is with great pleasure the crew of Alexandra’s Dream welcomes The Rhythm Dancers. If you have not done so already, please make your way to deck six for your Bon Voyage party.”
The dark skinned man continued to stare at her although she tried her best to ignore him. Something about him made her stomach churn and normally she did not have this strong a reaction to anyone. She kept her gaze on the dance floor, listening to the host and hostess, an Argentine and American pair. On a raised dais behind them, a D.J. adjusted the knobs of his stereo equipment, turning the volume up high. He was warming up the crowd already tapping their feet irritably.
More and more people began gravitating toward the dance floor. Pia was now trying to convince the officer to give it a whirl.
“I’m not a very good dancer,” he said in a Greek accent. “You mentioned you’ve been taking lessons for years. I will make a fool of myself.”
“No you won’t,” Pia insisted. “If you let me lead you, we can salsa like pros.”
Serena bet they would do a lot more than salsa if Pia had her way. Pia was a smart, confident woman extremely comfortable in her sexuality, and not the least bit shy about going after what she wanted. Right now the handsome officer was at the top of her list.
Pia had chosen a profession well suited to her. She’d always been the insightful one, forever in tune with people’s thoughts and motivations. If she hadn’t been away at a symposium when Marc LeClair had come to town, maybe Serena’s involvement with him would not have gone as far as it had.
Pia was now dragging the awed officer onto the dance floor, leaving Serena alone.
“Would you like to dance?” an accented male voice asked over her shoulder. The man who’d been gawking held out his hand. He was tall, tanned, and had spiky, gelled, black hair.
“Um, I’m waiting for my friend.”
“She is dancing and you should be, too. My name is Salvatore Morena. My friends call me Sal.” He pointed at her neck. “That’s quite the pendant.”
“Thank you. Serena d’Andrea,” Serena said, accepting his hand because she had no choice.
For some unexplainable reason her instincts were telling her this was not a nice man.
Sal placed a hand lightly on Serena’s shoulder blade as they began to salsa.
“Serena,” he repeated, bringing her hand to his lips and kissing her palm. “Bellissima. Serena means the calm one. I am in the jewelry business and I know a nice piece when I see one.” He reached as if to take the pendant in his hand.
Determined to avoid his touch, Serena stumbled. Sal brought her right back into step.
“Perhaps some time during this cruise you will allow me to appraise the piece?”
She didn’t respond right away, and Sal wondered if maybe he was losing his touch. He was a good-looking man, he’d been told, earthy, without an excess ounce of fat on him. Most women would have been eating up the flattery and been all over him by now.
Time to turn up the wattage a notch.
Sal directed his most melting gaze at Serena. She didn’t seem particularly impressed. Usually women got excited when they heard he was in the jewelry business. Immediately visions of diamonds began dancing in their heads.
“What do you say, Serena, will you entrust your pendant to me so I can appraise it?”
“Uh…perhaps,” she answered, making it sound as if he wasn’t exactly trustworthy. “But it’s not really mine.”
All too soon the lively salsa came to an end and another began. Sal tightened his hold on her before she could run off. If she knew how turned on he was maybe she’d loosen up a bit.
“Why are you in such a hurry, bella? The evening is young and I’m enjoying dancing with you,” he whispered in her ear.
Serena muttered something he didn’t quite hear and continued to dance. She was a good dancer and used her hips seductively. It wasn’t a hardship holding her close, since she was curvy in all the right places. If things went as planned, he wouldn’t have to fake interest in her.
Someone tapped him lightly on the shoulder. Sal swung around, his infamous glare in place. Damn. The man had a camcorder in his hand. He must want to film Serena.
Sal was reluctant to turn her over to the man, especially when he was just warming her up. By the time he was through making love to her, she’d be begging him to take that pendant from between her beautiful olive breasts. He just needed to work on getting her to trust him.
“Is there something you wanted?” Sal asked the cruise ship employee.
“Yes, we’d like to interview the person who found the pendant.”
Sal spotted another videographer lurking in the background. On second thought this might well be the time to make himself scarce. He couldn’t risk having his mug plastered on every in-cabin television or the videos passengers bought to take home. He’d be the first person they came after when that pendant went missing.
SERENA’S PRAYERS HAD been answered. She’d been saved, and not a minute too soon. She’d come this close to kneeing her dance partner in the groin. Granted, she wasn’t crazy about being interviewed by the video staff, but anything was better than having this man rubbing up against her while pretending to dance.
“Where would you like to conduct your interview?” she asked the man with the camcorder.
“Here on the dance floor,” he said, sticking a microphone under her nose. “You’re with the Rhythm Dancers group so that means you much prefer fast dancing to slow.”
“Sí. Yes, I am and yes I do.”
“Your native language is Spanish but you speak English perfectly. Where are you from?”
“Argentina.”
“Cool!”
Serena, conscious of the camcorder whirring away, looked around frantically for Pia. Her friend handled the spotlight much better than she did.
Pia had found herself another dance partner, so Serena knew she was on her own. She fingered the pendant around her neck and stared into the lens of the camera.
Her interviewer had a serious expression on his face as he held the microphone, and spoke into it in exaggerated tones.
“Once upon a time, according to Greek mythology, a moon goddess dared to fall in love with a commoner, a humble shepherd no less. This very much angered her suitor, the god Zeus, no less. In his jealousy Zeus killed the shepherd. The devastated moon goddess wept and wept until her tears threatened to flood the earth. Finally she was convinced to stop.