“A dozen?” Joaquin laughed. “I probably come in at about half that number, mostly from my college years. It took me a while to understand that sex isn’t love. I’ve gotten more careful and pickier as time has gone on.”
He wasn’t looking only to get laid. He wanted a woman who truly cared about him, a woman who wanted to share his life. “How about you?”
“Two. I had a boyfriend my sophomore year in college and one the year I graduated. After that, everything was wrapped up in regulations, and I was moving from post to post. I just never met anyone who made me feel … ”
“Safe?” he offered.
She nodded. “Yes—or attracted enough to take the risk.”
Well, he liked that.
“You want to dance?” It had helped him work off sexual steam more times than he could count. “You can practice your salsa moves.”
She laughed. “My salsa moves? You mean my stumbling and tripping and stepping on your feet—those moves?”
“You were not as bad as all that.” He stood, drew her to her feet, then walked over to his sound system, taking advantage of having his back to her to adjust himself.
“But I was bad.”
“No, mi amor. You were new to it.” He searched his iPod for his list of current favorites—some traditional puertorriqueño salsa, a little Colombian and Cuban salsa, some Mexican boleros—then pressed play.
The sounds of guitar and congas filled the room, horns joining in as he turned to face Mia. She was smiling, but, yeah, he could see she was nervous, too.
“Relax. Do you remember the basic step?” He stood beside her, demonstrated. “One, two, three, rest. Five, six, seven, rest.”
She picked it up more quickly this time, moving lightly on her stocking feet.
“See? No problema.” He took her into his arms, led her back and forth across the floor, then tried a turn.
She lost the rhythm, and this time she did step on his foot. “Sorry!”
“Hey, you’re not the first. Don’t worry about it. Let’s try that again. One, two, three, rest. Five, six, seven, rest. All we’re going to do is go in a different direction. It’s the same basic step.” He tried another turn.
This time she followed without difficulty.
“You have a natural sense of rhythm.” He led her through another turn and another, until they were moving around the floor.
She was laughing now. “This is so fun, but isn’t your downstairs neighbor going to get irritated?”
Joaquin shook his head. “I’ve had a half dozen people dancing in here at once, and he has never complained. This is an old factory. There’s concrete beneath this floor.”
That song ended, and another began. Four songs into the playlist, she seemed to have the basic step down. “Now it’s time for the fun stuff.”
He ran her through a handful of beginner’s steps—basic step in open hold and closed hold, inside turn, outside turn, cross body lead—and then moved on to an enchufa, a Cuban move. “We basically trade places, with you crossing under my arm while I turn. I’ll show you.”
They tried it a few times, each time going a little bit better, until Mia’s feet slipped out from beneath her, her socks sliding on the wooden floor.
She shrieked. “Oh!”
Joaquin caught her, steadied her, the two of them pressed together, looking into each other’s eyes, both breathless. The moment seemed to freeze, his world constricting until it held nothing but her. The light in her blue eyes. The flush in her cheeks. The feel of her against him.
Oh, he was so fucked.
Maybe the lyrics of the songs were getting to him, all that romantic stuff about love and sex. Maybe it was just the intimacy of dancing. Or maybe he’d been single for too damned long.
No, it wasn’t any of that.
It was the kiss they’d shared—a kiss that had blown his mind.
It was Mia.
“Let’s slow it down and try again.” He found himself singing aloud to the next song, holding her a little closer.
“You have a nice voice. What does it mean?”
“Well…” How are you going to get out of this one? “I don’t know if I can make it sound good translating it into English.”
Now they were more or less slow dancing.
“Try.”
He closed his eyes, held her, sang to her. “I’ve been watching you dance all night/I feel you watching me, feel the heat of your gaze on my skin until I burn/This isn’t like anything I have known/I want you in my arms/I want to kiss you everywhere, to taste your sacred places…”
He stopped singing, stopped dancing, and simply stood there, looking down into those big, blue eyes, his pulse tripping. He lowered his mouth to hers, kissed her slowly, then drew back. “It’s late. We should get some sleep.”
Not that there was much chance of that. His entire world had just shifted, from the stars in the sky down to his DNA.
She nodded. “Thanks for tonight.”
Then Joaquin remembered Cate and the leak at the DPD. He didn’t want Mia to lose a night’s sleep worrying. He would tell her in the morning.
“You’re welcome.”
She went her way, and he went his.
But it was a long time before he fell asleep.
Mia tossed and turned all night, her body too aroused for sleep, erotic thoughts of Joaquin turning into erotic dreams that woke her. When her phone’s alarm beeped at six, she could have sworn she hadn’t slept at all, and yet she didn’t feel tired. Instead, she felt revved, as if she’d already had a few cups of coffee.
It’s called hormones, Starr.
She got up, made her bed, then hurried into the bathroom, her mind drifting back to last night as she showered and dried her hair. The entire evening had felt special, intimate. Dinner. Dancing. Their conversation. That kiss.
I don’t want to rush you, Mia. I don’t want to push you into doing something you don’t want to do. But right now, all I want to do is kiss you.
Oh, my God, that kiss.
The way he’d said her name and looked into her eyes just before their lips had touched. The way he’d made her heart pound. The way he’d laughed when he’d realized she hadn’t been breathing and had taken that big breath.
You gotta breathe, hermosa, or you’re going to pass out.
If that was how the man kissed, she could only imagine what it would be like to have sex with him, to spend the night in his bed, to wake up next to him in the morning.
I just paid attention to what you seemed to like.
She’d never felt so connected to a man before. It wasn’t just that he’d been thoughtful. It was as if he’d truly seen her, seen who she was on the inside.
You’re amazing. You’re smart, brave, beautiful…
Somehow, he had even made her feel beautiful.
When her hair was dry, she put on a little makeup—mascara to turn her red eyelashes black and a little blush—and went back to her room to dress, slipping into a pair of jeans and a Botanic Gardens T-shirt. She found Joaquin in the kitchen wearing jeans and a dark blue dress shirt and working on breakfast.
She wondered for a split second whether things would be awkward between them now, but her fear vanished at the smile on his face when he saw her.
“Good morning, beautiful.” He walked over to her and handed her a cup of coffee, kissing her on the lips. “Did you sleep well?”
“Not really.”
“No?” He looked worried.
“My head was too full of you.”
He grinned. “Ooh. I like that.”
“How about you?”
“Nah. My mind couldn’t quit thinking about a certain beautiful redhead.”
Warmth rushed into Mia’s cheeks. “I like that.”
She helped him finish breakfast, and they sat down together to scrambled eggs, toast, and sliced grapefruit.
Mia had just sprinkled pepper and hot sauce on her eggs when she noticed the serious expression on Joaquin’s face. ??
?Is something wrong?”
“I meant to tell you this last night. The police department had a leak.”
Mia listened in stunned silence as Joaquin told her how one of the reporters at his paper had gotten word from someone at the police department that big news was about to be revealed about Andy’s and Jason’s cases that involved Mia and the Pentagon.
“I called Darcangelo, and he warned Chief Irving, who caught the person making photocopies of the case file. He fired her and might even file charges. In the end, Cate got nothing, so you don’t have to worry about any of it showing up in the paper. I think Cate suspects that I warned the police. If she were to find out …”
Mia went from wondering why Joaquin hadn’t told her all of this earlier to worrying about what would happen to him if his boss found out what he’d done. “Would you be in lots of trouble?”
“If Tom, my editor, knew that I had exposed Cate’s secret source and cost her a big story, he would probably fire me on the spot—and he wouldn’t be wrong. Reporters depend on sources like that for the big stories. I took something from Cate yesterday, something I can never give back.”
Mia could hear the conflict he felt in his voice. “You went against the interests of your colleague and your paper for me. You put your job at risk for me.”
“I made you a promise, Mia. If I lost my job, I’d be okay in the end. But if I lost your trust or put your future at risk—I couldn’t live with that.”
Mia’s heart melted. “Thank you.”
“I ought to have told you sooner. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to ruin our dinner, and then… With everything last night, I just forgot.”
She reached out, took his hand. “Please don’t apologize. Is there any way Cate could find out from the source what happened? Are there emails or texts or phone records she could use to put this together?”
He took a sip of coffee. “Nah. No way. Darcangelo made sure that the leak had no idea who’d turned her in. The fact that Irving caught her with the file was a stroke of good luck. Cate might suspect me, but it’s nothing she could ever prove.”
Mia let out a breath. “Well, that’s a relief.”
“Today could be an interesting day in the newsroom.”
12
Joaquin stepped into the elevator, camera bag on his shoulder, his mind so fixed on Mia that he didn’t notice Matt enter with him.
The doors closed.
“Oh, hey, Harker.”
“What’s that smile on your face about?” Matt leaned in, even though there was no one else there to hear. “Did you get lucky last night?”
Were Joaquin’s emotions that transparent?
Joaquin opened his mouth to tell Matt that he’d had an amazing evening with Mia, when he realized he couldn’t. “Nah, nothing like that.”
Until the police caught the killer and Mia was no longer the potential focus of any newspaper investigation, he couldn’t tell anyone that he had feelings for her, not after what he’d done yesterday. Besides, he wasn’t sure how Mia would feel about him discussing their relationship, new and fragile as it was, with others.
“Oh, come on. I know you too well. What’s up?”
“Can’t a guy be happy?”
“At eight-thirty in the morning on a workday?” Matt shook his head. “No, absolutely not—unless he spent the night before getting laid.”
“I did not get laid last night. I went dancing and had a good time.”
“You and your salsa.”
“I offered to teach you. As my mama says, ‘A man who can dance is worth his weight in gold to women.’”
The elevator doors opened onto the newsroom, and the two of them made their way to the corner reserved for the I-Team.
Anna and Alex were already there. Tom was shouting at someone behind closed doors. Anna sat at Sophie’s desk holding a copy of the paper, a dejected look on her face.
“Sorry, man,” Alex was saying. “That sucks. You work hard on a story, and some nimrod of a news editor fucks it up.”
“What’s up?” Joaquin made his way to his desk.
“There’s a typo in my headline.” Anna held up the front page and read. “Crossing the line: Brighton cops search Section 8 housing without warants.’ With one R.”
So that’s why Tom was shouting.
“So sorry, Anna.” Joaquin felt for her. She wouldn’t be able to enter that story or any of the follow-up pieces in any journalism contests or use it as a clip when she applied for other jobs. “You did great work. Nothing changes that.”
Cate was the last to arrive. She said good morning to everyone—except Joaquin.
“Did you get in touch with the source that flaked on you yesterday?” Alex asked.
Carajo.
Why did he have to go there?
“I did.” Cate put her handbag down on her desk. “Chief Irving just happened to walk in on her while she was copying documents for me. He fired her on the spot and is consulting with the city attorney to decide whether he should file charges.”
The sharp edge of guilt pressed in on Joaquin. Whatever that source was going through right now—loss of income, anxiety, possible legal troubles—was his doing.
“It sucks to be your source,” Alex said. “You know what this means.”
Joaquin wasn’t sure he wanted to hear.
Cate answered. “It means no one at the cop shop will share information with me or any other newspaper—not for a while, anyway. My beat just got tougher.”
“I’m really sorry, Cate.” What Joaquin was sorry for, he could never tell her.
She shot him a cold glance. “Yeah.”
Joaquin checked his voicemail and emails, saw that Syd had already sent him a couple of assignments. A photo of a blind man whose service dog had been stolen from him while he’d been walking down the street. A shot of two brothers in their nineties who had just finished climbing all fifty-three of Colorado’s fourteeners—mountains with summits above 14,000 feet in elevation.
The next one hit Joaquin in the chest.
Syd wanted a photo of the widow and new baby of one of the security guards killed in the terrorist attack at the Palace Hotel last month. The man had died trying to save the lives of strangers, including everyone in this newsroom, leaving behind a wife who was about to have their first baby.
Sometimes life was so brutally unfair.
Joaquin made a few calls to set up the shots Syd had requested, then walked with the others to the conference room for the morning’s I-Team meeting.
Tom was the last to arrive. “Hughes, sorry about the headline. It was a damned good story. Warner, did you hear from that source at DPD?”
“She’s been fired. Irving caught her copying files and canned her on the spot. He usually doesn’t come into the copy room, so she thinks he might have been tipped off.” Cate looked pointedly at Joaquin. “I can’t help but wonder if someone from our newsroom contacted the police to warn them—maybe someone who sympathizes with Mia Starr, someone who, say, took her to dinner.”
Joaquin met Cate’s gaze straight on, wondering how he was going to get out of this. But he didn’t have to say a word.
“You’re way over the line, Cate,” Matt said. “Ramirez has been a loyal member of this team since you were in high school.”
“Ramirez? You must be high,” Alex said. “It sucks to lose a source, but—”
“Ms. Warner, if you want to accuse a member of this team of sabotaging your investigation, you’d better damned well have proof before you open your mouth.” Tom jabbed a pencil at Cate. “Do I make myself clear? You owe Ramirez an apology.”
Cate’s gaze fell. “Sorry, Joaquin.”
Joaquin was touched by their faith in him, but he didn’t deserve it. “It’s okay. I know you’re just upset.”
God, he felt like a traitor—not just to Cate, but to every person in this room who’d just stood up for him.
Mia carried her tools to the sink, filled a small bucket with bleach and hot water, an
d dropped the tools in to soak. Orchids were extremely sensitive to bacteria and other diseases, and she didn’t want to risk spreading pathogens. She washed her hands, then got organized, opening bags of potting medium, gathering the orchids she’d be repotting, and refilling the mister. Then she retrieved the tools, rinsing each and drying them before she carried them to the table.
She found herself humming and dancing salsa steps as she worked, the last song she and Joaquin had danced to stuck in her head. She didn’t mind it. The melody was lovely, the rhythm sensual, and the lyrics sexy as hell.
This isn’t like anything I have known/I want you in my arms/I want to kiss you everywhere, to taste your sacred places…
She wasn’t sure how she’d survived having Joaquin sing those words to her last night, his body pressed against hers. He was the most sensual man she’d ever known, passionate about his work, about music and dancing, about his friends and family. But that wasn’t what amazed her most about him.
He’d stood by her. He’d put his own career at risk to protect her.
No man had done that for her before.
God, she hoped he didn’t get into trouble. He’d said there was no way anyone could prove that he was behind exposing the leak, but Mia knew only too well that life rarely went to plan.
“Don’t worry about it,” he’d said before she’d left for work, taking her into his arms, kissing her soft and slow. Then he’d invited her to stay at his place until Wu had the bad guy in custody. “We can pick up where we left off with the dance lessons.”
She hoped they’d pick up where they’d left off with kissing, too, because, oh, sweet heaven.
Mia realized she’d stopped working and now stood there, staring off into space, a Brassolaeliocattleya Pink Diamond in one hand, the scissors in the other.
Get it together, Starr.
She had hundreds of plants to repot today, and she wasn’t going to get the job done by daydreaming. She washed the plant’s rhizomes, then cut them to create four viable plantings, each of which got its own pot. But soon, she was humming again.
Oh, how she wished she understood Spanish. She’d be able to understand the lyrics of all the songs. She’d be able to speak with Joaquin in his mother tongue. She’d be able to understand those little terms of endearment he’d used. Okay, mi amor—that was simple enough. But the other one…