He held up his hands at her glare. He would have to be a masochist to have this discussion again. “But what do I know? Just don’t settle for the first man who is willing to give you a baby. Don’t sell yourself short.”
“Of course I won’t.” She paused. “What about you? I would have thought the ladies would be lining up once you were free. I thought you’d have a girlfriend by now.”
“I’m not looking for a relationship.”
“In other words, you’re here for sex.”
“Don’t make it sound so crass.” The opening bars of a salsa had Darcy swiveling to face the dance floor. “Women go on singles cruises looking for a fling, too.”
“Some are looking for a fling. Some are looking for the white picket fence.” Emma turned around and crossed her legs, the side slit in her dress revealing smooth bare thigh. She nodded discreetly at a woman wearing a modest dress, a frozen smile and a red hibiscus tucked behind one ear. “She’s searching for Mr. Right.”
“How can you tell?” Darcy was truly curious.
“She’s trying to look ‘fun’ and not pulling it off. She’s probably a librarian from the suburbs who never gets asked out. She came on the cruise hoping to meet a dentist or an accountant, someone respectable but not too challenging.”
Emma wasn’t that mean. She was only trying to wind him up. “She’s probably perfectly nice. I’ll bet she’s a great cook. And a good listener.”
“I bet she has five cats that she texts daily with twee messages. I bet she uses those old-fashioned dolls with crocheted skirts to hide toilet rolls.”
“My great-aunt Gladys makes those dolls.”
“I rest my case.” Emma sucked on her straw, slurping the liquid at the bottom of the glass. “The point is, would you want to have sex with her?”
“Aunt Gladys?” he asked innocently. At her exasperated look he conceded, “All right, I know what you mean. No, I probably wouldn’t be interested, not if you’re right about her wanting to settle down. Anyone out there take your fancy?” he added, prepared to hate whoever she picked on sight.
“Hmm.” She scanned the room. “That guy in the dark jacket, the one with the gelled hair.”
“Are you kidding me? He looks like a serial killer.”
“He’s cute. Harmless.”
“Your children would look like Ted Bundy.”
The band segued into a samba. Darcy’s feet tapped restlessly on the rung of his stool. Almost more than wanting to have sex—although that was top of his list—he wanted to dance again after a drought of over a year and a half. The best partner he’d ever had was sitting beside him.
She gathered her clutch purse. “I’ll get out of your way. You don’t want me to cramp your style.”
“Hang on.” Would it be wrong to dance with Emma one more time? She tensed, half-off the stool. How would he put this so she didn’t get the idea he was interested in anything more? “If we dance together, everyone would see how great we are. You’d have your pick of the men after that.”
She gave him a dry glance. “No false modesty.”
“No point. We’re good and we know it.” Latin dance might be the only thing they did well together anymore but they could outshine anyone.
Still she hesitated. He understood her wariness. With them, an evening of Latin dancing invariably led to sex. That wasn’t his intention tonight. No, sir, not going down that road again.
He hopped off his stool and held out his hand. “It’s only a dance. Promise.”
“All right,” she said reluctantly. “One dance. For old time’s sake.”
Darcy led her into a clear space on the floor, spun her around and then pulled her in close. Excitement thrummed through his blood. Emma locked gazes with him, their faces mere inches away. With their bodies pressed together from chest to thigh, they moved as one to the sensual, hypnotic, intensely erotic beat. Emma’s body twisted and turned, her breasts and hips swiveling in opposite directions. The rest of the room faded away....
The music ended with a flourish. Emma flung her arm out and bent backward, her head falling back dramatically. She was breathing hard, her breasts rising and falling beneath the thin fabric of her dress. Applause brought Darcy’s attention to the room. The dance floor had cleared around them. Someone whistled.
“You’ve still got it, babe.” Darcy pulled her upright. Nodding to the ring of admiring men and women, he added, “You can take your pick. I don’t trust Ted Bundy. Just my opinion, of course.”