Seducing the Diva Read online

  Seducing the Diva

  The Wrights

  McKenna Rogue

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Epilogue

  Dear Reader

  Also by McKenna Rogue

  1

  Liseli

  The club was dimly lit, and the pulsing Latin salsa beat danced out of the speakers, settling on the hips of those gyrating on the dance floor. I headed inside and found a tall table to sit at near the wall.

  Colorful dresses swirled around the dance floor in quick steps that were hard to follow, but it looked like more fun than I’d had in a long time. Despite the early hour, the club was crowded. I leaned back a little more into the dark corner, watching nervously. Being in New York City, I wasn’t so worried about being recognized. I hadn’t gotten a lot of requests for autographs or pictures, even though my mother swore to me it was days from happening. More than anything I was out past my mother’s enforced curfew and I was afraid she would somehow know I was here…having fun.

  “What can I get you, senorita?” A man with most of the buttons undone on his satin shirt stopped at the table and smiled at me. Or, a little more accurately, at my cleavage.

  “Um, how about a Sprite?”

  He leaned toward me as his mouth curved into a toothy grin. “Want a little tequila in that? Maybe on my break I can push you around the dance floor?”

  “Only if you want to be caught serving to someone underage.” I held up my marked hand indicating I was underage. “You know what, I’m good.” I got up and skirted around the edge of the dance floor, looking for somewhere else to sit until I found a worthy dance partner.

  On the way to a new table, I stopped at the bar and got that Sprite I wanted, watching as the bartender filled it straight from the soda gun. I knew I was probably being overly cautious, but for better or worse, my mother’s voice was the voice in my head, my conscience, the internal manager of my life. Drinking wasn’t approved on the dietary plan nor was it allowed for another couple of years.

  Finally, I found a table and sat down with my soda.

  The song ended, and the dance floor cleared out some as couples shifted off, and others switched partners. For some reason, as couples made it back onto the floor before the next song started, a wide section of the center of the floor was left empty. I peered around a woman in a flowy purple skirt just as one couple filled the empty space.

  The song pumping out of the speakers was a sassy one, one that made me want to get up and move my hips to the beat. It took me a minute to realize it was “Vivir Mi Vida” by Marc Anthony. My toe tapped to the rhythm and my shoulders swayed as I became enthralled by the man dancing, owning his partner as he pushed her around the dance floor with masterful grace.

  He couldn’t be much older than me, yet he moved like he’d been dancing lifetimes. Even as I realized my mouth was hanging open, I couldn’t stop myself from gaping at him.

  The other couples stayed out of his way, but every time a couple blocked my view, or a bystander stood in front of me, I scowled and shifted to see better.

  As the song ended, immediately another woman queued up to take the place of his first partner. Correction, there was a line of women waiting to be twirled around like they were Baby from Dirty Dancing. He was by far the best dancer in the club, and I couldn’t blame the women lining up to be his next.

  Not to mention, he was exotically attractive. Warm tawny skin, a smile that could cheer up a puppy, smoldering brown eyes and sweaty black hair I wanted to run my fingers through. He was in exquisite shape, broad chest, arms that looked like he could curl around me easily, and thick thighs and an ass like Gene Kelly.

  As the third song ended, not only did I understand the line of women waiting for a chance to dance with him, but I was envious of every woman who got a turn. Every dance, he held his partner close, like a lover, but his hands always stayed in perfect respectful dance space, never crossing the line like so many of the other men on the floor did.

  The ache to feel his hands on me, guiding me, pushing me, steering me around the corners of the dance floor grew stronger, but I couldn’t make myself get in line and hope for a chance.

  I lost track of the number of songs playing as I watched him dance before he denied a partner and stepped off the floor.

  He made a beeline for me, and my whole body tensed as he walked right up to my table. But instead of talking to me, he just bent down and grabbed a backpack off the floor, rifling through until he pulled out a water bottle and a small towel.

  As he wiped the sweat off his brow and the back of his neck, his eyes swept over the table to me. His gaze sharpened, and his entire body twisted toward me. “Sorry, I didn’t see you there.” He smiled at me, his eyes still assessing.

  “Is this your table? It looked empty when I sat down. I didn’t realize your stuff was here. I mean, I’m happy to move, I mean get a new table…” Oh god, I was rambling. Why don’t you just tell him you carried a watermelon too.

  “No worries. I just stashed it here out of the way.” He hopped up onto the stool across from me without an invitation and took a long swig from his water bottle. “Why aren’t you out there dancing?”

  I couldn’t help but stare at him. When he was on the dance floor, I assumed he was Latin American of some sort, with the dark black hair and warm tawny skin, but up close I realized he looked more like he had some Asian descent than he did Hispanic. “I’m planning on it. I just don’t know if I can dance alone, and I didn’t bring a partner.” Shut up, Liseli. He doesn’t want your whole life story.

  He twisted the lid back onto his water bottle, his eyes still hadn’t looked away from me since he discovered me at his table. He grinned and held out his hand, sliding off the stool. “Then maybe tonight’s my lucky night. I’m Jonah.”

  I looked at his hand warily, a little nervous to go out there with him. He was an incredible dancer, and I had no doubt that he’d probably make me look just as amazing as he’d done with all the other partners he’d had tonight. But part of me worried about twisting an ankle, or getting stepped on, or, God forbid, breaking something.

  I was starting my first tour as a headliner. It was small, but I had to start somewhere. I’d been working my ass off and I was finally seeing results after everything my mother and I had accomplished together. I’d gone from small venues all around Atlanta to then do a small tour of the south, to signing a recording contract, and now with an album out, a number one hit, things were moving forward.

  It would be stupid to screw everything up just to dance with a stranger in a club.

  But I couldn’t deny that I wanted to go out there, and if anyone would make me feel sexy in my curvy nineteen-year-old body I was still struggling to keep under control, it was Jonah. “Lis.” I set my hand in his, and then slid off the stool.

  Jonah stood up again too, and I realized that even in my heels he had a good foot of height on me. I’d have to look up just to meet his eyes, and if he looked down, he’d probably have a perfect view of my cleavage. T
he thought of him looking at me more than a dance partner caused a flush of goosebumps to spread across my arms and made me shiver.

  The song faded and blended into a new one, and Jonah pulled me out onto the floor. Like magic, the center of the dance floor opened up again. His mouth curved into a confident and little bit cocky of a smile. “Have you salsa danced before?”

  “I’ve had a few lessons in a lot of dance. I can keep up.” I raised my hand to his shoulder, squaring up my frame.

  “Then you’re going to want to loosen up a little.” He put his hand on my hip and gave me just a gentle shake, breaking my frame to pull me in closer.

  Jonah’s hips invaded my space, pushing me back a step in the quick tempo of the beat. Jonah held my gaze, and his hands never strayed. He kept a firm but gentle hold on my body as he led me through the steps. He led me all over the floor, my feet never having trouble following his steps. He had full control over himself and me. While part of me expected to be groped or leered at, he never once made me feel like an object or like he owned me. There was a small part of me that was disappointed in the professionalism he exhibited, even though we were strangers dancing for fun.

  I wanted his hand on my waist to drop to my ass. I wanted him to feel so drawn to me he couldn’t help but ogle my breasts while he brushed against me. The more I danced, the more I wanted to be in some basement dirty dancing with his hands caressing and claiming every part of me.

  I hadn’t spent a lot of time thinking about dating except for at night when the yearning of male contact was its strongest. I desired having sex with a hot guy who couldn’t get enough of me. Who made me forget about all my responsibilities and kept me in bed regardless of what the schedule said. And I knew Jonah would be making nightly appearances when my hand slipped between my thighs to caress away the ache that burned there.

  Being the one he held and led around the dance floor felt so much different than watching him with another. Jonah twirled me around the floor like I was made to be in his arms, like we were the only couple on the floor. Even when someone’s skirt brushed against me, or he spun me into a space someone else had just vacated, I never ran into anyone. That was trust I hadn’t even given anyone.

  The song ended, and Jonah dipped me low, his lips almost close enough to mine that he could’ve kissed me. Part of me wanted him to. Ached for him to. Was it possible to love someone just from the way they danced with you? If I hadn’t watched him with other women just minutes before I may have let myself be fooled. But Jonah loved to dance, and he was good at it. That was all there was between us. No real connection. No real feelings. It was the lust and adrenaline.

  Slowly he lifted me back up, lightly pressed against him as we found our balance out of the dip. I expected him to turn me loose, to reach out to any of the many women circling around like vultures, hoping to get their chance in his arms.

  I pulled back, but Jonah just pulled me closer. “How about one more turn around the floor?” There was a deep huskiness in his voice and maybe the connection wasn’t as one-sided as I thought.

  I could feel heat creeping into my cheeks as I looked up at him. “Are you sure? You’ve got quite the gaggle waiting for you.”

  He didn’t glance around to see if there was someone else he wanted to dance with; his gaze held mine. “I want to dance with you.”

  My lips parted as his grip tightened around my waist pulling me flush against him. My breasts crushed against his hard, muscled chest making my nipples pull tight. I cleared my throat. “Then let’s dance.”

  The music took off, and Jonah led me again in another fast-paced salsa. This time, his hands were on my hips, twisting me in figure-eights before he pulled me in close again, his hand sliding over my lower back to brace me as I dropped back, my hair dropping off my shoulders like a waterfall. Jonah’s eyes stayed on mine as we danced, my heels barely touching the ground as each step seemed to move faster, each twirl more dizzying.

  His hand seemed to drop just a fraction lower on my hip and I was fully in space. My heart was racing even with his sure footing I was starting to feel a little wobbly in the knees, but I didn’t think it was exertion, so much as the effect Jonah was having on all my senses. Even sweaty he smelled good to me, masculine, a musk I wanted to roll around in. His dark brown eyes bore down into mine and I found I was pressing against him as much as he was pulling me to him.

  As the song ended, the vultures circled again, but Jonah didn’t even look at them as he shifted us around the floor a little.

  “Have you done a lot of salsa dancing?” I looked up at him, interested in the man holding me so close.

  He smiled. “Salsa, merengue, cha-cha, hip-hop. Even some ballet. Pretty much if you can dance it, I’ve tried it. This is the best club in town for real partner dancing. I’ve never been a huge fan of just grinding up on a girl, so I stick to places like this.” He started moving again, this time to the slower song that kept me close to him.

  The movements grew more sensual, and every time he twirled me out and back into his arms, I kept wondering how much longer I would have him. When would he trade me out for another dance partner? I wanted more of a reaction from him. Was he as attracted to me, as I was to him? “Clearly you’re never lacking for partners. And I don’t blame them. But I wouldn’t want to fill up your entire dance card. Some of the other women here are already shooting daggers at me.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m light on my feet. I won’t let anything hurt you.” He grinned and his hand tightened on my hip, even lower than it was before. Our pelvises were pressed together, my breasts overflowing against his chest once again. “What about you? You dance like you’ve been at it a while, but I’ve never seen you in here. I would’ve remembered a woman like you.”

  There was that heat creeping up into my cheeks again. How did he manage to make me blush with just one simple comment? “Music’s my life. I admit, I have some dance classes and stuff up my sleeve, but nothing extensive. You’re just a really good lead. I’m also not from New York. I live in Atlanta. I’m here for work and wanted to get a night out on my own before my schedule came crashing down on me.” I spun out and then back into his arms again. “I’m just along for the ride.”

  He chuckled and dipped me low in a move that I almost wished I’d been able to see from afar rather than experiencing first-hand, because I had no doubt it looked sensual and sexy.

  I wanted him to kiss me.

  “I can only do so much for my dance partner. I guarantee you, if you weren’t already naturally inclined, we wouldn’t be dancing this well together.” He spun me around, but instead of pulling me in so that we were face to face, he twirled me in so that my back was pressed against his chest. “I like dancing with you a lot, Lis.”

  My heart erratically thumped in my chest, and I rotated my hips a little more against his. Jonah was an expert at controlling his emotions and his expressions. If he was feeling anything more than enjoying dancing with a competent partner, I couldn’t tell. It was his actions I kept noting as we danced. Momentary flicks of his eyes dropping to my mouth, or even my cleavage, but he would catch himself immediately and self-correct. Every time he licked his lips, I wondered if he was thinking about kissing me. Lord knew that was what I was thinking about. His touches were gentle, but there were times they felt almost possessive, like he’d caught another man looking at me or something.

  The music stopped, and he dipped me low again. Jonah locked eyes with mine, and I could’ve sworn I saw desire there, for more than just a dance partner. It was fleeting, but I wanted it to be real. More than that, I wanted him to act on it.

  This is my night out, freedom is ringing, let him kiss me!

  I swallowed hard, trying to wet my dry mouth. “I think I need a break.” I fought the urge to lick my lips, to draw any attention there once more. The way my body reacted to Jonah, I wanted nothing more than to let him kiss me and keep dancing with me all night until we found a flat surface to roll around on, but I couldn’t
be that girl. The career I wanted to build wouldn’t take it if I slept around with strange men in bars. I wanted to be a class act, a role model to other girls and women, and someone who didn’t get caught up in tabloids and social media trends that were less than flattering.

  “Me too. I’ll get us a couple drinks from the bar. What’s your poison?”

  I bit my lip, and then immediately cursed the action in my head as his eyes flicked down to my mouth. So much for not drawing attention. “I’ve been drinking Sprite.”

  “Sprite it is.” He walked me back to the table we’d unintentionally been sharing, a completely unexpected motion. He hadn’t taken any of the other girls I’d watched him dance with off the floor.

  I slid onto a stool and watched as he skirted around the dance floor, his body moving to the beat of the music as easily as he had when we danced. He smiled at several people on his way to the bar and kissed or hugged a few of them like they were all old friends.

  Even though the dance floor was still a flurry of motion and color, my eyes were drawn to Jonah. His hips swayed as he leaned on the bar, ticking back and forth in time to the tempo, and I idly wondered if he ever stopped dancing. I knew I hardly ever stopped thinking about music, and if he had even a fraction of the passion for dance that he seemed to, I would’ve been very surprised if it didn’t manifest in every aspect of his life.

  As he walked back to the table, two drinks in hand, I imagined him dancing around a typical apartment, dusting and vacuuming. The image made me giggle under my breath. Not that I was one to talk. Music always made chores or working out more bearable.