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"Hola."
I turn to find the person that’s trying to get my attention. A tall man with a mess of tight black curls grins at me, revealing a lot of shiny white teeth.
"Umm..." I attempt a smile, trying to remember the two semesters of Spanish I took in high school or anything I overhead when I lived with the Santos family, a period of my life that had been nearly as brief as my interest in learning another language. "Hola."
The man seems to sense my hesitancy to speak... surely the accent is a dead giveaway that I’m not from around here. He nods out to the dance floor. "Quieres bailar?"
Shit.
What is that supposed to mean?
I offer him that same sheepish smile and simply shake my head. That’s a pretty universal let-down, right? And it can’t be misconstrued as rude when I’m smiling.
"Que tal un trago?" He taps his glass and then leans closer, placing a hand on my shoulder and bringing his mouth to my ear so he can be heard over the music, like that’s the issue in my lack of understanding. He smells like a cross between a spice cabinet and women’s hairspray, and I pull away just enough to get a clear breath of air. "Drink?"
I’m tense under his touch, but still, I force a smile and shake my head.
"Apartate."
The voice that breaks through the noise is strong and steady, and it carries an air of authority that sends a shiver through me. Remy has appeared behind the man, brushing his hand off my shoulder as easily as if he were fending someone off from touching his car. His eyes are unreadable, but his shoulders seem stiff, almost like he’s irritated about something. The Spanish rolls off of his tongue and though I have no idea what he’s saying, his rich and silky voice sends a thrill through me. "Ella vino conmigo."
The man looks at him for a moment and then me as if considering whether it’s worth any more effort. I’m grateful when he walks away, shaking his head. "Let's go upstairs," Remy suggests, tipping his head up at the top floor.
I’m not about to argue the chance to get out of here, so I follow him quietly through the crowd to the staircase in the corner of the room. We climb the first flight of stairs with his touch just lingering over the small of my back like he expects me to fall again. I don’t, despite the fact that I feel like a newborn deer in these heels. His thumb grazes my back as he pulls me closer to him while we bypass all the dancers and go up the second flight.
The third floor is considerably less crowded and far quieter, thanks to the DJ being stationed two levels below us. I make for the tables in the corner, but Remy catches my hand and tugs me in the opposite direction, toward another, shorter flight of stairs that ends with a single door painted red. "Where are we going?" I ask, looking around to make sure that no one is going to stop us. My heart pounds a little harder as we approach the door with a big black X painted on it and a laminate sign in Spanish. Even though I can't read it, I’m certain we aren't supposed to go through it. But Remy isn't bothered, and so I walk with him, his hand still holding mine, as he pushes the door open. A gust of sweet, warm air hits me in the face as we step out into the night.
Remy grins as I look around, taking in the little fires that burn every few feet around the roof's perimeter. The sky is onyx, broken by little diamond stars scattered about that shine brighter here than anything I’ve seen back home. It’s beautiful and peaceful and clearly not meant for the general public. "I don't think we're supposed to be out here," I say before I can realize that my voice is a whisper.
"Are you scared to break rules, Claire?" Remy teases. His full lips pull into a smirk, and his eyes speak to mischief. Just like how his sister cajoles me into her devious plans, Remington Boudreaux is taunting me into going along with him.
Damn him.
I bite my own lip as I try to chase away thoughts of his.
"I'm not sure scared is the word for it. But I do think rules should be respected." I look around us, trying to decide if it’s worth the risk of getting into a little trouble to be out here with him… alone. His fingers reach out and gently snare my chin, tilting it so that we’re face to face, our lips inches apart.
"Mmm." It’s a noncommittal sound, one that could mean almost anything, but it launches a tidal wave in my stomach that threatens to drown me.
"You disagree?" It doesn’t surprise me. Remy comes across as someone who prioritizes his own desire over other people's consequences, and he must be corrupting me because right now, my desire to be close to him is winning out. I mean, really, what’s the worst they’ll do for us being on the roof? Call us trespassers? Ban me from the club I’ll never come back to?
"Some rules are meant to be broken." He shrugs. "So, you claim breaking rules doesn’t scare you. I think you’re lying, but I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. So… what does scare you, Claire Monroe?"
I allow myself to study him a moment before answering. The way he says my name sends a thrill through me that is equal parts excitement and fear.
You.
I nearly say it, but instead, I sip the rest of the drink I ordered when we first got here. "Plenty of things.” I assure him. “None of which I'm drunk enough to tell you about."
"Well, that's easily remedied.” He grins, recognizing my words as a challenge. “What's your drink?"
That’s a loaded question, the answer to which depends upon the objective of the night. If I want to get a decent buzz, it’s Tequila. If I want to look sophisticated, it'll be a sweet wine. And if I want to throw caution to the wind and live in the moment... "Jack."
Remy blinks, his sooty lashes fluttering over surprised eyes. That dimple in the middle of his cheek appears. "Jack?"
"Yes." I square my shoulders. "Well, with Coke."
"Ah." Remy nods. "Okay, let's get you another drink, and you can tell me more about yourself."
