Page 23 of Secrets of the Six

When I arrive in the courtyard, I not only find Doña Otero and Salvador waiting for me, but four men armed with a guitar, violin, tabor and castanets.

"What's all this?" My eyes dart from one person to the next.

"Today is all about the art of flirtation," Doña Otero flutters her black lace fan in front of her face.

Well shit. "Flirtation?" I ask, my mouth suddenly dry.

"There are two ways to snag a man's attention" – Doña Otero smiles brightly as she claps her hands twice and the quartet starts playing music – "dancing and the fan. Allow me to demonstrate."

She whips her lace fan open and flutters it around. Her movements are sharp, delicate, and graceful. I do my best to keep up when Salvador shoves a red fan into my hand, but I'm lost from the start.

"To fan rapidly" – she begins our lesson, whether I'm ready or not – "signals I have an intense romantic interest in who I am looking at. If I flutter slowly, it informs suitors I am already spoken for and am therefore, not interested. If I slowly close my fan, it signifies to a potential suitor to come closer and flirt. When I open and close my fan quickly against the palm of my hand, it warns other men I am engaged, and my betrothed won't take kindly to them speaking or dancing with me. To close my fan quickly against my palm is a clear sign that I am available but not interested."

I try to mimic what she's doing but she's moving so rapidly I can barely keep up or associate the movement with what she's saying.

"Now, if I open my fan halfway against my lips, it lets the young man I'm interested in know that he can kiss me. And if I move the fan upward to cover my eyes, it means I love you. If I cover my entire face, it means we're being watched, and we must be careful of prying eyes. Got it?"

"Got it?" I shake my head in frustration, fighting the urge to chuck my fan across the room. "Maybe you should just give me a knife so I can slit everyone's throats, then you can put whoever you please on the throne. It would be much faster."

Otero tsks and Salvador frowns, but I'm unmoved by them.

"Just take a breath," Salvador says, arms crossed over his chest. "It's important for you to remain calm. If you mess this up and you are caught, I won't be able to save you from punishment. So, take this seriously or – "

"Why don't you try it then, if it's so easy?" I slam the fan against his muscular bicep.

"I'm not the one who needs to learn," he says lazily, but I can tell I'm getting under his skin, and a giddiness fuels me to press harder.

"Do not patronize me, Salvador. I am not a child."

"True. It would be an insult to the child."

"Doña," I ask with a forced sweetness, "how would one say, fuck off, with the fan?"

His nostrils flare. "Perhaps, you should practice more and curse less."

"Perhaps, it would be best for your health, Señor, if you remember who you are dealing with," I square my shoulders with his. "I am no lady. I'm your worst nightmare. So, keep pressing your luck and I won't be able to guarantee my knife won't find a permanent home lodged inside your chest."

"Perhaps" – Doña clears her throat, grabbing our attention – "we will give fans a rest and move on to dancing. Salvador."

If he is reluctant to touch me, I wouldn't know. Without a word, Salvador eats the distance between us and slowly slides his hand along my waist and tugs me close, so our bodies are pressed together. His free hand grabs mine and the roughness of his palms remind me he's no pampered man of coin. He's efficient with his hands and knows weaponry intimately.

Why does he get under my skin so easily?

Being in this close of proximity, I notice the top button of his shirt is undone and I get a peek of a dusting of hair smattered along the muscular planes of his chest.

His breathing is strained, as if he's uncomfortable with the thoughts swimming through his own mind.

It's not his unknown thoughts that cause my heart to race, but his surprisingly intoxicating golden-brown eyes fixed on me. Typically marred by suspicion and filled with a tantalizing danger, now he looks at me differently. I wish I could pinpoint an emotion, but it's a mystery. All I know is my belly warms and I can suddenly feel every featherlight touch, ever tingle, every sensation of his body against mine. His hand in mine and his lips hovering against my temple heat my skin. For a split second, I feel like wrenching myself free from him and running back upstairs to the privacy and safety of my room, but I shake those irrational thoughts free and stay rooted to him.

"Good." Doña Otero's voice slices through the space. "Now, Ines, you are to follow Salvador's lead. Trust him to take you where you need to go."

The moment I nod my head, Salvador begins to move, and I sway along.

The music is slow, encouraging us to remain close as we make our way around the courtyard. Shockingly, I recognize this dance. It's the Bolero, known for being sensual and graceful. It instantly brings back memories from my childhood when I would sneak into the Night and Entertainment Districts during the festival seasons to watch couples dance in the streets. I wished I could be down there participating and celebrating amongst the sea of smiling faces, but I was unwelcome. However, it didn't mean I couldn't watch and learn from the shadows.

Salvador hisses when I accidentally stomp on his boot more than once. His hand flies from my waist to tip my chin up when I glance at the floor.

"Eyes on me," he commands.