Page 67 of The Virgin's Dance
“Donna.”
“Donna. Little Donna, you are short for an American.” His toothy grin made another brief appearance.
She resisted the urge to show her irritation, feeling vulnerable with his green glare on focused on her. She’d never met anyone with a stare like his—almost manic, as if he’d be happy to stare at her all night without another word.
There was a movement from the other side of the room, breaking the uneasy stillness that had come over the room.
It was the dancer, standing in the shadows of another alcove. Feeling the need to get away from Ivan, who was becoming increasingly strange as they stood there, she shuffled over to this other occupant of the room.
He was leaning over, removing his dance shoes. His shirt was off now, and his sweaty torso gleaming in the flickering candlelight.
“Hola,” Donna yelled awkwardly, moving nearer to him as Ivan closed in beside her.
They had caught him in a moment of solitude, and she could see that he was surprised that anyone else should be there.
“Antonio, meet our lovely guest, Donna,” Ivan introduced, standing closely between the two of them.
Antonio looked at her for a second with sharp, dark eyes, immediately noticing the look of discomfort on her face.
“Ivan, step back a little. It’s very hot in here,” came his deep rumble.
Ivan immediately stepped away, into the shadows.
Donna’s shoulders loosened as she instantly felt safer, her whole being feeling reassured in his presence, even though he was still a stranger to her.
“Nice to meet you,” Antonio said in broken English. “It’s not so often I get women in my dressing room.” He smiled cheekily, and she imagined that that was not the case at all.
He put his hand out to shake hers, and she reached out to take it. A jolt of electricity pulsed through her as their hands made contact. His face changed at their touch, too, as if he might have felt the same thing.
“So, what brings you up here? It’s not often outsiders come to this show,” Antonio asked, releasing Donna’s hand.
“I found her, Antonio, and invited her myself,” Ivan said heartily.
“Ah, so my uncle has been harassing you?”
“Far from harassing her, I have merely extended a hand of welcome. Beautiful red-headed ladies are unusual in Spain. I was intrigued by such a foreign beauty.”
Antonio, pulling a black T-shirt over his head, frowned disapprovingly at the older man.
A woman’s voice screamed from the showroom, calling Ivan’s name, the shouts and curses in Spanish carrying easily into the adjoined room.
In an instant, Ivan excused himself and hurried out of the room.
Antonio laughed. “I apologize for my uncle. He can be a little odd at times”
Donna shrugged it off. “I’m grateful to have been invited to the show.”
“Please sit down with me. Have a drink,” he gestured toward the glass she’d forgotten was in her hand.
They sat in the candlelight, sipping red wine, his eyes taking her in as if she were a hot fudge sundae he couldn’t wait to devour.
He traced the curves of her hips, her ample breasts under her little white dress, the subtle plumpness of her lily white arms and legs.
A tiny, pert little package, he thought to himself.
She let him look, enjoying his attention. This was a new experience, to enjoy the eyes of a man so intimately on her.
She could feel her skin prickle as he moved his eyes up and down.
