Page 78 of The Virgin's Dance
“What about your father?”
“Dead,” she said quietly. “Before I was born. What about you? Your family? This house! I thought you lived in the gypsy encampment yourself.”
“No. My mother was a gypsy, so I lived up there with her sometimes, but my father wasn’t.”
“Was your mother a flamenco dancer?” she asked, twirling his soft curls between her fingers.
“She was. She was famous, too. She tried to do what she could to help her community. But my father wasn’t so interested. He was a Spanish businessman from the city.” He paused, looking a little sad. “The people of the city don’t like the encampment. They want to get rid of it.”
“I’ve heard that,” she said sympathetically.
“My people are so poor. I try to help out as much as I can. I give them money, I encourage them. I do what I can.”
“Were they allowed to be together, your parents?”
“They loved each other despite everyone’s objections and they were married happily for 30 years. When they passed away, I promised my mother I would help with the community, so I do. I was left everything. But it’s not …” he hesitated.
“Go on?”
“All this, the house, the money, it’s not brought me happiness. All I wanted to do was dance. But the responsibility of the business, the house, the land … it’s tied me down in way I never wanted. It’s led me to make bad choices.”
She suddenly sensed that he might be talking about her. “So, will you have to marry a gypsy girl?” she asked recklessly, her heart filling with unbidden jealousy.
“I don’t know. The community expects it. They would be pleased if I did.” He looked at her hard. “You know this isn’t just a fancy of mine? I don’t sleep with my students. This is not just a bit of fun for me.”
There was a great vulnerability about him for a second or two.
“What is it then?” she asked in a whisper, afraid that if she spoke any louder, then this spell might be broken.
“I don’t know,” he said, leaning in to kiss her. She felt his body respond to hers again, and her own body quickly followed suit.
He turned her over onto her stomach and she could feel him, big and hard, poking into her back.
His hands roamed over her body and she was lost once again to the writhing rhythm of their bodies.
Chapter 12
She woke the next day to find the bed empty and the sun pouring into the room.
The bed was deliciously soft and the satin sheets cooled her skin. She could smell something sweet cooking and hear the sizzling of a pan. There was a dressing gown on the corner of the bed and she wrapped it around her body and followed the smell of cooking.
Antonio was in the kitchen, naked but for a towel around his lower half.
It was the most appealing thing she had ever seen, this god of a man preparing breakfast, his shining bare chest on display, and his soft eyes gazing at her.
“Go ahead and grab some coffee from the machine,” he said, kissing her on the forehead as she walked in.
She noticed for the first time the glass doors on the other side of the kitchen, leading out onto a sizeable patio.
He could see her curious eyes. “Sure, go ahead, look around.”
Donna wandered out of the glass doors and into a beautiful garden with statues and lemon trees, all surrounding a giant swimming pool.
This was like a tiny paradise. Without thinking, she undid her gown and jumped into the pool, naked. She came up for air and saw Antonio standing there, watching her.
“Watching you swimming around naked in the pool is too much for any man to ignore,” he laughed, throwing down his towel. “Breakfast can wait!”
He swam towards her like a predator hunting his prey. She would willingly be his prey any day, Donna thought to herself as he grabbed her, holding her up in the water, and kissing her neck.
