dancing around us. Alejandro puts one hand dangerously low on my back and holds my right hand with his other. I clench my teeth hard and try to focus on the task at hand.

"Do you want to wait for a slower song to come on?" he asks me jokingly.

"Why? You think I can't keep up?"

Alejandro laughs down at me. "I'm Afro-Colombian, amor; I have enough rhythm for two people."

Now that is something I didn't know about him; something that I see he takes a lot of pride in. Should I second guess dancing with a man who has Latin and African blood coursing through him? That's like me doing a duet with Mariah-freaking-Carey.

Not a good idea.

"Well, you don't have to slow down for me."

"Are you sure? I go pretty fast; I have a lot of experience."

I roll my eyes. "I think I can manage, Mr. Quintanilla."

I don't know if this is my drunkenness speaking or merely the fact that I don't like being doubted, but regardless, Alejandro takes my word for it and instructs me to just follow his lead. And once his feet start moving, it's almost shocking; this man can dance. And I mean dance. I try to keep up, but it's hard when it's left-foot, right-foot, one foot back, one foot forward, hips swaying, arms moving, enthusiasm rolling, all while trying to match the prowess of a Colombian man who is more than familiar with this craft. Salsa is hard.

Well, maybe it's just hard for a white girl with two left feet like me.

Alejandro is 'nice' enough to slow down a little when he sees me struggling, but he still thinks it's hilarious how I'm having a hard time.

"It's not funny!" I snap, but he just laughs harder. "I'm whiter than wonder bread and incapable of even doing the electric slide."

"You're thinking too much about it," he says to me. "Just relax and let it happen."

I'm already drunk so that shouldn't be too hard. I take Alejandro's advice and follow his footsteps and movements. Surprisingly, it's a lot easier when I'm not so tense. Our fingers slip in the spaces between, our arms extend, and we're moving at a slower tempo, Alejandro guiding me through with words of encouragement as my steps get better.

"This actually isn't that hard—"

"BAILA!"

I'm certain that when the singer screamed 'baila,' he really meant 'sudden death.'

I've never seen people dance so fast in my life, and Alejandro is one of them. There's hair swinging every way, spins being executed, hip rolling, shimmying, and undoubtedly intense footwork. Alejandro is howling in laughter because now I'm crying for help like a distressed llama. Even when Alejandro dances for me, I'm shouting for help. I've never seen him laugh so hard. And after a minute of dancing this way, I finally understand the concept of 'letting go' and relaxing, even when the dancing is so intense.

Actually, I think the mojitos finally hit me full force.

Alejandro believes that I've gotten the hang of the dance, and I think it's a good idea to let go of him and start doing my own dance. And that's exactly what I do. I remove my fingers from his and feel the rhythm in my body. I think I'm doing a good job freestyling, but by Alejandro's confused and humored facial expression, I'm certain I'm embarrassing myself in the middle of the dance floor again. Think of a grandma going full force while watching a 1980's aerobics video workout.

I'm positive that is what I look like.

It isn't until I start moonwalking that Alejandro grabs me and pulls me closer towards him (I don't think he would have stopped me if I was actually moonwalking; stomping my feet in one place as an attempt at moonwalking doesn't count). When I'm in his arms, caught in his caging grip and solid embrace, I laugh—the euphoria, the joy, the sweat, the music, the horrible rhythm of mine and the enchanting rhythm of his makes me laugh. I haven't had this much fun in months, and I don't know whether to be happy that it has been achieved or sad that I've gone this long without enjoying myself. Either way, Alejandro sees how happy I am and smiles at me. He doesn't say anything, but he knows what I'm thinking and everything that I have journeyed through; this vacation is well deserved, and I feel as if he knows this.

"What were you doing back there?" he laughingly asked me.

"I was letting go like you said," I replied. "You know, feeling the rhythm and all that. I thought I was doing pretty well."

He knew I was joking but played along with the jest. "With salsa, maybe you should feel the rhythm like this."

Alejandro's hand slowly, tauntingly, slid down both sides of my waist until they rested at my hips—close enough to my ass to be considered risky but not close enough to grope it entirely. The coy, joking nature we shared moments before is traceless on his face. He looks into my eyes with seductive, lustful intentions. I rest my hands on his strong shoulders and straighten my posture for him; my body is rigid. My chest, tight and echoing the rapid movement of my heart. As the song ends, a slower one—indefinitely slow—starts. I let him move my hips the way he wants until they're drifting side to side like his to the music. His hands are rough against me—dominant. When my hips move underneath his hands the way he wants, he suddenly removes them and puts them back onto my waist.

"Just keep moving like this," he says to me. His voice is so deep—our bodies are so close—that I can feel the vibrations of his low octave against my own chest; so close that his alluring cologne is all that I smell.

"Sure thing," I breathe out. I know how deep this man has me; I'm fully invested in him and want more of his attention and his touch. The more we dance together, the more of his skin I can see beneath the open portion of his shirt; there are tattoos he has that I haven't seen that I'm aching to see. The question, though, is if he's as fully invested as I am. With no offense, I hope that Lupita is wrong about Alejandro and the extent of his tenacity.

"Hope" won't give me an answer, unfortunately. For now, I take it slow until Alejandro lets me know if he wants to move a little faster.

**
After that club, Alejandro and I went to two more nightclubs and danced until my feet were throbbing. Admittedly, Alejandro and I had a few close calls—he 'accidentally' put his hands on my ass at one club while we were dancing while I intentionally put my hands on his at the same club about ten minutes later; the alcohol was making me frisky. He laughed it off when I realized what I was doing and apologized to him, but from that point on, we figured we couldn't touch each other anymore without encountering another close call. I felt like it would be one more salsa dance before I 'accidentally' put my hand on his dick or something.

Once at the villa, Alejandro is kind enough to walk me up to my room. He's cracking jokes and making me laugh knowing well that mostly everyone in the house is sleep. It's four in the morning; no one wants to hear my cackling.

Alejandro and I stop right in front of my bedroom door. My heels are in my hand, my hair tied up and sweated out. My lipstick is gone, too, thanks to laughing and drinking and sweating the lip color away. The only notable difference with Alejandro's appearance is the messier state of his hair, which succeeds at making him look even sexier than he did before.

"We're here," I announce, laughing.

"Yes indeed." He scratches is beard. "The time flew by, didn't it?"

"It did," I reply. "Thank you for taking me out, Alejandro. I needed this. Really, I did."

He knew everything I was referring to but didn't address it; he knew I didn't want to talk about it further.

"I'm assuming your plans later on today include sleeping in?" I ask him.

He laughs. "No, no. I've got more things to do. I'm going straight to sleep when I get in my room, though."

"Oh God, no. I'm too much of a clean freak. I'm so sweaty and sticky; I need to just get out of this dress and take a long, hot bath."

Oddly, Alejandro seems to get a little troubled when I say that. His jaw ticks as he continues to stare at me, dragging his gaze from my eyes down to my feet, then back up to my eyes. He sighs like he's conflicted. I almost ask him what's wrong but he leans in and kisses me before I ever get the chance. And it's instinctive—I kiss him back, taking in the taste of his mouth against mine as my heels fall onto the floor. Me kissing him back is like a row of dominos being tipped over; I can't stop once I start.

When I start moving my mouth more passionately against his, he becomes bold. Pressing his body against mine, my back is firmly against the wall. His tongue enters my mouth and begs for mine against his own, and I mimic his movements; similar to how we danced tonight, he leads and I follow. Suddenly, as I'm caught between Alejandro's firm body and the wall, he takes my hands from around his neck and tightly pins them above my head. I gasp and stare wide-eyed at him, but he doesn't look fazed by my reaction at all. No, actually, he looks amused; aware that I've never been handled like this while kissing another man and aware that by the subtle smirk on my face, I love every minute of this. So with one hand pinning my wrists above my head, the other caresses and gropes my breasts through my dress. I moan out loudly until Alejandro presses his hand against my mouth with a warning look that makes us both burst out in concealed laughter.

"I'm sorry. I forgot it was four in the morning," I whisper to him, but he isn't pressed about it. Instead, he takes the clear pleasure I'm experiencing from him touching me as a sign that I want him even more. And I do—I have abandoned Lupita's words and have given in completely to what my body says. And by the pressure between my legs and the craving for Alejandro's mouth again, I want him. So, I'm the one who turns around and I'm the one who pushes my ass against his hips as I press my hands into the wall. Alejandro's the one whose hand slides up my thighs and returns from underneath with my thong in his hands. And I know that this is it. I never imagined my first time having sex with Alejandro being in a hallway at four in the morning, but life never turns out the way you plan, now does it?

"Spread your legs," he orders into my ear, and I comply without opposition. But right when I do as he says, we hear laughing and avid conversation rounding the corner near my bedroom. I quickly snatch my underwear from Alejandro's hand and hide them behind my back as they walk by—two mercenaries for the family walking through the halls at four-in-the-fucking-morning. They suspect nothing from us when we're spotted, but I'm sweating like a pig and blushing like a schoolgirl.

"Patrón," they say to him respectfully. Alejandro just nods politely at them passing by. And although I'm angry at these men for interrupting, I suppose I should be indebted to them, too—they stopped me from doing something that I promised myself I wouldn't do tonight. Lupita's wisdom floods back into my head, too; I wasn't going to make it that easy for Alejandro, was I? Especially this early? He's probably used to it being this easy.

The mercenaries disappear, and instead of turning back around for him, I pick up my heels from the ground and unlock my bedroom door.

"I had an amazing time tonight," I tell him. God, the look on Alejandro's face is worth more than words can describe. He looks into my eyes like I'm going to say more, but eventually, he gets the idea of what I'm doing; he's a very smart man. I'd be a fool to underestimate his ability to catch on.

He chuckles, mostly at himself since he fell for it for only a second.

"I did, too," he replies. "Sleep well, Leslie. And don't forget these."

This man has the nerve to hold up my panties between us. I'm caught between wondering how he got them from behind my back and feeling flustered at them hanging in his grip. I take them from him, thank him again for the wonderful evening, and retire into my room, where I expel the longest, most sexually frustrated breath. Mouth agape, I pace around my room mouthing "Oh my God" over and over again as if God is proud of what I'm doing. The longer I pace around my room, the more of what just happened starts to flood into my mind and register completely. Being in the moment, it's Point A to Point B without analysis in between. But now I'm analyzing everything Alejandro did to me (what we did to each other, really) properly. I have no idea how I'm going to look him in the eye without looking away or wanting to rip his clothes off, but I'm going to have to be persistent since he's on to me and what I'm doing.

I'm praying to God (if he isn't shaking his head at me right now) that I can be persistent for the rest of my week here.

**