Let Me Love You: Steamy Older Man Younger Woman Romance Read online

  Especially the ones on the brunette who kept catching my eye.

  “Pretty, isn’t she?” Rita whispered in my ear. Or was it Roberta? Regina? I couldn’t remember. And since she was married and we definitely weren’t on a blind date, it didn’t matter too much.

  I could only nod in response. Pretty didn’t even begin to describe the woman we were both ogling. The woman who had maybe, just maybe been looking back at me a time or two.

  “She’s my yoga instructor,” Rita-or-Roberta-or-Regina said. “This is the first time I’ve ever seen her burlesque show, though.”

  Oh, so that’s why the beautiful lady had been looking my way. Because of course she wasn’t looking at me. She’d actually been looking at the woman next to me.

  “Ah,” I said, noncommittal even though my short-lived fantasy had already crumbled.

  “You haven’t taken your eyes off her all night,” she said, a hint of playfulness in her voice.

  Was she teasing me now? Could she tell how disappointed I was?

  “Would you like to meet her?”

  Wait, what?

  Rita-or-whomever had my full and undivided attention, even though I wasn’t sure I’d heard her right.

  “I’m sorry? Did you say —”

  “Yeah, let’s go,” she said, already rising from her chair. “I told her I’d be here tonight, and she said to make sure I stopped in backstage and said hi. If you want to meet her, now is your chance.”

  “But I never said I wanted to meet her.”

  I was suddenly feeling very nervous. My palms were sweating, my heart was racing, and my throat was closing. Talking to the beautiful dancer had been a great idea a few minutes ago — back when it had been an impossible fantasy. Now, though? The thought was nearly enough to make me hyperventilate.

  Shit. How was I going to get out of this?

  “Come on.” Rita-or-whatever grabbed my hand. “Don’t tell me you’re shy. It’s your birthday.”

  I wanted to tell her that the fact it was my birthday had nothing to do with the fact that I was indeed very shy, but the words died in my throat as she led me through the maze of tables to get to the side door off the stage.

  Jesus, was this really happening?

  Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

  The internal chanting didn’t help, and I found myself decidedly not breathing as we approached the overly-muscled security guard outside the backstage door. Rita-or-maybe-Wonder-Woman didn’t seem to be deterred at all, though.

  “We’re here to see Bianca. She’s expecting us.”

  Bianca. So that was the beautiful woman’s beautiful name. I was so distracted letting that name roll around in my mind that I barely noticed when the security guard waved us past. It wasn’t until we were standing at another door, marked “Dancers,” that I felt the nerves and anxiety come rushing back.

  “Easy, don’t crush my hand,” Maybe-Rita said, shooting me a pained look as she knocked on the door.

  “Sorry.” I yanked my hand away from hers as if it had been on fire. “Are you okay? I was just—”

  Whatever I’d been about to say, whatever I’d been feeling or thinking, it had completely evaporated when the door opened.

  She was even more beautiful up close, if that was even possible. And the smile that lit up her face when she saw us standing there made me smile in return, even though I was pretty sure I might vomit uncontrollably from my nerves at any moment.

  “Rona, you made it!”

  Rona? God, I wasn’t even close…

  “And I brought a friend,” Rita-aka-Rona said. “This is Miguel, and it’s his fortieth birthday. Miguel, this is my friend, Bianca.”

  Damn, just put my old ass age on blast, would you Rona?

  Bianca made eye contact with me as I shook her hand. Her skin was unbelievably soft and warm, and I swear her smile got bigger.

  “It’s very nice to meet you, Miguel. I hope your birthday wishes have come true.”

  I could feel my face flush as I stumbled over a response. “It’s, um, really great to meet you, too.” I swallowed hard and reluctantly pulled back my hand as she ushered us inside the large room.

  There were a few other girls in the back, huddled around makeup stations and brightly lit mirrors, but I barely noticed them. I barely noticed anything except Bianca as she sat down and started talking.

  I honestly wasn’t even sure what we were talking about, but I just stayed focused on her big brown eyes and her beautiful smile that was accentuated by her generous and brightly painted lips. She had a way of looking at me that made me feel like I was the only one that was in the room, the only one that mattered.

  It was intoxicating, and I almost cried out when the beefy security guard stuck his head in and said, “Five minutes, Bianca.”

  For the first time all night, that gorgeous smile slipped a little, but only for a second. “I’m so glad you made it out tonight, Rona.” Then, turning to me, “And Miguel, you have to promise you’ll come back and see me sometime. I hope you have a wonderful birthday.”

  “Oh, I’ll definitely be back,” I said, not even caring that Rona snickered a little at my reply. “It was great to meet you, too, Bianca.”

  Just saying her name sent a jolt straight through my body — and straight to my cock. God, this woman was addictive.

  And I definitely wanted more.

  Bianca

  It was always a little disconcerting to step into my quiet apartment after a long night of burlesque dancing. The difference was so stark that it always left my ears ringing as my body adjusted to the low lights and complete silence that enveloped me as soon as I stepped through the door.

  I immediately went into my nightly routine, stepping out of my impossibly high stilettos and shedding the constricting corset and stockings in favor of an oversized t-shirt and fuzzy slippers. I stood in the bathroom and watched as my real face became visible in the mirror, my hands moving of their own accord to strip the thick, heavy stage makeup.

  Even though I was still objectively young — nobody really qualified as old in their early twenties, no matter how many times I’d been told I had an old soul — I could tell the long nights were beginning to take their toll. How much longer until the bags under my eyes refused to disappear after just a few hours of sleep? How many more years until I had to try even harder to cover up the fine lines that were sure to show up around my eyes, across my forehead, and at the corners of my mouth?

  I was fortunate that my Cuban heritage had blessed me with a gorgeous complexion, but my mother never got tired of warning me that it wouldn’t last, that I should treasure it and make the best of it while I could. If she knew how many nights of the week I was up until sunrise chasing my dreams, she would have a fit. And the more I did it, the more I realized she might be right. Or at least a little right.

  More and more, I was starting to value the few hours I could steal for myself — the quiet, private time when I didn’t have to be anywhere or see anyone. The realization that I could actually have some time like that, without apologizing for it or lying to get it, was one of the things I’d discovered and come to cherish since breaking up with Desmond.

  Discovering how nice it was to have some of that personal time — that downtime — had instantly made it one of the things that would be non-negotiable when and if I decided to get involved with someone else. Which — if I stuck to that vow — made it sort of impossible for me to get involved with someone as self-centered as Desmond ever again.

  Someone like Miguel, on the other hand…

  I scrubbed the washcloth over my face, closing my eyes and trying to imagine how the rough stubble on his face might feel against my skin.

  My eyes snapped open. I didn’t even know why my mind had wandered there, aside from the fact that the few minutes I’d spent with Miguel earlier in the night had been very… nice. He was a little quirky, and seemed to be painfully shy, but there had been something else, something underneath the fidgeting and blushing t
hat had been undeniably attractive.

  He certainly hadn’t been anything like the cocky, aggressive, in-your-face athletes I’d always found myself falling for… but that was sort of the point. Far from being someone who seemed to be obsessed with what other people thought of him, or needed round-the-clock approval and ego-stroking, Miguel’s average height and build, his suit — nice and tailored, but not flashy or fussy — and everything about the way he carried himself suggested a man who was stable and confident enough to let his woman shine, perfectly happy to let her shine.

  It was so far from guys like Desmond — or Luis, or the countless other guys just like them in Miami — that it was difficult for me to even imagine what it would be like to actually spend time with a guy like that. Up until tonight, I would’ve been hard-pressed to believe that guys like Miguel even existed at all in this city.

  But he’d been there, right in front of me. I hadn’t imagined the spark that I’d felt when he’d looked at me, the way he’d made me feel like I was the only one in the room — the only one in the world — who had mattered for those few minutes. It was a feeling I could definitely get used to. A feeling I wanted more of.

  And hadn’t he said it was his birthday? That meant he was a Taurus, which also meant he was the perfect match for an ambitious, outspoken, sensual Scorpio like myself.

  Hypothetically, of course.

  But even though I craved the kind of maturity and stability that someone like Miguel would bring to my life, when I climbed into bed and closed my eyes, his face was the only one I could imagine.

  I didn’t want to try and find a guy like Miguel to date. I wanted him. But the odds of ever seeing him again, not to mention the slim chance that he’d actually be interested in dating me, were pretty slim.

  What did I have to offer a guy who was comfortable in his life and career? A little bit of drama and a whole lot of uncertainty? A splash of young pussy? Aside of the pussy, he’d probably run screaming.

  And I couldn’t even blame him.

  “I don’t understand.” I paused for a second and took a deep breath.

  Do not lose your temper in the middle of this bank, Bianca. This man probably isn’t trying to be a smug little weasel.

  “You won’t even consider me for a loan? I’ve had a checking account and a savings account with this bank since the day I turned eighteen. I’ve never even had a bounced check. I have over $10,000 in my savings. And you won’t even consider it?”

  I wasn’t entirely sure the part about no bad checks was a hundred percent accurate, but I was for damn sure the man sitting across from me didn’t understand how much I needed this loan. If he would just give me a chance…

  “It’s not that you have bad credit, per se, Miss Rios.” He spoke slowly, as if he was explaining the most basic thing to a child. It really made me want to pick up the pair of scissors in the little organizer caddy on his desk and cut off his… tie. “It’s that you don’t have any credit. I’m sure you can see why the bank would be reluctant to hand out loans to people without a record of paying off their debts.”

  “That makes sense,” I lied. It didn’t make any sense to me why the bank wouldn’t take a chance on my dance studio. The jackass barely even thumbed through the business plan I’d spent weeks putting together. “But I think, if you’d just look at the numbers again, you’d see that what I’m proposing—”

  “I’m sorry, Miss Rios,” he interrupted, not looking or sounding very sorry at all. “We’re not going to be able to give you a loan at this time. Is there anything else I can help you with today?”

  He stood up and gestured toward the door, making it perfectly clear that he didn’t intend on helping me with anything else, either.

  It was really more than I could take.

  “No, thank you,” I smiled as sweetly as I could as I stood up. “You haven’t been able to help me at all. When I have more time, I’ll be closing my accounts here and taking my business elsewhere.”

  Without waiting for a reply, I turned on my heel and walked out of his office with my head held high. I was dying inside and frighteningly close to tears, but I wasn’t going to let him think I was discouraged. And I damn sure wasn’t going to let him see me cry.

  I would definitely be crying at some point, though, and soon. If I didn’t get a loan to open my studio, there would be no studio. It would take years — decades, maybe — to save the amount of money I needed – about $50,000 - on my own. That wasn’t going to work. I wasn’t going to accept that my dream was over just like that.

  But I didn’t know what else to do, either.

  To add insult to injury, this bank branch was right across the street from my current studio, so if I followed through with my threat to close my accounts, it would only end up inconveniencing myself. Mr. Ugly Tie sure wasn’t likely to notice. Or care.

  I quickly dabbed at the corners of my eyes before the tears could really start. The last thing I needed was my makeup ruined in the middle of the day. Maybe I could at least go to a different bank later.

  At least my favorite food truck was in the parking lot. It was always a special treat when they showed up outside the studio. On any other day, I would’ve taken it as a sign that the universe was moving in my favor. Today, it could only be a consolation prize.

  Even the best Ropa Vieja this side of Havana wasn’t likely to make me feel better, though. Well, maybe a little better.

  The line moved fast enough, and I even managed to spend the next five minutes until my food was ready without crying about my lack of a loan. It was the kind of day to take whatever small measure of success I could get, and for the moment, not crying in public was at the top of the list.

  I took my order and made a beeline for the nearest seating—a row of picnic tables a few yards away at the edge of the parking lot, set up to accommodate the patrons of food trucks like this one.

  “Bianca?”

  I froze as I heard my name, trying to place the voice before I turned around. It sounded familiar, but… who? It definitely wasn’t Luis. Wasn’t Desmond. Nobody from my class…

  “Bianca,” the voice called out again, not giving me any more time to go through my mental list of men who might or might not be in the area at that time of day.

  I turned and nearly dropped my food, a huge smile spreading across my lips despite the shitty afternoon I’d had.

  “Hey Miguel. What are you doing here?”

  “I love this place.” He gestured toward the truck behind us. “When I get the craving for something amazing, I find them.”

  “They are pretty amazing. I was just heading over to sit and eat, if you want to join me.”

  A flash of surprise crossed his face, but he recovered quickly. “Yeah, that would be great. I’ll be right over.”

  He walked back over to the line and I continued over to the table. I wasn’t sure what had inspired me to invite him to eat. I definitely hadn’t planned on sharing my misery with anyone, but it had been such a surprise to see him that I’d momentarily forgotten about everything else.

  Plus, I wanted to spend a little time with him. Normally, I’d wait for a man to invite me out to lunch, but this was different. First of all, it wasn’t a date. And second… who had time for that bullshit? If I wanted to spend time with Miguel, I didn’t need to sit around waiting for him to ask. I might be having a rough day, but I still had control of some things in my life.

  “So,” he said, sitting down next to me a few minutes later. “What has you looking sad today?”

  “Oh my God, is it that obvious?”

  I instinctively touched the corners of my eyes, afraid my traitorous mascara might have sold me out, but he just smiled.

  “You look perfect. I didn’t mean it like that. But I can see it in your eyes. Something is bothering you.”

  The way he’d stated it, in such a matter-of-fact way, had instantly put me at ease. Here was a man I could talk to, and it felt like I could talk to him about anything.

>   So I did.

  Even though I didn’t normally wear my heart on my sleeve, and I really, really didn’t tell my business to strangers, something about Miguel was different. He made me feel safe. And while I didn’t tell him exact dollar amounts or my exact credit score, I gave him more details than I normally would have shared with anyone aside from a few close friends or family.

  And the scary thing was that I didn’t regret it at all. I wasn’t worried that Miguel might try to steal my identity or ruin my credit — the thought didn’t even cross my mind, honestly. But hell, even if he’d wanted to, it’s not like he could’ve done much damage.

  He damn sure couldn’t have used my name to get a loan. I almost laughed at the thought, and then I almost cried again.

  “What if I could help you with investors?” He asked, pulling me from my thoughts.

  “I’m sorry? What did you say?”

  I could feel my eyes go wide, and I legitimately needed him to repeat himself, in case I’d heard him wrong. The day had already been too much of a roller coaster for me to get my hopes up too high based on something I’d probably misheard.

  “I mean…” He half-shrugged, suddenly looking a little uncertain. “I know some people, and what you’re describing is kind of what they do. I could make a few phone calls if you want. I don’t mean to pry or anything, it’s just—”

  “No! I mean, yes!”

  He cocked his head to the side, and I was almost too excited to even clarify what I meant.

  “Yes, please. Please make the calls. That would be,” I paused and shook my head, afraid I might just cry anyway. “That would be amazing. You’re amazing.”

  Without thinking, I threw my arms around him. It was only after the realization that his body had gone a little rigid — and the fact that he was as solid as a damn rock underneath my hands — that I remembered we were talking business, and business associates didn’t normally hug.

  “Sorry,” I said, not even meaning it. I didn’t care if I’d looked foolish. He’d just given me the best news of my life — literally a lifeline to my dreams. The man deserved to be hugged, and then some. If he were my man, he’d get the cocksucking of a lifetime.