Romance: Dance with Me (California Belly Dance Romance Book 2) Read Online Free Page B

coveted job around for belly dancers and like-minded musicians. Abby had worked there until the studio’s business turned around. Melanie hoped she would too, someday.
    “I could pick you up, we could have a drink, maybe some dinner, and discuss it.”
    His voice dripped with effortless charm. She had to remind herself this was Taz. This is what he did.
    “Sure,” she said. “I just have to check on one thing. Just give me a minute…” She fumbled for her purse and pulled out her wallet. The Tent could be great for tips, but it was pretty hard on the budget.
    “My treat,” he said, dangling the words like carrots.
    She closed her eyes, embarrassed. Had she been so obvious? “Just checking my calendar. Yeah, I’m open.”
    “Great. What time should I pick you up?”
    That could be a problem. Quickly, she recalibrated. “How about I meet you there?”
    “All right.”
    “Seven?” she added quickly.
    “Abby was right about you,” he said. “Once you put your mind to something…” He didn’t finish the thought, and she didn’t want to ask.
    “So seven works?” she pressed again.
    “Seven works.”

 
     
     
     
     
     
    | 6
     
    A few hours later, after another difficult exchange with her mother, Melanie pulled into the Tent’s parking lot. The sun hung low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the highway and giving the multi-million-dollar homes perched on the cliffs a bright, fiery glow. She took the last gulp of her diet soda, dropped the can in the cup holder, and maneuvered up to the obligatory valet station, trying not to notice the rows of luxury cars beyond. A silver Bentley, a black Ferrari, that distinctive yellow coupe.
    A teen with a mop of blue-streaked hair jogged up to her door. She hopped out and noticed him glancing at the dingy windows and the dented side panel. She dropped the key in his palm. “Sorry, Skippy. We don’t all drive Porsches. Get over it.”
    He smirked and mumbled, “Enjoy your evening, ma’am.” He emphasized the last word, aiming it like a dart at her vanity. It stung, but not as much as his dollar tip would later.
    She wrapped her newly painted fingertips around a red clutch and steered her black stilettos to the door with her head high, ready to take on the world. Or at least Taz Roman.
    Look, there he was, all hair and teeth and shoulders. His doumbek hooked under one of those giant arms, an Egyptian pyramid on the horizon behind him. The poster hanging at the door made her groan. What a pretty boy. Definitely not her type. Then again, maybe that was going to make this whole thing easier. Let him play his playboy tricks. She was immune.
    Inside, she could hear the music pounding, a blend of traditional Middle Eastern rhythms and modern techno-rock. There was a distinct emphasis on the drumming that had to be Taz. She took a deep breath, inhaling the roasted meats and savory Moroccan dishes the Tent was known for, and steeled herself before pulling open the door to find the restaurant’s foyer filled to capacity with waiting bodies.
    Great. She’d have a nice, long wait before she got the opportunity to demean herself. Maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. A twinge in her belly reminded her of the soda she’d guzzled getting ready and the other one she’d downed while driving. At least there’d be time for a trip to the ladies’ room.
    The door opened again behind her, and a large, laughing party entered. Three or four couples? She edged up to the hostess stand. No need to make the wait any longer than it had to be. She leaned over the counter to be heard above the chaos of chatter and music. “I don’t have a reservation, but I’m supposed to meet with the guy who’s performing tonight.” She knew it sounded ridiculous the moment she said it. Before she could rephrase, the head of a blond, bright-eyed hostess popped up.
    “Oh,” chirped the woman. “You must be Melanie. Taz’s friend?”
    Melanie straightened. Friend? “Yeah, I guess