The Miami night pulsed with energy as the Estrella del Mar cut through the dark waters, its deck alive with the clink of glasses and the rhythm of the salsa band. Sofia Alvarez weaved through the crowd, her emerald dress catching the yacht's soft lights. The party was a triumph—guests laughed, danced, and toasted, oblivious to the chaos she'd managed behind the scenes. But her focus wavered, pulled to Rafael Torres like a tide she couldn't fight. His presence lingered, a heat that hadn't faded since their charged exchange at the bar.
Sofia checked her phone, her fingers lingering on the cryptic text from earlier: Watch Torres. He's not what he seems. The words gnawed at her, a whisper of betrayal that clashed with the thrill of Rafael's gaze. She shoved the phone into her clutch, determined to stay focused. She'd survived Diego's lies, rebuilt her life from the ashes of a controlling marriage. No man, no matter how magnetic, would derail her hard-won independence.
"Sofia, the band's asking about their encore," Carla whispered, appearing at her side, her clipboard clutched like a lifeline.
"Tell them to play 'Bailando,'" Sofia said, scanning the deck. "And check the dessert table—make sure the flan's out." Carla nodded and vanished, leaving Sofia to survey her domain. The yacht gleamed, Miami's skyline a glittering backdrop. Her girl power shone in every detail, proof she didn't need anyone to thrive. Yet Rafael's hazel eyes found her again, cutting through the crowd with an intensity that made her skin prickle.
He was near the dance floor now, surrounded by a knot of admirers—women in sparkling dresses, men eager for his CEO clout. His playboy charm was effortless, a laugh here, a touch on an arm there, but his gaze kept drifting to Sofia. She turned away, busying herself with a server adjusting a tray, but her pulse betrayed her, hammering as if she were the one being pursued.
"Ms. Alvarez," Rafael's voice purred behind her, closer than she expected. She spun, nearly brushing against his chest. He stood too close, his sandalwood-and-sea-salt scent wrapping around her like a dare. "You're avoiding me."
"I'm working," she said, her voice cool despite the heat creeping up her neck. "This isn't a game, Mr. Torres."
"Rafael," he corrected again, his smile slow and wicked. "And I think it's exactly a game. One you're playing very well."
Her lips twitched, but she held her ground. "I don't play games with clients."
"Then why do your eyes keep finding mine?" He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a velvet murmur. "Or is that just the Miami heat getting to you?"
Sofia's breath caught, her independent resolve tested by the spark in his eyes. Diego had been charming too, at first, whispering promises that turned to chains. She wouldn't fall for it again. "You're mistaking professionalism for interest," she said, stepping back to reclaim her space. "I'm here to make your party perfect, not to entertain you."
Rafael's laugh was low, undeterred. "You're already entertaining me, Sofia. More than you know."
She turned to walk away, but he caught her wrist, his touch light but electric, sending a jolt through her. "Dance with me," he said, nodding to the dance floor where couples swayed to the band's sultry beat. "One dance. Prove you're not afraid of the heat."
Her heart pounded, torn between her divorce-scarred caution and the reckless pull of his challenge. "I don't dance with clients," she said, but her voice wavered, betraying her.
"Then don't think of me as a client." His fingers slid to her hand, warm and sure, guiding her toward the dance floor. "Think of me as a man who sees you."
Sofia's girl power screamed to pull away, to protect the walls she'd built since Diego. But her body moved with him, drawn into the crowd as the band's rhythm pulsed through the night. Rafael's hand settled on her waist, firm yet gentle, and her breath hitched as he pulled her close. The music wrapped around them, a slow, sensual salsa that demanded movement. She matched his steps, her body responding instinctively, their hips swaying in sync.
"You're good at this," Rafael murmured, his lips near her ear, his breath warm against her skin. "But I knew you would be."
"Don't get cocky," she shot back, her voice sharp but playful. She spun out of his hold, a deliberate move to assert control, but he pulled her back effortlessly, his grip steady. The crowd blurred, Miami's skyline a distant glow, and for a moment, it was just them—two bodies moving as one, the air between them crackling with steamy tension.
"You're fighting it," he said, his eyes locking onto hers. "Why?"
"Because I know better," she replied, her voice low. "Men like you—playboys—they don't change. And I'm done being anyone's fool."
His smile faded, a flicker of something deeper crossing his face—regret, maybe, or recognition. "Not all men are like the one who hurt you," he said softly. "Give me a chance to prove it."
Sofia's chest tightened, her divorce scars flaring at his words. Diego had promised forever, then controlled every piece of her life until she'd forgotten who she was. She wouldn't let Rafael, with his CEO power and playboy charm, do the same. But his touch, his gaze, made her want to believe him, and that scared her more than anything.
The song ended, and she stepped back, breaking the spell. "Thank you for the dance," she said, her tone clipped. "I have work to do."
"Sofia," he called as she turned away, his voice softer now, almost pleading. "This isn't over."
She didn't look back, but her heart raced as she moved through the crowd, checking the bar, the lights, anything to ground herself. Her phone buzzed again, another text from the unknown number: He's hiding more than you think. Be careful. The words sent a chill down her spine, a shadow of betrayal in the glittering night. Who was warning her about Rafael? And why did her body still hum from his touch?
Mia caught her near the dessert table, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "Girl, that dance was fire," she said, handing Sofia a glass of water. "You're in trouble with that one."
"I'm not in anything," Sofia said, but the lie tasted bitter. Mia raised a brow, unconvinced.
"You're allowed to want something, Sof," Mia said, her voice softening. "You're independent, not a nun. Don't let your ex steal that from you."
Sofia sipped the water, her gaze drifting to Rafael across the deck. He was back among his admirers, his playboy smile in place, but his eyes found hers, unwavering. The Miami night felt alive, charged with possibility and danger. Sofia straightened, her girl power resolve hardening. She'd survived Diego, built a life on her own terms. Rafael Torres might be a spark, but she wouldn't let him burn her down. Yet as she turned back to her work, the memory of his touch lingered, a forbidden pull she wasn't sure she could resist.