Her partner kept up with her, his young, lithe body supple and eager as he smiled at her appreciatively. As the rhythms changed from fast to slow, then back, they danced face-to-face, eyes meeting, movements alternately inviting and then rejecting. She felt free, released, as her feet kept the rhythm, her body a lissome flame in her yellow silk gown, copper hair atop her head slowly coming loose from the careful coils to drift around her face, cling damply to her neck.

Despite the slight chill of the night, it grew hot as she danced, aware, womanlike, of the glances of admiration she received from the men watching, aware of Señor Valdez sitting still in the corner and watching her so intently. Oh, let him watch her. She did not care. It had been so long since she had been in Mexico, much too long since she had allowed herself to dance like this, with the driving tempo of the music filling her body and blotting out everything but the rhythm.

Her partner grew bolder, closer, the edge of his short jacket almost brushing against her breasts as they danced, until she stepped back, whirling away from him. His black eyes reflected hot flames, speculative and admiring.

“¡Caramba! But you are magnificent!”

Ginny smiled distractedly, lost in music and memories of other times, lost in dreams. Night chill was banished by the feverish steps of the dance. Her skirts whirled around her legs, up above her knees, as her feet moved in steps so familiar to her, from one partner to another.

As the circle of dancers widened, the black-eyed youth was replaced by another man, older but with the same hot gaze. Lanterns flickered and bobbed, casting patches of light over the patio and dancers while, beyond the low stone wall that encompassed the courtyard, shadows cloaked the street. A pale sliver of moon snagged on a distant mountain peak, a crescent of light between shreds of cloud.

Despite the cool night air she was flushed with heat from her exertions; perspiration damped her gown so that it clung damply to her curves, the thin material like a second skin.

Like a firefly among lanterns, she flitted from partner to partner, losing herself in the dance, in the heady rush of memories that accompanied her return to Mexico where so much of her life had been changed. It was both exhilarating and melancholy at the same time, these memories of her past, the past she had shared with Steve, and the future that was theirs.

I have to have faith in us she thought distractedly, I have to have faith in Steve….

“Beautiful lady,” a low voice as smooth as fine brandy murmured in her ear. She looked up to see the tall man from Señor Valdez’s table taking the place of her last partner. She whirled away, ignoring him, but too aware of his eyes on her, black and reflecting light from torches.