One Last Dance
Authors: Angela Stephens
One Last Dance
by
Angela Stephens
Copyright © 2013
All
rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or
transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or
other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of
the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical
reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Copyright © 2013
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any
resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Warning: This work contains explicit sexual scenes nature
and it is written for adults only.
Contents
Chapter One
Sometimes, Sophie wished that she
had never learned how to dance.
It was the sensual cadence of the
tango that had first made Sophie fall in love. The sound of feet sliding on
wood, the rhythmic scuff of soles and taps of heels, the controlled breathing
of two people in such close proximity, leaning into each other, utterly
dependent on their partners to make the dance work were all things that had
once stirred Sophie’s heart. Even now, when the sound was a reminder of the
ability she had lost, she was still drawn to it. Sometimes, it almost made her
forget. But she could never forget. At just age twenty-five, her career as a
dancer was already over.
Her fingers tightened on the
handle of her black wood cane. She loathed the thing, would have thrown it into
the nearest fire if Darren hadn’t insisted she use it. She refused to walk with
it, absolutely refused, but she would acquiesce to her friend in this one
instance: she would use the cane when teaching a class, if she wasn’t
demonstrating steps, to take some of the weight off her left knee. Now, she
used it to tap the beat out against the wood floor. At least it was good for
that.
“You have to feel the music and
let your body react!” she called to the class. “Listen to it! Don’t think!” She
rapped the cane harder against the floor, watching as each pair moved in front
of her in the harsh, sterile white light of the dance studio. This evening’s
class was an intermediate one, so the dancers were familiar with the steps but
not yet fluid in their movement.
“They’re not hopeless,” Darren
muttered in her ear. “Well,” he qualified, “not
totally
.”
Sophie bit back a smile. The
classes at this level were reserved for people with a real interest. Of course,
when faced with the harder lessons, their interest would often fade. Only a
rare few found a real passion for the dance and went on to her advanced
classes.
“Okay, stop!” she called, rapping
the cane on the floor once, loudly. The couples froze. She scanned the room,
doing her best to ignore the stream of people walking by on the sidewalk
outside the large front windows. She still wasn’t quite used to the more than
occasional gawkers who stopped to watch the dancers on the other side of the
glass. Darren was the one who’d suggested the floor to ceiling windows along
the front of the studio to gain the business some exposure. He’d been right.
Not that all the classes they offered were booked full, but enough of them were
that she was operating in the black, due in no small part to their walk-in
clientele.
“Men, you have to make her feel
confident in your support. If she doesn’t feel that the support is there, she
won’t let you bear her. And ladies, you have to learn to let go. Follow your
leader.
Trust
him.” The words sent a small lance of pain under her ribs,
but Sophie ignored it. “Now, try it again.”
She watched them closely for the
smallest misstep and found it quickly. “Wait, wait.” She waved her hand in
exasperation. Once again, the dancers paused. She motioned Darren over.
“I can’t stress enough how
important the embrace is,” Sophie said. Darren lifted his arms and she stepped
into him but didn’t place her hands in his just yet. “Men, with your left hand
you have to be doing your Shakespeare. Darren?”
He rolled his eyes at her but
turned his left palm toward himself and intoned solemnly, “‘Oh, that I were a
glove upon that hand.’” The sober expression cracked and a broad grin spread
across his handsome face, his dirty blond hair tumbling over his dark green
eyes. “I would be kid leather and cost a fortune!”
Sophie sighed, shaking her head
at him. She loved her friend but his inability to remain serious for any length
of time could be trying. “Thank you, Darren. Guys, you see how he’s holding his
hand? Your palm should be facing you, wrist turned in. In order for this to be
comfortable for your partner, you really have to hold her close. Keep that
other hand on her back. Support her.”
Darren slid his right arm around
her, his broad hand cupping her shoulder blade. Sophie glanced at the students,
making sure they were observing. “You have to have some tension in your arms,
guys. If you don’t, your partner won’t know where you’re going.” She nodded at
Darren and he swayed just a little, showing how his motion was transferred to
her through the frame of his hold.
“Ladies, you can’t be limp
noodles either. Keep those muscles tight, but your wrist relaxed. Rest your arm
along his, fingers on his shoulder. Let him draw you against his chest and
brace you.” Sophie matched actions to words.
“Now, once you’re in his embrace,
when he moves, you move. The two of you come together to make the dance. If you
aren’t completely together, there is no dance. Watch.”
Sophie took a deep breath,
gritting her teeth, and nodded to Darren again. He began to move slowly at
first. She followed, stepping back as he stepped forward, twisting her hips,
forcing her breath slowly in and out. Her body moved mechanically. Sophie knew
these steps in her sleep, and Darren was a very competent partner, an
accomplished dancer in his own right. They were comfortable with each other,
which allowed her mind to focus entirely on her left knee. If it showed the
slightest sign of buckling, even just a twinge, she would immediately halt the
dance. The last thing she needed was to fall in front of her students.
Darren was pushing her today,
tipping her off her axis in a series of complex volcados, leading her into a
molinete. Her heart pumped a little harder, bringing a flush to her cheeks.
There was a time when it would have been a flush of joy, anticipation. Now, it
was just anxiety. The harder he pushed, the more likely her knee was to give
out. Still, she reacted almost instinctively to his lead, kicking her leg up
and sliding it around his thigh.
Her knee throbbed at the added
weight. She froze, pulling out of Darren’s embrace with a small, fierce tug and
turning back to the class. Her friend let go, but she didn’t miss his look of
worry.
“You see,” she said to the class.
“No matter what, the embrace must be strong. It’s the foundation of the dance.
Ladies, lean down into your partner on the volcados. Not flat against him. He
isn’t a brick wall.”
There were several soft chuckles
in response. She stiffened her back as her leg gave another throb, praying her
knee wouldn’t give way. Darren caught her eyes, winking, and a small bit of
tension eased from her. “Okay, let’s start again. We’ll try it with the music
this time.” She clicked her remote and the spicy beat of tango music filled the
room.
Darren leaned down as she watched
the couples begin moving together again. “Okay?”
“Just a twinge,” she muttered
under her breath. She felt him turn his head and study her, but kept her eyes
on the class, and Darren knew better than to push it.
***
After the class was over and
people had dispersed back to their homes, Darren approached again. “You know
when your knee goes like that, it’s okay to sit down.”
Sophie grimaced. “Obviously I
made it through the class, so I didn’t need to sit,” she said. “They have to
trust that I know what I’m doing. Nobody wants to learn to dance from a
cripple.”
“Honey, you’re far from a
cripple.”
She glared. Of course she wasn’t
a cripple, but she wasn’t able to do everything she used to be able to do
either, and for a dancer that was pretty close.
Darren sighed. “Just keep it in
mind, Soph. I’m going to lock up. The dinner Wayne made is probably cold by
now.”
Sophie laughed. “Noted. Must be
nice, having a man cook for you. I think I’m going to do some stretches before
I head home.”
“Great. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
As Darren headed for reception to
lock the front doors, Sophie stood and crossed to the ballet bar. Gripping it
in both small hands, she began some slow stretches, focusing on loosening up
the tightness in her knee joint. With some difficulty, she lifted her leg onto
the bar and bent over it, stretching her hamstring.
She heard the front door open and
paused, listening for the sound of Darren’s voice. There was a low, polite
sounding murmur—Darren greeting the walk-in—and then a deeper reply. Though she
couldn’t hear her assistant’s words, she detected a note of awe and apology in
his tone. The other voice, low and smoky, became more urgent. The sound seemed
to settle against her skin like cashmere, luxurious and tantalizing.
Sophie lowered her leg and made
her way carefully toward reception. Who could that voice belong to?
The man talking to Darren looked
like someone used to getting his way. He was tall, over six feet, with broad
shoulders and a narrow waist. His hair was jet black, stylishly cut and thrown
back from his wide forehead in beautiful waves. It framed a face that belonged
on a bust in the classical wing of a museum, with its wide jaw, full, chiseled
lips and a long nose with the slightest bump in the middle. In the last
afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows, his olive skin seemed
burnished with an inner glow.
More than his appearance though,
it was his demeanor that set Sophie’s heart beating quicker. His movements were
slow and confident, those of a man who knew his place and his effect on
others. He stood with his shoulders back but still fluid, not like a soldier so
much as an athlete. A dancer, maybe. Sophie’s eyes travelled up from his
expensive leather shoes to his tasteful grey slacks, cut slim to accentuate his
long legs and perfectly shaped ass, and from there to his black button down
shirt, unbuttoned near the top to show his impressive chest. Definitely not
something he wore to work. Definitely sexy.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Darren said,
“but the studio is closed for the night.”
The man’s heavy black brows rose
a fraction of an inch, and he inclined his head slightly. “I don’t mind. I’ll
wait.”
“But there’s nothing to wait
for
.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
Sophie stood in the doorway
between the front classroom and reception, heart doing its own set of ochos in
her chest. Her skin prickled all over with heat in a way it hadn’t in a long
time, since Christian, maybe. But this man wasn’t like Christian. Christian had
been handsome the way a model was handsome. He looked great, but the real thing
was about as good as a picture. This man’s confidence seemed to indicate
that he could make money without relying on his looks, although he was
definitely gorgeous.
He looked at his watch, an
impressive silver piece that looked expensive. Sophie guessed it was an Omega.
She watched the way his shirt slid over his chest as he moved his arm back down
to his side. It fit his impressive physique snugly. She wanted to run her hands
over it, though she wasn’t entirely sure if it was because of the look of the
fabric, or the man. What did this gorgeous stranger want with her little dance
studio?
“There was a woman teaching the
last class. Blonde hair in a ponytail. I would like to speak with her,” the
stranger said.
Darren gave a soft sigh. “Ms.
Becker has gone home for the—”
Whatever this man wanted, he
really wanted it, and it was worth finding out what it was. Sophie decided to
step in before this dark stranger physically moved Darren aside. “That’s okay,
Darren,” she cut in. “You can lock up. We’ll be fine here.”
Darren’s blond brows rose
sharply. He cut a look at the man, eyeing his tall form, and then looked back
to her. Sophie bit back a snort, amusement at her friend mixing with the
attraction she held in her chest.
She gave him a slight nod. Darren
studied her face a moment longer and then shrugged. She turned back to the
stranger, surprised to find that he’d wandered into the classroom.
“Sophie,” Darren whispered. “You
sure you don’t want me to wait?”
She shook her head. “Just arm the
front door. I’ll take care of the rest.”
***
When she was sure Darren was
gone, she followed the stranger back into the classroom. Darren had turned off
half the bank of overhead lights when he’d exited earlier, leaving the room
bathed in a dim glow. She watched the man as he stood in the center of the
room, dark eyes scanning and cataloging everything.
Sophie took a deep breath,
willing her frantic heart to calm. “What can I do for you, Mr...”
He spun on his heel, the move
smooth and agile, until he faced her. “It is you. I knew it.”
Sophie’s head spun. She would
know if she’d seen this man before. “I’m sorry? Do I know you from somewhere?”
“Buenos Aires.”
A shock went through her system.
That was a city she knew well.
“I saw you dance in a competition
and you had more
pasión
than I had ever seen.”
He had no accent, yet the way he
said
pasión
showed he knew the language, and
probably tango.
Sophie felt a jolt in her stomach and her shoulders
slouched. She wasn’t expecting another reminder of her past from a stranger. A
reminder of a time before her knee had betrayed her. Whatever he was expecting,
it was from a past version of herself. He would be disappointed by the present
Sophie. “I’m sorry, Mr.—”
“Henry. Please just call me
Henry.”
“Okay then, Henry,” she said,
shaping the syllables with her tongue and lips. “I appreciate the compliment,
but that was a long time ago. Why did you come in here tonight?”
His gaze rested on her mouth as
she spoke his name and again she felt that flare of heat on her face. A slow,
crooked smile spread across his sensual lips, his mouth turning up at one
corner and revealing a deep dimple. “I saw you through the window and I felt
compelled. I’ve wanted to see you dance since that night, but I couldn’t find
any of your performances. Then tonight as I’m walking down the sidewalk I see
you teaching a class. You’ve been under my nose this whole time.”
The stab of pain in her stomach
intensified. That she could have such an effect on a man this beautiful was so
flattering, and yet realizing that the dancer who had created that effect was
no longer able to dance devastated her. She needed to get him out of here
before she began to cry. “Henry—”
“Dance with me.”
“I beg your pardon?” Did he
really think he could come into her studio and dance with her because he saw
her in the window? Because he had seen her at a competition once? “If you’d
like lessons, I’m happy to give you a schedule. We have new classes starting
all the time.”
He was already stalking over to
the chair at the front of the room and the loathsome cane propped against it.
She saw him pluck something from the seat and realized it was her iPod remote.
“I don’t want dance lessons. I want to dance with you.”
“I’ve had a full day. And I don’t
give out free private lessons.”
His thick brows rose. “I’ll pay
double your normal rate. For the whole hour. One dance and I’ll leave.” He
pointed the remote at the iPod dock and waited, gaze steady.
He couldn’t be serious. “Does
that normally work? The ‘double your rate’ bit?”
“I wouldn’t know. First time I’ve
used it.”
So he was a charmer. Sophie’s
thoughts went to her knee. She wiggled her leg a bit to test its strength. It
felt fine, which was strange given the pain she had been in earlier. Her
attention returned to the beautiful man in front of her. The urgency that had
emerged in his eyes left her startled. “Well I can tell you. It doesn’t.”
His hand dropped, but his gaze
remained fixed on her, his dark eyes searching. They travelled down her body,
and Sophie thought for a moment she felt his eyes linger on her bad knee, but
they returned quickly to her face. “No? What about this: when I saw you dance
in Buenos Aires, I felt your
pasión
. I felt connected to you, like I knew
you just by watching you move. I feel that again today, and I have to know if
we have that connection.”
He stepped toward her, stopping a foot in front of her. His
eyes locked again with hers. “So I’m going to say it again. Dance with me.
Please.”
His close proximity brought a new
warmth to her body, and Sophie was surprised to find she had begun to grow wet
between her legs. She knew the connection he was talking about. It was
something she had felt with Christian when they had danced, and as she thought
about it she realized it was something she shared with the gorgeous creature in
front of her. Henry. She tasted the unspoken syllables in her mouth, wondered what
it would be like to scream them.
She snapped out of her reverie
and dropped her eyes down to the skin exposed at Henry’s open collar. A shake
of her leg showed her knee was fine. “Henry—”
His hot breath was in her hair as
he stepped forward. “I will pay you ten times your normal hourly rate. One
dance, that’s all I’m asking for.”
She looked up and saw his
expression. If eyes could be on fire, his dark eyes were blazing. For her. “You
don’t even know my rate,” she said quietly.
He smiled. “Whatever it is, it
doesn’t matter.” His hand came up for her in perfect form, just as Darren’s had
earlier.
One more check of her knee. It
felt good.
What the hell
, she thought. It was worth one dance: the
money—she would have to make up her private rate—and to know if this handsome
man she had just met could connect with her in a way no one had in a long time.
“One dance,” she said.
She lay her hand in his grip, a
shock of arousal flashing through her as their palms touched. His broad hand
curled around her fingers, dwarfing the slender digits in his warm clasp, and
drew her closer. The music started. “Thank you,” he whispered into her ear. His
breath sent a pleasant shock through her system.
Sophie’s hand slid instinctively
up his arm and came to a rest on his shoulder. His right arm slipped around her
back, his long fingers brushing tantalizingly against her left side. He pulled
her even closer, twining her hand in his. She was achingly aware of the press
of her breasts against his broad, hard chest through the thin cotton of her
t-shirt.
He moved fluidly backward,
drawing her with him into the basic steps of the tango. Though he stuck to the
simple configuration for the first several revolutions, it was clear he didn’t
need lessons. Sophie blinked up at him, startled by the graceful glide of his
movements. His eyes were a much darker shade of brown than hers, nearly black.
She was suddenly caught in them, unable to look away, as if the shiny pupil of
his eye was really the tar it appeared to be and she was stuck fast.
She drew in a quick breath, heart
whirling, as he began to lead her in some more complex combinations. He
sandwiched her, pushing her foot to spin her into a set of backward ochos.
Sophie’s heart began to beat in time with the music as he pulled her back into
him, his hard thigh pressing between her legs.
The contact sent a ripple of
excitement into her belly. If she’d been wearing one of her competition
dresses, he would not have been so fully against her inner thigh, but in the
soft, stretchy yoga pants she wore to teach class, she could feel the heat of
his skin as if nothing separated them.
She brought her left leg up in a
thigh stroke and saw a flare of fire in those inky irises. The look in his eyes
wasn’t focus, it was absorbtion. It had been a long time since she’d been in a
man’s arms like this. She danced a few steps here or there with Darren to
illustrate proper form or execution, but that was as similar as acting in a
play was to living life. Clasped against his hard, warm body, Sophie shivered.
She needed to say something before she completely melted in this stranger’s
embrace.
“I’m Sophie, by the way,” she
breathed, biting at her lower lip at how inane the words sounded to her own
ears. She gritted her teeth slightly, trying to bite back any more conversation
and just concentrate on the music. It was an impossible task. The feel of his
hand on her back, thumb softly stroking her side, was too distracting. As was
the glide of his legs between and around hers. His powerful body moved nimbly
to the beat of the music. He said nothing.
Arms around his neck for a
complicated drag she hadn’t attempted in ages, Sophie felt the puff of his
exhalation against her mouth. She blinked rapidly, scenting peppermint on his
breath. When she managed to pull her eyes away from his, they dropped to the
full, sensual curve of his lower lip. She watched the corners tick up slightly,
only really becoming aware that he’d tilted her into a volcado when she
realized she’d used her left leg for a series of rapid embellishments she
hadn’t done since her competition days.
The music came to an end as he
tipped her back up onto her feet and drew her in close once again. Sophie’s
hand was pressed between his shoulder blades. The very edges of his fingertips
just barely brushed the curve of her breast. She shuddered, once more raising
her eyes to his.
His head was bent slightly, a
lock of dark hair that had come loose during their dance hanging over his
forehead. His lips were mere inches from hers. She felt his cool breath against
her mouth and trembled, her lashes fluttering. He was bending his lips slowly
closer...
“Hey Soph, I forgot to—” she
heard Darren say. She spun around to find him at the entrance, green eyes wide.
He shook his head. “Forgot to say goodnight. Goodnight!” He scurried out
of the room and was gone before either of them could say anything.
She had been that close to
kissing a stranger after one dance. That was a definite no-no. What had gotten
into her? This guy was probably used to asking for a dance and ending up doing
the horizontal variety. Not exactly a gentleman. It was time to nip this in the
bud. He was obviously expecting her to be a different kind of girl. She took a
step back. “Did you just try and kiss me?”
Henry stepped toward the door and
picked up her business card from the table beside the entrance before looking
at her. For the millionth time since she had seen him, Sophie admired the
sculpted features of his face. “I’d like to dance with you again, but I know
I’ve given you a lot to think about. Sleep on it and let me know what you
decide when I call tomorrow. One hour, once a week, my place. I’ll pay
anything you want.”
