One Last Dance (19 page)

A shock of awareness ran through
Sophie’s blood at the feel of his hand on the small of her back. Even through
her dress, her body seemed to understand instinctively the importance of the
return of his touch.

She couldn’t resist the urge to
slide her hand up to the nape of his neck and brush the hair there. A muscle in
Henry’s square jaw jumped. His hand pressed her a little tighter against him.
Her breath caught in her throat.

Then they began to move. It was
the way it always was with Henry. She lost herself in his eyes, in the feeling
of being pressed to his muscled body, in the throb of the music around them.

Yet, this was different. This
time was so much more important. This was about more than just the dance, more
even than sex. For Sophie, this was about showing Henry how she felt. Words
were one thing, and she would give them to him if he gave her the chance. But
she could tell him this way, even if he didn’t allow her to talk.

The music’s tempo began to build.
She was glad she’d warmed up a bit with Phillip. Her body moved easily and
fluidly into the more complicated steps of the tango. And, of course, Henry
knew just how to lead her.

Her hips twisted through ochos,
swinging the fabric of her skirt, the tulle brushing her legs sensuously. She
kicked her left leg up high, caressing Henry’s thigh with hers. His nostrils
flared slightly and Sophie couldn’t help but grin wider. It was nice to know
her touch still affected him too. Whatever their tangled feelings were, their
bodies knew what they wanted.

Henry’s thigh was hard between
hers as his feet slid over the polished wood of the dance floor with a soft
shushing sound. Sophie pushed everything but Henry out of her mind. It wasn’t
hard. This close to him, it was hard to think of anything else.

His thumb traced small circles on
the small of her back. Was he doing that on purpose? It felt as if he was
striking matches against her skin, pleasure flaring with each stroke.

The song grew faster and their
movements echoed its rhythm, speeding up. He tilted her suddenly off axis, away
from him, but Sophie’s body didn’t jerk or tense. He wasn’t going to let her
fall. Her heart never even quavered.

She wasn’t disappointed. He swept
around her and then righted her, moving through the simple basic eight
formation for a few steps before once again tilting her, forward this time.
Sophie kept her body straight but supple as Henry dragged her against him. The
sweet tension in Sophie’s body translated perfectly to the dance.

Chin up, breath coming raggedly
as they whirled and twisted, Sophie licked her lips. She put everything she had
into the tap of her toe, the tautness of her frame, the swing of her leg. She
spoke to Henry with each step.

Amagues, caricias, pasada, lustrada,
toque.

I’m sorry, I should have
listened, I know you didn’t tell Nicole about my accident.

His body seemed to be speaking to
her as well, but Sophie was unsure of what he was trying to convey. Or rather,
she was afraid the passion she was sensing, the joy at having her back in his
arms, the eagerness to try again, was just her reading him wrong. She was
afraid her hope that that’s how he would feel was coloring her perception.

Whether or not she was receiving
his non-verbal signals correctly, they still moved together beautifully. They
always did. Whatever tension was between them, whatever mistakes and
misunderstandings, they were never off here on the dance floor.

Their heads and hearts might
stumble, but their bodies never seemed to. They glided over the smooth floor
like water, rippling and swirling. Sophie’s heart thundered in her chest. She
could feel it beating in every vein, every artery, every capillary.  Her
body throbbed with the music, with Henry’s nearness.

It had never been like this. Not with
anyone. Not even with Christian. Every particle of her being was focused on
Henry, the music flowing through him into her. This was what she’d always loved
about dance, this feeling. She’d never experienced it with another person as
intensely as this.

Looking into Henry’s eyes, she
thought he could feel it too. His dark gaze blazed into hers, leaping like
black flame. Sophie could swear she felt his heart beating against her chest,
just as frantic as hers.

It took her more than a full
minute to realize that the music had faded and the thunderous thump ringing in
her ears were cheers and applause. It had been years since she’d heard it. She
blinked, readjusting her focus from the press of Henry’s body along the length
of hers, the inky fire in his eyes, and the pulse of the music, to the room
around them.

Carl was whistling, long fingers
pressed against his lower lip. Army McCullough’s small, pudgy hands were
clapping resoundingly, his palms a pink blur. Sophie grinned, only just
realizing that everyone had cleared off the dance floor, leaving her and Henry
alone on the smooth, wood surface. When had that happened?

Nicole and Jorge, of course, were
both scowling as if Sophie had had the poor taste to strip in the middle of the
cocktail party. She slid her gaze back to Henry’s face, her fingers squeezed
his shoulder. His lashes swept down, that muscle in his jaw jumping again. His
voice was slightly strangled.

“Sophie, what you said the other
day—”

She pressed her fingers to his
lips. “No. Not here. I just... I wanted to ask you to dance for once, to give
to you what you gave back to me.”

His lips parted beneath her
fingers. She resisted the urge to stroke them just barely. She shook her head.
“I want to talk. You know where to find me.”

Sophie lifted her hand, touched
his jaw briefly, and strode away. She smiled, dipping her head in
acknowledgement of the applause, making her way toward the door. Carl caught
her eye and winked. He gave her a thumbs up.

She hoped his optimism wasn’t
unfounded. She’d taken the first step. Now she had to wait and see how Henry
reacted.

The classroom called to her.
Sophie had been planning to wait and see if Henry followed, to be calm and cool
and collected when he arrived, sitting at her small desk and smiling.

But there was too much energy
pumping through her body. She rummaged through the office, glad to find a spare
pair of the soft, stretchy black pants she wore to teach class and a worn
yellow T-shirt from the last Tango World Cup she’d gone to. Sophie struggled
out of the gorgeous red dress and laid it reverently aside to return to Carl.

She wasn’t entirely sure how the
comic had gotten his hands on a designer dress on such short notice, but
clearly Carl Barrett was a good man to know.

“Let’s just hope he knows what
he’s talking about when it comes to his best friend.” Her voice was loud in the
quiet studio, despite her murmur. Henry’s reaction was... puzzling, to say the
least. She’d expected anger—she had said some hurtful things the last time they
spoke, and falsely accused him of betraying her confidences—or maybe happiness
to see her again. What had he meant when he said “You don’t know how much those
words hurt me” over the phone? Did that have anything to do with it?

Aside from his initial surprise at
seeing her, and the silent communication of his body that Sophie was unwilling
to trust just yet, he’d been remarkably quiet. That wasn’t like Henry. He’d
been reserved in the past, but never to the point of near silence.

Sophie wasn’t sure if that was a
good sign or a bad one, and she was too anxious to sit quietly and wait. Her
body was still warm and thrumming from their dance, her mind whirling with
possibilities.

Feet bare, she padded into the
large from classroom and flipped on some of the lights. Not all of them, but
just enough to shed a dim glow in the center of the long, rectangular room.
Though laid out differently, it was not all that unlike the big classroom at
Miss Clara’s, Sophie realized.

Echoes of her past, even here.

Just like she’d done in the
abandoned building, Sophie began to dance. This time she moved to the rhythm of
the tango with a shadow partner, the darkness swirling around her bending and
swaying form. She recalled every turn and step of her dance with Henry vividly.

Even if he didn’t come... even if
she’d burned that bridge too badly with her harsh indictments and refusal to
listen... she would never forget that dance. That feeling had been why she’d
fallen in love with dance to begin with, and she vowed never to let it get away
from her again.

Whatever else Henry had or hadn’t
done, he’d given that back to her. She would be forever grateful. She smiled at
her invisible dance partner, picturing Henry’s strong jawed face, so handsome
and stern with the daring glimmer in his dark eyes.

A sharp pain seized her heart. It
had been more than half an hour since she’d left Carl and Henry at the gallery,
and he still wasn’t here. Perhaps her violent rejection of his words on the
phone had driven him into Nicole’s arms after all. Maybe he wasn’t willing to
take another chance. Could she really blame him?

It had been little more than a
day since she’d told him to leave her alone, and then she showed up at one of
his fancy functions, danced with him as if he were the only man on Earth, and
left. The plan had seemed like a good one in her head.

Words were one thing, but actions
were another. She’d wanted to show Henry—and Nicole, too—that she wasn’t just
going to go away. She wasn’t just going to react anymore. She’d been doing that
for too long. Now, Sophie was acting. She couldn’t control Nicole’s actions, or
Henry’s. Only hers.

Still, he couldn’t read her mind.
Perhaps he hadn’t understood what she’d been trying to  say.

Well, if he wanted to know, he
would have come. She’d done what she’d come back to the city to do. That, at
least, would be one less regret for her to carry around.

From the bench of the piano, her
cell phone rang. She’d been surprised to see the small upright. Darren must
have wheeled it out for one of the classes while she was away. Sophie couldn’t
play, but he did.

“Hello?” She swiped a trickle of
sweat from her neck, surprised by how hard she’d been pushing.

“You’re answering the phone, so
things didn’t go as well as you’d hoped.” Darren’s tone was droll. She could
hear the curved brow in it.

Sophie sat on the piano bench
with a sigh and touched soft fingers to the keys. “Too little, too late, I’m
afraid. I don’t know what I expected.” She heard Wayne murmuring in the
background but couldn’t catch his words. Darren’s response was soft and
sympathetic.

“Did he say anything?”

“I didn’t give him much of a
chance. Maybe this was all a terrible idea. I just thought—”

The soft thunk of the door
closing cut off Sophie’s words. She looked up from the piano keys and directly
into Henry’s shadowed face. He wasn’t smiling. But he was here. He stood in the
doorway, his tuxedo coat open, his bow tie loose at his throat, his hands in
his pockets. The dark wave of his hair looked black as ink above his broad
forehead.

“I have to go, Dar.” She hung up
without hearing if he responded and set the phone on top of the piano.

Sophie got slowly to her feet,
her gaze intent on Henry’s face. His eyes didn’t waver from her either, though
he was too far away for her to read the expression in them.

“I wasn’t sure you would come.”
She took a few steps toward him. Henry’s lips twitched slightly. A smile? A
grimace? Sophie couldn’t say.

“I wasn’t sure I was coming
either, to be honest. Things are... complicated, Sophie.”

A cold finger touched her heart,
but Sophie squared her shoulders. “Then why did you? Why are you here, if
you’re not sure you want to be?”

Now his lips did curve upward,
though this close Sophie could see that the smile didn’t quite touch his eyes.
He inclined his head.

“I saw you through the window,
and I felt compelled.”

The first time he’d come into her
studio, he’d said much the same thing. Sophie’s breath caught. Hope flared in
her chest. Did this mean he was willing to start over? That’s what she wanted,
the chance to begin again, without the scandal looming over their heads,
forcing their hands. She wanted to get to know Henry, see if what they had was
as potent with potential as she’d felt that day before Nicole’s words had torn
down all her carefully built sandcastles of hope.

Sophie took the final step to
close the distance between them, lifting her hands to his lapels. “Henry —”

“Sophie, wait.” His hands came up
to cover hers, gentle and warm. He cleared his throat, a pained expression
tightening the skin around his eyes. “I need to say... I need to say I’m
sorry.”

“No, you don’t! I know it wasn’t
you who told Nicole about my accident. And that stuff in the tabloids... It’s
just nonsense. Isn’t it?” She bit her lip. She believed Carl, and yet she
wanted to hear it from Henry’s own lips.

His head dipped in a short nod.
“Of course it is. Even if I was inclined to get back together with Nicole,
which I am not, I would never do it that way. I...” He swallowed audibly,
dropping her hands and turned to stalk the length of the classroom. He shoved
on hand through his thick hair. “I care about you, Sophie.”

“Henry,” Sophie began, a smile
warming her lips. But the flat, taut expression on his face as he lifted his
gaze to hers stopped it from spreading.

“Let me finish, Sophie. I,” he
cleared his throat. “I care about you too much to keep seeing you. This...
thing between us, all it does it bring you pain. I can’t seem to help but hurt
people... hurt you. And I can’t keep doing it. It would be best for everyone, I
think, if this is the last time we speak.”

His lips were turned down into a
rictus, dark eyes flat and bleak. Sophie shook her head. Ice flowed through
Sophie’s veins at his words. She’d known, deep down, that there was a
possibility she wouldn’t be seeing Henry again after this night. So much had
happened between them in such a short time, there was always the chance that
whatever they had was beyond salvage.

But hearing the words from his
lips cut deep into her, like a poisoned blade. Cold spread over her skin,
originating from her heart.

This couldn’t be it. She’d had
other plans. Even if tonight hadn’t worked, if he hadn’t come, she already had
ideas for how to get him to talk to her. The determination that had seen her
through those first several years of dance before she started winning
competitions, had been blazing through her.

Henry’s words were a chilly rain.

Sophie stared at his face, every
line more familiar to her than any other man’s had ever been, even though it
had been only weeks since she’d first laid eyes on him. The silence of the
studio around them was icy and unquiet. It reminded her of Henry saying that
all the buildings he oversaw felt like tombs.

Memories of that day in the
abandoned building dropped into the pit of her stomach like blocks of wood.
Just what her fire needed.

“No.” The word exploded from her
just as the blaze rekindled in her gut. Henry’s dark brows snapped down over
his straight nose.

“Sophie—”

“
No
. That’s wrong, Henry.
You’re
wrong.” She stamped her bare foot, the slapping sound not as authoritative as
she was hoping. “This... you... have brought me so much more than pain. Don’t
you see?” She swept her arm at the studio. “Before you, this place was just my
job. Ever since my accident, dance was something that I had lost. I did this
because... after so long, what else was I supposed to do? But I had no joy in
it. It... it was like I had not only lost my love, but I was being forced to
teach the endless parade of lovers after me how to love him. It was
torture!
”

Tears stung her eyes, slipping
down her cheeks. Sophie had never admitted how deeply she’d been hurting, even
to herself. Her throat was clogged with anger. Henry flinched as if her words
were arrows.

“I’m sorry,” He said, dropping
his eyes. “I had no idea it was like that for you.”

“Well, it was. And then you walk
through that door and ask me to dance, and... Henry.” She crossed the distance
between them in three quick strides and gripped his face, forcing him to meet
her eyes. She felt as if hers must be glowing, so fierce was the fire inside her.
“When I got injured, I swore to myself I would dance again. But when
Christian... when my partner, the man I loved and danced with, left me, I gave
up. I thought that thrill that I’d always felt in front of the crowds was lost
to me forever. Until you took me in your arms.”

He drew away from her, lashes
dipping over his eyes. “I—”

“I’m not willing to give it up
again, Henry. Not again. Not because of Nicole’s jealousies, or your father’s
machinations, or your business rival’s disapproval, or even because of your
damn insecurities.” She fisted her hands at her sides and lifted her chin.

“Don’t do this, Sophie. It’s not
good for you.” Henry’s hands were fisted too. “I’m not good for you.” The
anguish in his eyes was real. He wasn’t just saying the words. He believed
them. Sophie grabbed him again, gripping his shoulders this time, as if she
could force the truth of her words through his suit and into his skin.

“You’re the best thing that’s
ever happened to me, Henry Medina, and damn it, I’m not giving you up! We’ve
both made mistakes, but anything worth having is worth working for... And I’m
sure as hell going to work to make you see that this, what we have, is worth
it. You care about me?”

“Sophie, I...” He trailed off,
shaking his head.

She curled her fingers into his
shirt, tugging. “Do you?”

“Yes,” he ground out. “I care
about you.”

“Well, I love you. And I don’t
feel like stopping.”

She yanked him down to her,
pushing up on her tiptoes, crushing his mouth with hers.