Kristin Hardy - Hot Moves

Brady didn’t know how but he wanted—no needed—to be near her, touching her, tasting her, discovering the scent of that smooth neck, the taste of that full mouth that looked like some kind of ripe, exotic fruit. He stared at her face, her eyes as the pair whirled past. Wide and lovely, they drew him in, mesmerized him. Then she closed them as she abandoned herself to the dance.

The dancers spun, their steps now slow, now quick, circling around one another. They intertwined their legs in a stylized sequence that was the next best thing to foreplay. Unable to look away, Brady stared, his body tight with need. She was pressed to her partner, a teasing half smile on her face as they stepped ever closer to the edge of the crowd. Her eyes flicked open and she stared directly into Brady’s.

And this time, his heart really did stop.

IT WAS WHEN SHE DANCED the tango that Thea felt truly free. She’d draw the silk of one of her dresses over her skin and it would begin, the throb of arousal, the choreography of need. And when the dance began, nothing else mattered. She existed only for the rhythm, for the steps, her body flowing into the movements that became merely extensions of the music.

If the waltz was about romance, tango was about passion, the dance of lovers. For so long she’d existed without any touch but a quick hug from friends and family—and the contact of the dance. Torso to torso, thigh to thigh, the tango somehow refilled the dry well of her soul, renewing her week after week, allowing her to go on.

The night was warm, the stars just beginning to emerge. The seduction of the music eddied through her system. Eyes closed, she concentrated only on the steps and lead of her partner, the light touch of arm, the firm press of hands. She let the dance take control and in doing so be came something more than she was, a woman who could trust without fear, feel without consequences.

She felt the stir of longing. Not for her partner, Paul—a myopic shoe salesman with a wife and three kids—but for the touch of a man, the feel of a body against hers for the sake of her, not for the sake of a dance.

Paul pulled her to a stop near the crowd. Thea flicked her leg around his in a gancho , snapping her head to the side to stare at the people.

And heat punched through her. She swayed, lips parting in shock. And she stared, stunned, even when the dance whirled her away.

He stood at the fringe, part of the crowd, but separate. His gaze fixed on hers with a naked wanting that snatched the breath from her lungs. In the dim light, she couldn’t see the color of his eyes. It didn’t matter: blue or brown, gray or green, she could see, feel, sense the desire. He stood a distance away but she could have been in his arms. Suddenly all the unfocused need she felt, all the passion she’d always invested in the dance, coalesced. Paul’s touch became the feel of this unknown stranger.

Paul spun her back into the center of the circle. She obeyed his lead, swiveling left and right before him teasingly, though it was the stranger she moved for. She and Paul stalked each other in the ritualized pursuit of the dance but it was the stranger she wanted. It was the stranger whose touch she craved.

And he never stopped watching her. In the final throes of the routine, she was conscious, always conscious of his gaze and of the arousal that flared within her.

She hardly noticed the end of the song, only that she and Paul were bowing to the crowd amid the surge of applause.

Thea knew what she was to do next. This was a milonga designed to recruit more tango enthusiasts for the Portland Tango Club. The showcase was to get them excited about the possibilities; the subsequent impromptu lessons for the onlookers were meant to show them that they could do it, too.

The stranger didn’t look like the type who’d be interested in tango. Tall and rangy in jeans and a black T-shirt, he looked more like a guy who spent his time outdoors, hiking, mountain biking, skiing.

Anyway, she was being ridiculous. It was a glance across a dance floor, nothing more. It was the kind of thing people—guys—did all the time, she reminded herself. He probably hadn’t even thought twice about it. The only reason it spoke to her was that she didn’t have anything even remotely resembling a personal life.

Pathetic, she thought, glancing toward the river. Besides, it wasn’t as if she was looking to get caught up with a guy. She was only here for a short job. The strange interlude was best forgotten. She swallowed and turned to where he’d been standing.

Only to find him directly behind her.

“Nice dance.”

His eyes were green, she saw in the fading light, deepset, a little sleepy-eyed. His wasn’t a conventionally handsome face. The features were too strong: an aggressive nose, sharp cheekbones pushing out against the skin of his angular face. Humor lingered around the corners of his mouth, though, humor and promise from lips that looked way too intriguing. Her heart pumped faster in her chest.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it. You like tango?”

“I’m getting a new appreciation for it by the minute,” he said, giving her a look that had her cheeks warming. “You two were something. Have you been dancing together long?”

“Oh, about four hours.” At his surprised expression, she laughed. “I’m visiting. This was a last-minute thing we threw together.”

“Don’t even try to tell me that you just learned tango today.”

Thea nibbled her lip. “Would you buy it?”

His glance sharpened with some special attention. “Right now, I’d buy about anything you tried to sell me,” he said. “I’m Brady, by the way.”

“I’m Thea. And the answer is no. I’ve been dancing for about eight years.”

“You’ve been using the time well.”

This time, she definitely blushed—she knew it because she saw his grin.

Up front, Robyn turned on the microphone. “Thea, Paul, thanks for that showcase. We’re going to go through another figure before the free dance, so if you’re interested in learning some tango instead of watching, pair up with a partner and let’s get started.”

Brady’s eyes glimmered. “I guess now’s my chance to get you to show me some of those hot moves.”

Thea eyed him. “Why do I think you already know all the hot moves you need. Or is it the smooth moves?”

He laughed loudly. “Oh, now that was harsh. For that, you have to teach me.” He stepped toward her and raised his hands.

He worked for a living, she thought, staring at them. They were long-fingered, strong, his forearms sinewy and tanned. And she suddenly found herself wondering what it would be like to dance with him, to have those hands on her, to be pressed against his body so tightly that not even air came between them. Why not, she thought suddenly. She was supposed to draw new students. Why shouldn’t she touch him, feel him, let him touch her? See what he was made of.

Besides, it was only part of the dance.

“All right, everyone,” Robyn was saying. “Line up in pairs, ladies facing me, gentlemen with your backs to me.” She walked them through the steps, first the gentlemen, then the ladies. It gave Thea the opportunity to study her new partner.

Lean, balanced, Brady moved with a deceptively careless grace. He didn’t seem to be focused on Robyn’s direction but he caught on to the steps immediately. And when Thea began moving through the ladies’ sequence, he stood, hands on his hips, watching her. “You don’t need to stare,” she said once as the step took her past him.

“I’m paying attention. I figure I might learn a thing or two.” His tone was light, but the heat in his eyes sent something skittering around in her stomach.

“Okay,” Robyn said. “Now that we know the basic step, let’s get into dance position and try it out. Stand opposite your partners. Ladies, put your left hand on the gentleman’s shoulder.”