Maureen Child - The Last Santini Virgin

Gina gulped in a breath, pushed that thought right out of her head and concentrated on the present situation. The overhead fluorescent lights seemed to blur slightly as they danced. On the hardwood floor, the colorful shadows of the moving couples swayed and dipped as if there were another world beneath the floor and Gina and Nick, as well as all the others, were the actual reflections.

“You know, we’re getting pretty good at this,” he murmured, and his voice rumbled along her spine.

“Don’t get cocky,” she warned just before they stumbled slightly.

He scowled at her. “A little positive thinking wouldn’t be out of line, here.”

A little rhythm wouldn’t hurt, either, she thought, but didn’t say. Why was he doing this? she wondered for probably the hundredth time since being assigned Nick Paretti as a dance partner. She had a perfectly good reason for being there, of course. She loved dancing. At least she had until recently.

But he was a mystery. A big, burly Marine, from his military-cut, black hair to the spit shine on his exceptionally heavy shoes, he just didn’t seem the type to sign up for dance class. Hand grenades, yes. Waltzes, no.

Plus, he was way too good-looking for comfort. Black hair, piercing blue eyes, square jaw; a nose that looked as though it had been smacked once or twice—she could understand why—and a mouth that could curve into a mocking smile that practically curled her toes.

Oh, my.

The music ended, and Gina stepped back out of his arms. Instantly she felt the loss of him and told herself it meant nothing. She was simply used to the feel of him pressed against her.

“That went well, I think,” their teacher, Mrs. Stanton, called from her spot at the edge of the dance floor. The woman’s bright-blond hair was swept back into a tight knot at the top of her head, and as she walked into the crowd of dancers, her full skirt swished and swirled around her knees. “Most of you seem to be progressing nicely,” she added, then shot Nick a look that was pure female admiration, and Gina wanted to kick something. “But, ladies, you must remember to trust your partner. The dance floor is not the place for a battle of the sexes.”

“Hmm,” Nick wondered aloud. “You suppose she meant that one for you?”

“Don’t you have to invade a country somewhere?” Gina asked sweetly.

He laughed and shook his head.

“Now, class,” Mrs. Stanton said as she walked back toward the small stereo set up in the corner, “the cha-cha.”

“Oh, man…” Nick’s disgusted groan was just the thing to cheer Gina up.

“What’s the matter, General? Scared?” she asked.

“Sergeant. Gunnery Sergeant, as a matter of fact.” He gave her a glare. “I’ve mentioned it a time or two already.”

She shrugged. “Like it matters.”

“Lady,” he said, inhaling deeply enough to swell his already broad chest to massive proportions. “You are—”

“Better at the cha-cha than you?” she said, interrupting him.

He gave her a fierce scowl. “That’ll be the day.”

“Why, General,” Gina said with a grin, “I do believe that’s a challenge.”

“Take it any way you want,” he said, and reached out to grab her.

“Oh, very smooth,” Gina taunted as he pulled her closely against him.

“You know,” he said thoughtfully as he stared down into her eyes, “you’re the reason there is a battle of the sexes.”

Gina put her left hand on his shoulder and slipped her right hand into his left. “Right. Gina Santini is the mother of all problems between the sexes.”

“Not you personally,” he continued, and held her right hand a little tighter than necessary. “Women like you.”

“Ah,” she said with a nod and a teasing smile, “women who don’t swoon at you warrior types?”

He took a deep breath, blew it out again and asked, “Are we going to dance or what?”

She batted her eyelashes at him and said, “I’m waiting for you. You’re the fearless leader, remember?”

Grumbling under his breath, Nick started moving to the rhythm of the music. Gina concentrated on following his lead rather than trying to plot their course around the floor. She knew he hated the cha-cha, but she loved it. There was something about the way he held her for this dance. The way their hips moved against each other.

Uh-oh. Better not go there.

They executed a turn, and she silently admitted that her generation was missing a lot with all of the wild, contortionist dances that were so popular now. There was so much more to be said for the closeness of ballroom dancing.

Too much, really, she thought as she felt Nick’s pelvis move against her. Fires stirred within and she closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them again, she met his gaze and saw flickers of heat shifting in his eyes. One of his hands dropped to the curve of her behind, and Gina would have sworn she felt the brand of each of his fingertips.

“Much better, Sergeant and Gina,” Mrs. Stanton called out as they cha-cha’d past her.

Gina automatically stiffened her spine and lifted her chin.

“Teacher’s pet,” Nick mumbled with a brief smile.

“Delinquent,” she muttered.

“How’d you guess?”

“What?”

“That I was a delinquent when I was a kid.”

Was he serious? He practically had Bad Boy stenciled on his forehead. “I’m psychic.”

“Too bad you’re not a tall psychic,” he said.

Five foot five wasn’t exactly an amazon, but she didn’t qualify for kids’ ticket prices at the movies, either. “I’m not short,” she told him. “You’re abnormally tall.”

“I’m only six-four, which is hardly Godzilla.”

“Depends on your point of view.”

He blew out an exasperated sigh. “I wasn’t trying to start World War III,” he complained. “I’m just saying I’m getting a crick in my neck looking down at you.”

“Well looking up all night isn’t a picnic, ya know.”

Ridiculous to argue over nothing, but it was certainly safer than concentrating on how he was making her feel. Their hips moved against each other again, and Gina flushed, her body awakening to the closeness of Nick’s.

Was dancing supposed to be this sexy? Nick wondered as he pressed Gina even closer to him, hoping as he did so that she couldn’t feel the arousal tightening the fit of his slacks. She felt so small, so defenseless in his arms. Yet even as that thought entered his mind, he wanted to chuckle. Gina? Defenseless? Yeah, like a hungry tiger.

This tiny woman was able to give as good as she got, and he’d found himself almost looking forward to their three-times-a-week shoot-outs. She had a smart-alecky, completely kissable mouth, a compact body that curved in all the right places and a head harder than his.

All in all, just the kind of woman he’d be interested in if he was looking for a woman, which he wasn’t. Now he supposed most men wouldn’t be captivated by a woman who argued anything at the drop of a stick. But Nick had been raised in a good old-fashioned Italian family, where love was measured in octaves reached while yelling.

His mother had told him once that arguments were the spice of married life. And if she’d been telling the truth, then his folks had had one spicy marriage for the past thirty-six years. He smiled to himself as memories crowded into his brain. His two brothers, his parents and himself, seated at the dinner table, arguing about politics, religion, history or even, on a slow day, who was stronger, Superman or Mighty Mouse. The Paretti house was loud, but it was happy.

The cha-cha ended, and the couples on the floor slowly stopped, turning toward Mrs. Stanton, awaiting instructions. Nick dropped Gina’s hand, then curled his own fingers into a fist so he didn’t notice how empty his hand felt without hers in it.