Hot Moves. Kristin Hardy
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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.”
He stepped closer. “Now, about that paying attention,” he murmured and Thea’s pulse bumped and sped up.
He was tall, she realized. She stood nearly six foot in her bare feet and had grown accustomed to towering over men, especially in high-heeled dance shoes. With Brady, she found herself looking up.
Taking a breath, she put her hand on his shoulder. And swallowed. It didn’t matter that she was only touching the cotton of his shirt. Somehow, all she was conscious of was the feel of the hard rise of muscle beneath.
“Gentlemen, put your right hand on the lady’s shoulder blade.”
His gaze fixed on hers, Brady pressed his hand in place and it was all she could do not to gasp.
He flashed a wicked smile. “Sorry, is my hand cold?”
It wasn’t cold at all, and he damned well knew it. Heat spread out from the extravagance of the fingers spread on her bare skin. It felt startlingly intimate. They were in public, among a throng of people. So how was it that she could only think of darkened bedrooms, of how it would feel to have that hand slide over her bare body?
Snap out of it, she told herself.
“Now join your other hands and space yourselves about six to eight inches apart. As you’ve seen, Argentine tango tends to be danced in a tight, closed position, with the inner thighs of the lady and gentleman pressed together. Those of you who like, step closer.”
Eyes staring unwaveringly into hers, Brady moved against her. “I like,” he murmured, close enough that she could feel the breath of his words. His fingers tightened slightly on her back, bringing her closer. “Yeah, I like a lot.”
Her heart hammered madly in her chest. He was too close, too hot, too there. “Easy, big fella,” she said as evenly as she could muster. “It’s just a dance.”
Yet his touch overtook her focus. She needed to concentrate on something safe, Thea thought in a panic. Not those eyes, not those green, green eyes with their glint of humor, not those eyes that made her want. And if she didn’t look there, she’d find her gaze slipping down to his mouth, which was way too near. Every time she looked there she found herself wondering what it would feel like to brush her lips against his, wondering how he’d taste. Wondering what he’d do if she leaned in out of the blue and pressed her mouth to his.
Ridiculous, she thought impatiently. The man was a stranger, they were at a milonga. It was absurd.
And she couldn’t stop wanting it.
So she focused on the point of his jaw. Nice. Safe. Square and strong, darkened a little with a day’s growth of beard. If she leaned in and put her face against it, it would be rough, warm. And it would put her closer to that clean scent that didn’t seem to have a thing to do with conventional colognes. Maybe shampoo or soap? Whatever it was, if she could get a deep, deep breath of it she thought maybe she could die happy.
The music caught her by surprise when it began. She found him looking down at her in amusement. “You okay?”
“Fine.”
He leaned in. “Better focus,” he said softly in her ear. “Teachers can’t get distracted.”
With every step, she could feel his torso shift, as though beneath his clothes his body were stripped down to muscle and sinew and bone. With every step, she became only more aware of him against her. And it sent her mind vaulting along carnal pathways, speculating if this was what it would be like to have him pressed against her naked, on top of her, so that she could feel his every movement as he poised himself over her, bringing all that heat and want and tension and lust—
“Okay, ready for me?”
She stared at him. “What?”
“My hot move.”
She gave an uneven laugh. “Sure.”
Looking down a bit, he led her through the eight-count basic that Robyn had taught them. Thea watched his face. He was concentrating on his feet, his lead, working his way through each segment of the figure. His lashes were darker than she’d expected, a sheaf of his hair hanging down over his forehead. “And, done.” His eyes flicked up to meet hers.
She felt the jolt all the way to her toes.
“Good memory,” she managed, unable to look away.
“You think I’m good at the eight-count basic, just give me a try on something else.”
Thea had a pretty good idea he wasn’t talking about tango anymore. She stared up at him, watched desire replace the humor, desire overtake everything. He bent his head toward her—
And the song ended.
For a moment neither of them moved, caught in a frozen tableau of awareness, lips a hairsbreadth apart.
Thea