looked back to the floor. The couples had all switched around. Doug was dancing with Shannon Mackay, and there were only a few people on the floor now. The music had changed, as had the dance. It was sweeping and incredibly graceful.
“Bolero,” Gordon told him briefly.
The dance was beautiful. And Doug was good, made all the better by the elegance of his partner.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone move so…”
“You mean your brother?” Gordon teased.
Quinn shook his head, grinning. “Ms. Mackay.”
“She’s the best,” Gordon said.
“Hey, Quinn, can we slip back in?”
His head jerked up. Bobby and Giselle had returned. Panting. Quinn hadn’t realized he had been almost transfixed, watching the dancers.
“You’re not doing the bolero?” he asked the pair.
Bobby snorted. “Every time we try it together, we trip each other. I’m actually kind of hopeless.”
“You’re not!” Giselle protested.
Bobby made a face at Quinn. “You should see her in group class. She subtly—lovingly—tries to make sure she’s in front of some other guy all the time.”
“I do not. I would never.” She shrugged sheepishly at Quinn. “We change partners every few minutes anyway. What good would it do?”
Doug came up to the table, drawing Shannon by the hand. “Well?” he asked Quinn. It was strange. Doug had been totally serious about his suspicions regarding Lara Trudeau’s death, but right now, he was like the anxious little kid brother Quinn had known all his life, wanting his approval.
“You two blew me away,” he said.
Doug was pleased. “Now it’s your turn.”
“You’re out of your mind,” Quinn said, laughing.
“No, no, you’ll be fine,” Bobby encouraged. “It’s a merengue. You can’t mess it up.”
“Trust me, I can.”
“Come on, Mr. O’Casey,” Shannon said to him. “It’s step, step, step. March, march, march. I know you can do it.”
She was extending her elegant hand to him, those eyes of hers directly on his, challenging. It was as if she didn’t believe for a second that he had really come for dance lessons.
He shrugged. “All right. If you’re all absolutely determined to make me look like a fool…”
“You’ll never look like a fool—not with Shannon,” Gordon said.
“Doesn’t look like they’re just doing march, march, march to me,” he told her ruefully as they stepped onto the dance floor.
“They are—they’re just adding turns.”
She was in his arms, showing him the hold. “Just follow my movements. Men always—always—lead in dance,” she told him, “but since you haven’t done this yet…left, right, left, right…feel the beat?”
He did feel the beat. And more. The searing touch of her eyes, probing his. The subtle movement of her body, erotic along with the music.
“March, march,” he said.
“You’re doing fine.”
“Thanks. And how about you?”
Her brows hiked. “I’m impressed. You really do have a sense of rhythm. We can try some of those arm movements if you want. Just lift them…and I’ll turn, then you turn. Merengue is a favorite, because no matter what, it’s march, march.”
“I’m not wiggling like those guys.”
“Because you don’t have your Cuban motion yet. You’ll get it.”
Cuban motion, huh? She certainly had it. The way her hips moved was unbelievable.
He lifted his arms as she had instructed. He was a little too jerky, but she could deal with it.
“Now you,” she told him, and he repeated her motion.
Step, step, march, march. Okay…
“Was something wrong earlier tonight?” he asked her.
“What?” She frowned.
“I saw you coming down the steps. You looked…uneasy,” he said.
“You saw me? You were watching me?” Her tone was level, but he heard a note of outrage. “Are you following me or something, Mr. O’Casey?”
He laughed, keeping the sound light. “No, sorry, and I didn’t mean to imply such a thing. I went over to the place across the street for a hamburger before coming here,” he said. Okay, so the hamburger was a lie.
“Oh.” She flushed. “Sorry. I just…It’s an uncomfortable feeling, to think you’re being watched.”
“No, no…sorry. It’s just that…you looked scared.”
Maybe women weren’t supposed to lead, but she pressed his arms up and moved herself into a turn, shielding her eyes from his for a moment. Facing him again, she said, “Gordon was already down here. I was locking up alone. One of the books fell or something right before I walked out. It startled me.”
His hamburger story was a lie, and her falling book story was a lie, as well. Something much bigger had definitely frightened her.
“Unfortunately, Miami deserves its reputation for crime. You do need to be careful if you’re locking up alone,” he told her.
“The club is open every night. There’s a doorman on Thursday through Sunday. We park in the lot in the back, but it’s right across from a convenience store. There probably couldn’t be a safer place. And there are only three of us in the building—the club, the studio and the design shop. I know everyone.”
“But you can’t know everyone who comes into the club,” he said.
“No, of course not. But still I’ve always felt safe. Not only that, but I’m tougher than I look.”
“Really?” He had to smile.
“Don’t doubt it,” she told him, and there was definitely a warning in her voice. “Trust me. I can be tough.”
“A tough dancer,” he mused.
“That’s right. I love the studio—and I hate lies.”
“Do you, now?” he demanded. He thought that he saw the slightest hint of a flush touch her cheeks before she drew away from him.
“The music has
