waited in silence as the first course of their meal was served, hors d’oeuvres of wild mushrooms stuffed with crab, escargot and truffle paté.
He silently took pleasure in watching the orgasmic expressions crossing Rebel’s face with each new flavor she encountered. She was a great deal more expressive than she likely thought she was. But then, a man like him was adept at catching every nuance of facial and body language, too.
Eventually, he leaned forward. “I did get one interesting piece of intel from my people this afternoon.”
She looked up expectantly from her potato-leek soup, abruptly all business, food forgotten. He sent a silent mental apology to the chef.
“I’ll share it with you, but on one condition,” he murmured.
“What’s that?”
He stood up, went around the table and held out his hand to her. “Dance with me.”
Rebel gulped. If there was one thing in the whole world she was terrible at, it would be dancing. “But, there’s no music,” she protested, praying the excuse would divert Avi.
He walked over to an intercom panel on the wall and pressed a few buttons. Lilting violin music suddenly blared. He turned the volume down and then turned to her, holding out a hand.
She looked around in panic. The room was plenty large enough to accommodate dancing. There were no apparent cameras to make an embarrassing record of her clumsiness. She resorted to confessing, “I’m a terrible dancer.”
“Well of course you are. Dancing is about expressing joy. And we’ve already established you need a lot of work in that department.”
She frowned, not appreciating being called a failure at anything, even if it was true.
He captured her hand, which she realized in some shock was waving around nervously, and tugged her to her feet.
“You’re going to regret this,” she warned him as he drew her into his arms.
“Put your right hand on my waist and your left hand on my shoulder...assuming you can reach my shoulder.”
She snorted. “Very funny. I’m not that short.”
“In my world, you’re practically a midget.”
Her eyes narrowed in challenge. “You’d be surprised the things I can do that a giant lout like you can’t even begin to do.”
“Sounds like a fascinating conversation for another time. But right now, I’m giving you a lesson in waltzing. First, listen to the music. One-two-three. One-two-three. Do you hear the downbeat?”
“Yes.”
“On each ‘one,’ I’m going to step forward with my right foot, and you’re going to step backward with your left foot. Like this. I’ll take it slow.” He placed both of his hands on her waist and guided her through the step.
Thank goodness. He just did the back step several times, and she caught on quickly.
“Now, we’re going to step to the side on the second and third beats. Like this. Step-together.”
She nodded after a few repetitions.
“And now we put them together, and we find the rhythm of the music. Just relax, and let me lead, okay?”
“Since when is this a trust exercise?” she blurted.
He smiled down at her a little ruefully. “Leave your left hand on my shoulder and put your right hand in mine.” She grasped his hand, as always stunned by the electric energy flowing from him.
“I have to say, Rebel, I didn’t expect you to discover my real motive so quickly. This is entirely about trust. That and loosening you up a little. You are a smart one, aren’t you?”
She might have answered, but he whisked her backward and into a whirl around the room that took her breath away. His hands moved her with effortless power, but still, she had to concentrate on relaxing and releasing the habitual tension from her body.
Ahh, but when she did, they were suddenly dipping and swooping, turning in light, swift circles until she felt like a swallow in flight. It was actually a rather fantastic sensation. The music lifted them off their mortal feet, spinning them into a breathless world of candlelit magic.
Or maybe it was the big, graceful man staring down at her, his eyes as dark as midnight, the expression in them bemused. If there had been any humor in his expression when they started the waltz, by the time the song ended, it was long gone.
The music shifted into some other, more formal rhythm, and they came to a stop beside the table. His hand was warm and firm on her waist, and his fingers flexed, tightening momentarily against her side.
He released her abruptly, stepping back almost as if startled. She knew the feeling. She was shocked to her toes. That had been an almost-sexual experience. And it had been wonderful. Which begged the question of why he’d insisted on dancing with her. Had trust and getting her to chill out been his only motives, after all? Or had he been subtly demonstrating to her that he knew how to woo a woman?
For no doubt about it, he most definitely knew what he was doing in that department.
It almost made a girl wonder if maybe the problem with sex in her life prior to this had been men of inadequate knowledge rather than the sex itself.
Hmm. Sex with Avi Bronson. A suddenly fascinating concept.
The door opened, and their waiter wheeled in a cart loaded with what turned out to be the most delectable food she’d ever tasted. Quail roasted to tender perfection with herbed skin that was crispy and savory, oyster stuffing that made her groan in delight and tender asparagus that was so fresh and light she wanted to ask for more—and she didn’t even like asparagus, normally.
She refrained from licking her plate, but it was a struggle. She looked up at Avi in regret. “You do realize you’ve ruined me for ever enjoying an MRE again.”
“You like dehydrated military food?” he exclaimed.
“I did. But now... I shudder to think what it will taste like in comparison to this.”
He smiled indulgently. “My work is done, then.”
Something disappointed landed with a thud in the bottom of her stomach. Drat. She’d really hoped he might be interested in showing her more of these sophisticated pleasures she’d heretofore had no idea existed.
“Why the sad face?” he asked quickly.
“I’m sorry this meal has to end.”
“Never fear. We have several more courses to go.”
“Where am I going to put more food? You do realize I’m going to have to work out like mad
