knowing smile didn’t help. ‘See—a perfect fit.’
‘I thought we were doing a waltz. The way you’re holding me seems more like the Lambada.’
‘Fancy a bit of dirty dancing, do you?’
‘Don’t flatter yourself. You certainly don’t hold a candle to Patrick Swayze.’
A glint of hidden excitement lit his extraordinary eyes.
‘And here I was thinking you were falling under my spell. You disappoint me.’
She averted her gaze, focussing on anything other than those all-seeing eyes, wishing her heart would stop racing. ‘Don’t you ever stop flirting?’
His grin widened. ‘I’m sure Fred did his fair share of flirting while he whisked Ginger around. I’m just taking my role seriously.’
‘Your role as the resident Casanova, you mean?’
The naughty glint in his eyes alerted her to the fact she hadn’t insulted him. Moreover, he was enjoying their sparring way too much.
‘We’re both adults here. There’s nothing wrong with a bit of harmless flirtation. Besides, you dared me—remember?’
More fool her.
‘Look, this is silly. You were taunting me last night. I bit back. Let’s just forget it, okay?
The naughty glint didn’t let up. If anything it intensified as his lips kicked up into an all too sexy grin.
‘Unfortunately for you I have a very good memory, so I can’t forget it. But I’m willing to concentrate on our dance steps for now.’ And with that he spun her outwards, at arm’s length.
‘If that’s your way of changing the subject, I’m not buying it.’
He reeled her in with a slight tug on her hand. ‘Who said anything about needing to change the subject? I enjoy flirting. You’re the one with the problem.’
If he only knew.
She didn’t know how to flirt—had absolutely no experience at it. Jax had targeted her, played her, said all the right things—done all the right things to get her to fall for him. Flirting hadn’t entered into it. As for her other two dates, they’d been stilted, awkward, rushed dinners, with limited small talk and frequent glances at watches on both sides.
It wasn’t so much having a problem with flirting, she just didn’t have a clue how to do it.
She stumbled, winced, trod on his toes, and wished the parquet floor would open up and swallow her.
‘Easy, Ginger. Just follow my lead.’
If he’d smiled or smirked or had the faintest amused twinkle in his eyes she would have slammed her heel on his foot—well, she would have thought about it—and made a run for it.
Instead, he tightened his hold on her hand, gently increased the pressure with the other in the small of her back, and counted softly under his breath as he led her around the dance floor.
The counting was for her benefit, but it didn’t help. Clumsy, stiff and awkward didn’t begin to describe how she felt in his arms—like a mannequin given an airing before being dumped in a shopfront in only her knickers.
Thinking of knickers while in his arms had her trampling his toes again, and she bit her lip, silently cursing her ineptness.
‘Sorry.’
Her gaze fixed on his chest, heat scorching her cheeks.
He stopped twirling her about, placed a finger under her chin and tilted it up so she had no option but to look at him.
‘Don’t apologise. This class is about learning, and you’re doing great for a beginner.’
His understanding smile sent a tremor through her. Why couldn’t he be condescending and obnoxious so she could dislike him, rather than considerate and kind?
She mumbled a noncommittal answer, wishing he’d stop staring at her like a pet project. Though it could be worse; he could be looking down on her as a charity case with pity in his eyes.
‘Just feel the music. Let the beat take you.’
Easy for Fred Astaire Junior to say.
Her dubious expression had him chuckling as he pulled her closer again. ‘Come on. You’ll enjoy it.’
To her surprise, he was right. As soon as she stopped focussing on her feet not stomping on his, and ignored the fact he was holding her close, she started to relax.
The music filtered over her, soft and ethereal, a classical hit from a bygone era, and she found herself humming softly, swept away in the magic of the moment.
She closed her eyes, remembered a dancing show she’d once seen on TV, and imagined herself in a red chiffon dress with a fitted bodice held up by will-power alone, with handkerchief layers cascading from her waist to her ankles. She imagined snazzy red shoes to match, sequinned, with impossibly high heels, that floated across the dance floor of their own volition.
With immaculate hair and make-up, and the smile of a ballroom dancing champion, she lived the fantasy, let the music infuse her body, her senses, and allowed Zac to whisk her around and around, her feet finally falling into step with his as an exhilaration she’d never known rushed through her.
She’d never felt so light, so graceful, so unselfconscious. If this was what ballroom dancing could do for her, she’d sign up for a year’s worth of classes as soon as she got back.
But there was more to it than perfecting a waltz and she knew it.
Zac had given her this gift—had given her the confidence to let go of her reservations and enjoy the moment. He’d empowered her to believe that for a precious few minutes she could be agile and lithe and elegant, rather than a shy, clumsy klutz.
When the music died her eyelids fluttered open, but rather than feeling let down by reality, the gleam of appreciation in his deep blue eyes had her craving to do it all over again.
‘You’re good.’
His admiration made her want to perform a few extra twirls for good measure.
She flushed with pleasure. ‘Thanks. So are you.’
‘You up for a cha-cha?’
Ignoring the usual flicker of nerves at the thought of trying something new, she nodded. ‘Sure. Let’s give it a try.’
Not only did she try a cha-cha, Zac showed her the finer points of a foxtrot too. While the class danced around them, she matched him step for step, exhilarated by his fancy manoeuvres, thrilled by her increasing confidence to try more complicated steps.
At the end of the hour she collapsed into a nearby chair, her face flushed, her feet aching and her imagination still tripping the light fantastic.
He
