up already,” she whispered to him.
Will smiled, trying to put her at ease. “Don’t worry about that. We do a lot of rotating, but you can start out as my partner.”
A look of pure horror contorted her face, and he laughed out loud. “Trust me,” he said, leading her over to where the other ladies were already lined up. “This will be completely painless.”
Will was intrigued with his new student, but all eyes were on him, waiting patiently for instruction, so he couldn’t indulge his fascination with her.
“Today we’re going to learn the fox-trot. This is one of the most common patterns associated with ballroom dancing. It’s the one that Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers made famous. The rhythm for the fox-trot is slow, slow, side step. Slow, slow, side step.”
He demonstrated the steps first for the men and then for the women. “Okay, now has everyone got that?”
Across the room, he could already see that his pretty new student was having trouble. She was struggling to shift her weight and not trip on the side step.
“Let me emphasize for the ladies that you’ll be stepping back with your right foot. So it’s right, left, side step. Good, now let’s partner up and give it a try.”
He motioned for his reluctant partner to join him in the center of the room. “What’s your name?”
“Mel…uh, short for Melody,” she answered softly.
“Okay, class, Melody is going to help me demonstrate proper frame. Square up with your partner like this.” Will explained the basics of frames and maintaining proper resistance between partners.
Normally, he could recite this spiel in his sleep, but today he was struggling to concentrate. There were too many variables splitting his attention. First, he had to keep his eye on the rest of the class to be sure they were keeping up. Next, he had to help his timid partner who was fighting him every step of the way. And finally, he was trying to keep his hands from sliding off her tiny top to her bare skin.
“Not so much resistance, Melody,” he said to her, then louder to the class, “Followers should be pushing against the leader’s shoulder lightly. Keep in mind we’re dancing, not wrestling.”
Melody wrinkled her nose. “Why do you keep calling us followers?”
At this proximity, Will was tempted to whisper his answer directly into her ear. Instead, he forced himself to remain in instructor mode. “Did you hear that, class? Melody would like to know why I keep referring to the ladies as followers. Anyone want to answer that question?”
A stocky young man with swarthy Italian features piped up, “Because the men are always in charge.” A few of the women in the class groaned.
“That’s right, on the dance floor, the men are always the leaders. It’s the woman’s job to receive signals from the man and follow through. Now let’s try the step together.”
Will continued to try and lead the class while dancing with Melody, but it was becoming obvious that she wasn’t picking up the movements as quickly as the rest of the class. “Whoa, Melody, you don’t move until I move.”
She released an exasperated breath. “Then why bother teaching me the step at all if I’m not allowed to do it? I can be your little puppet, and you can move my legs for me.”
Startled by her outburst, Will reminded himself that first-time dancers became frustrated easily. He tried to soothe her by speaking softly. “Learning to follow isn’t easy. It’s a skill, just like leading. You’ll pick it up eventually.”
A rumble of voices caught Will’s attention, and he realized that he’d gotten so caught up in helping Melody that he’d neglected the rest of the class. He’d failed to stagger the couples at the start of the lesson, and now they’d danced themselves into a crowded jumble in one corner of the room.
“I’m sorry, class, this is my fault. Let me have three couples on the right side of the room and four on the left.” Will left Melody to practice a few steps on her own as he made his rounds to the other couples. Then he led Melody to the center of the room once again.
“How are you doing? Think you’ve got it now?” He pulled her into position before she could respond. “Good, now let’s try the patterns all together. Slow, slow, side step…slow, slow—don’t step back so far, Melody, you’re going to—”
Will tried to catch her, but it was too late. Melody’s rubber-soled boots stopped short, but her body kept going and she slipped through his grasp. With a pathetic thud, she landed on her backside at his feet.
“Thank you, class. That will be all for today.”
Chapter 2
The dance instructor offered a hand to help Melody to her feet, but she pushed him away and dragged herself up. “I’ve got it.”
She spun around, making a beeline for the exit. Stephanie had wasted her money. Walking on hot coals carrying an anvil was time well spent compared to this.
“Hold on! Melody, wait.” Will caught up with her and halted her with a hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay? Did you injure yourself?”
When she didn’t immediately turn, he held her shoulder firmly and spun her around. The bold, masculine move surprised her, and his touch shot through her like an electrical jolt. Heat rushed to her cheeks so quickly, they tingled. Melody jerked out of his grasp, annoyed at Will for having the nerve to reduce her to mush—and at herself for complying.
This wasn’t right. She didn’t get all gooey inside every time an attractive man looked her way. On the contrary, she was the one to turn men into jiggling mounds of jelly. They found her intimidating—as well they should.
She lifted her chin. “I’m fine. I’m perfectly fine.”
“Please accept my apology. That spill you just took was entirely my fault.”
“Damn, you’re smooth,” she whispered.
“What?”
Dear Lord, had she really just said that out loud? Just when she thought things couldn’t possibly get worse…“I mean, how could my clumsiness be your fault? It’s obvious that I don’t belong here.”
“Nonsense, it’s my job to maintain the frame. I got distracted and let it go slack. That’s why you fell.”
Melody opened and closed her mouth. Was this guy for real? Nobody had that much class.
She’d grown up surrounded by the wealthy upper crust, and they were some of the most entitled, unapologetic types she’d known. But this guy was nothing like them—despite the fact that everything about him screamed money, from his diamond-studded watch to his designer slacks and silk crew-neck shirt.
Maybe he hadn’t been born wealthy. That would explain it. On his hands, as well-manicured as they were, she’d felt a few masculine ridges that hinted at physical labor.
Nevertheless, he wasn’t her type at all. Way too clean-cut. She was so over neatly-cropped hair and a clean shave. But when he smiled,
