Dancing with Dalton. Laura Altom Marie

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СКАЧАТЬ nod on her way to a compact fridge. Grabbing a bottled water, she asked, “That’s the queen crowned at the pageant held in conjunction with the Hot Pepper Festival, right?”

      He eyed her drink. “Got another one of those?”

      She handed him a bottle. “Well?”

      “What?”

      “Your hurry?”

      “I have to dance at the pageant. During that awkward downtime while the judges tally their scores. It’s really stupid, and—”

      “Why do you say that?”

      “What?”

      “That it’s stupid? The tango. There you go again, insulting a beautiful art form out of ignorance, or—”

      “I’m not insulting it. I just don’t want to know it. I resent like hell being told I have to waste Lord only knows how many nights in this studio when I could be home—”

      “What?” she challenged, hands on her hips. “What sounds more fun than dancing?”

      “Digging ditches.”

      Rolling her eyes, she said, “You haven’t even given tango a chance.” Why do I even care? The smart choice would be to let him walk. But if he chose to make a buffoon of himself in front of the entire town, so be it. “For that matter, there are things I’d rather be doing than standing around here arguing with a guy who’d rather be waist deep in muck.”

      “Who are we kidding?” He set his water against the baseboard, then massaged his temples. “I don’t have a dancing bone in my body. Not even a dancing cell. Do you really think it’s even possible for me to learn to tango?”

      His admission of vulnerability not only surprised her, but warmed her. She knew all too well what it was like to feel incapable of learning something. Only in her case, it’d been basic life skills. After John’s death, she’d handled things like paying bills and scheduling car maintenance. Being able to sleep alone in her and John’s king-size bed—that she hadn’t yet tackled.

      “I not only think it’s possible for you to tango,” she said, warring with her stinging eyes to keep tears at bay, “I know.”

      Sashaying to the stereo, she selected a favorite Latin CD, then cranked the volume. When the walls pulsed with the music’s life, she held out her arms. “It is customary for the man to ask the woman to dance, but since you seem to be feeling a bit shy, how about it? Care to escort me on a trip around the dance floor?”

      She didn’t give him a chance to answer.

      In the time span of two beats, she placed one hand on his bicep and held her other up, palm out for him to meet. Her palm kissing his, Rose willed her pulse to slow. Eyes closed, lips slightly parted, she listened for the beat. Remembered what it used to be like onstage with John in the moment before the curtain rose…

      Earlier, admitting she found her new student attractive had been easy. Being held in his unexpectedly capable arms while the beat she and her husband had so loved pulsed all around them was proving impossible.

      Stopping, hands to her forehead, Rose said, “That’s enough for tonight.”

      “But—”

      She marched to the stereo, turning it off. The resulting silence was deafening.

      “Everything okay?”

      “Of course.” Turning her back to him, Rose swiped a few sentimental tears. Though she’d danced the tango with other men since John’s death, something about this man’s provocative hold made the dance different. Special.

      “Then why are you crying?”

      He’d crept up behind her. He stood close enough that his radiated heat scorched her, but he didn’t touch her. For that she was vastly relieved. It’d been so long since she’d shared another human’s—a man’s—touch. Oh sure, she hugged Rachel and Anna all the time, but somehow it wasn’t the same. In her new student, she sensed a hidden gentle quality she suspected he preferred to hide. But that was dance’s magic. It stripped a man—or woman—to the soul, baring innermost secrets for even a casual partner to see. Dalton’s touch had been tentative. Soft. Respectful. All of which was good, but at the same time bad. For those qualities were the very things urging her to spin around for a hug.

      “Rose?” It was the first time he’d called her by her first name. He made the word lovely. Delicate. “I know my dancing’s bad. But surely not bad enough to reduce you to tears.”

      His stab at humor made her smile, then cry all the harder. She ran to the hall for privacy, but to her horror, Dalton followed.

      Hand on her left shoulder, he asked, “What’s wrong?”

      “Nothing,” she said, needing to be away from this man, from the overwhelming physical confusion being near him evoked. “I’m sorry, but our lesson is over.”

      “But—”

      “I’m sorry,” she said again, more for her own benefit than his. “I just can’t.”

      “Do you still want me to come tomorrow night?”

      She shook her head, then nodded before dashing off to the stairs leading to her loft.

      Chapter Three

      “Tell me, son,” Dalton’s father asked over the phone the next morning. “How did your dance lesson go? Are you going to make the family proud?”

      “My lesson?” Let’s see, considering the fact that his dancing had been so bad his teacher had run from the studio in tears, it couldn’t have gone better. Dalton held the phone in one hand, and a family-size jug of antacid in the other. “It was swell. I’m thinking one more session ought to be all I need to get the hang of it.”

      “You’re joking, right? You can’t possibly expect me to believe you learned the tango in one night. The first year I performed at the pageant, it took me a good six weeks to get the hang of all those twists and turns.”

      Could a guy OD on antacid? Dalton scanned the label before taking another swig. “I get the one, two, three walk thing. What else is there?”

      “Everything. You have to feel the music. Absorb it into your body and soul. According to Miss Gertrude, you have to let the music take your heart where it wants you to go.”

      It took everything in Dalton not to choke. “Have you been taking your medication? How is it that the man who once told me to shut off my heart is now telling me to listen to it?”

      “Yes, well…” His old man cleared his throat. “That was before all this mess that’s landed me on my keister. I’m currently of the opinion that it’s all right to feel a little something—at least if the touchy-feely stuff lands you that much closer to achieving your business goals.”

      Dalton rolled his eyes.

      A certain raven-haired instructor had put it a bit more meaningfully than that, and look where that speech had left СКАЧАТЬ