Romance: Dance with Me (California Belly Dance Romance Book 2) (13 page)

The nerves in her gut calmed. “I know how you can make it up to me.” It might have given her hives to say something like that to him a few days ago, but not now.

He perked up, amused. “Really?”

She took her empty soup bowl to the sink, rinsed it, and placed it in the empty dishwasher. After she’d stalled long enough, she turned back with a wicked grin and said, “Give me five minutes, then meet me in the dance room.”

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23

Taz was already in the dance room, waiting when Melanie walked in wearing her usual practice outfit—black leggings, a snug crop top, and a hip scarf with dangling gold coins that swished and jangled when she moved.

“You look ready to dance,” he said.

“Are you ready to coach?”

He laughed. “I suppose we’ll see, won’t we?”

“I suppose we will.”

She went to the stereo, plugged in her smartphone, and selected the song. When the slow, flute-like melody filled the speakers, she turned back to him.

“This is what I’m planning to use at the audition. What do you think?”

He listened. When the solo flute gave way to a synthesized electronic beat, he nodded.

“Nice choice. Good mix of traditional and modern beats. How about showing me what you’re going to do with it.”

Her lips quirked in an “I accept your challenge” grin. She went back to her smartphone and restarted the song. She moved to the center of the room as the flute’s sinewy melody began.

As she stood there, a flash of fear washed over her. What if he hated the routine? What if he was just too nice to say she didn’t have a chance in hell at this audition?

“Relax,” he said calmly from the bench alongside the wall, as though he could read her thoughts.

Ordinarily, someone pointing out that she was tense only made her more tense. He didn’t. Instead, his words calmed her. They were comforting, like a warm, fuzzy blanket.

She shut her eyes, took a deep breath, and let the music guide her. She had danced through this routine so many times, so many hundreds, maybe thousands of times, that she didn’t have to think about it. Her arms, her feet, every part of her knew what to do without a thought, as if she were just a passenger floating on a beautiful cloud of music.

Since their last session, she had worked to incorporate his suggestions. She held back and took her time. Instead of pushing the music, she let the music pull her through the moves.

Too soon it seemed, the song ended, and she was standing in her final pose, feeling as if she were waking up from a dream.

She glanced at Taz, hopeful, eager. “What do you think? Is it better?”

He tilted his head, as though he were mulling the question. For an instant, the old fear returned. He hated it. Obviously he hated it.

Then he smiled that sweet, toothy celebrity smile. The smile that melted her self-doubt.

“It was good,” he said. “Really good. You aren’t rushing anymore. Big improvement.”

The weight of a hundred-pound stone seemed to lift from her shoulders. An unabashed, goofy grin spread across her face.

Then she noticed his smile faltered. He’d crossed one leg, letting his foot dangle over the other knee, and it was bouncing. It didn’t take a body language expert to see he was holding something back.

“Okay,” she said. “There’s more. What is it?” She tried to keep the disappointment out of her voice. She tried to sound like she didn’t care.

He stiffened.

“It’s a super-minor thing. I probably shouldn’t even mention it.”

He didn’t want to hurt her feelings. She could see that, and maybe that was what made her feel worse.

“Just be honest. You hated it.”

“I did not hate it. I just think…” He held his jaw and mulled his next words.

She wanted to scream.

“Just say it,” she demanded.

“Okay,” he said finally. “It’s the way you look.”

She took a step back. She certainly hadn’t expected that. “I already told you, the tattoos are part of who I am. If people don’t like it—”

“No,” he said, “that’s not what I mean. What I mean is the way you look at the audience, or rather how you don’t look at the audience.”

What the hell did that mean?

The look on her face must have said exactly that, because he stood up and tried again. “In my experience, a great performance is when there’s a balance between the dancer giving her energy to the audience and taking their energy into herself. A yin and yang, an ebb and a flow.”

It sort of made sense, but what did that mean for her routine?

“It’s the dancer dancing for the audience,” he continued, “and then dancing for herself. Now that I’m thinking about it and trying to put my finger on it, I think it boils down to eye contact. You don’t make any.”

“I do,” she said with a huff.

He shook his head. “You look down, or up, or at your arms, or your feet. But you don’t connect with anyone in the audience.”

“That’s not true,” she said, but an annoying little voice inside was telling her he was right.

“Then prove me wrong. Dance it again, and look at me.” He sank back on the bench, crossed his arms, and challenged her again.

“Fine.”
He thinks he’s so smart.

She restarted the music and took her place in the center of the room.

He
was
wrong. She was sure of it. Silently, she repeated:
eye contact, eye contact, eye contact
.

When she danced, she tried to force herself to look at him, but those deep-forest green eyes, those impossibly green eyes, made her feel so strange, and so disoriented. She missed a step, and alarms went off in her head. Her breath came quick and labored.

This was a disaster. How ridiculous she must look, with her glance ricocheting off the walls like a rubber bullet.

She caught his smile, and he said, “You’re doing great.”

The words felt like a warm embrace. The tension that had accumulated in her shoulders and knees vanished. She could breathe.

“Yeah,” he said, nodding. “That’s so much better. Here, when you get to the part where you tip your head…” He jumped up and joined her on the dance floor. “Instead of holding your head straight-on this way, tilt it, just a bit, like this.”

The palms of his hands were holding her cheeks and gently he guided her head to the side.

He was so close, she could smell the soft, woodsy scent of him. Feel the tenderness of his touch. She stared at his neck, memorizing the dip of his collarbone, the line of his jaw. It was intoxicating, this feeling. Like there was no one else in the world.

Wait, this was crazy. This was Taz. This meant nothing. She tried to shake it off.

He pulled his hands away.

“I’m sorry, did I hurt you?”

She glanced up and saw those pools of green again, and she was lost.

“No, I’m fine, I just…” She couldn’t continue. Her heart was racing. Her glance slid to his rosy-pink lips. Those full, infuriatingly sexy lips.

She opened her mouth to try again, but before she could utter a word, his lips were on hers. Hot and demanding. Insistent. She returned their fervor with her own.

She wound her arms around him, clutching the hard muscles that ran the length of his back, crushing away the space between them. His chest against hers, his hips pressing into hers.

It was insanity, feeling him against her, his lips sliding down her neck, his breath making her tingle in so many amazing places.

When he grabbed her ass, gripping her and pressing her against that incredibly hard part of him, she gasped. God, this should stop. She should pull away. She knew she should push him away, but even as the thought emerged, she already knew she couldn’t. She wanted this. She’d wanted it for a long time.

He pulled back, and she opened her eyes. Those gorgeous green eyes of his were staring at her, searching her expression, looking so damn vulnerable and adorable it made her knees weak.

“Should I stop?” he breathed, his voice rough, his breath labored.

Her own breath caught in her throat. She should say yes. She knew it. It was the practical thing to do. But she couldn’t pull away.

She whispered, “Don’t you dare.”

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24

That was the only permission Taz needed. In an instant, he scooped her up, wrapping his arms around the soft curves of her hips, and she responded by wrapping her legs—those gorgeously strong and supple legs—around his hips.

Damn, he wanted her. It almost frightened him how much he wanted her. He couldn’t lie, it wasn’t as if he hadn’t thought of this moment. There’d been plenty of times his thoughts had drifted to her—wondering what it would feel like to run his fingers through her loose, honey-brown hair, or let his hands roam over those gorgeously full breasts. The cropped tee she had on had nearly undone him, fitting so snugly, so perfectly around that part of her anatomy. He could practically make out the lace pattern of her bra. God, this was crazy.

What his body was telling him to do was slam her against the wall, rip away that tee and those leggings, and take her right here. It almost surprised him that it was his own conscience that stopped him. Not because his grandmother stared down at him from the wall, but because it felt different this time.

She was different.

She didn’t adore him or fawn over him or make a fuss like so many other women did. Hell, sometimes she didn’t even seem to like him. At least not at first. But when she smiled or when she said something kind, he knew she meant it. He knew she had no ulterior motives.

In some strange, inexplicable way, he knew he could trust her in a way he hadn’t trusted a woman in a long time.

Tonight when he’d seen her on the dance floor, he couldn’t help but remember how it had felt to be with her onstage. How perfectly in tune they’d been and how much he had wanted her that very first night.

Then, like now, there were so many reasons to hold back, to keep their relationship uncomplicated. To make sure things stayed on track, at least until Gina was safely on her way back to New York.

There were so many good, solid reasons. He just couldn’t remember them right now. All he could think of was the soft lavender smell of her skin, the warm citrus scent of her hair, the velvety feel of her arms and her back, and the strength in her kiss.

Before he even knew what he meant to do, he was carrying her out of the dance room, down the hall, and directly to his room. Their room.

She didn’t protest. When he dropped her onto the deep, pillowy comforter, she looked around and smiled.

That genuine, sweet smile of hers. Whatever strength he had left was gone. Whatever second thoughts he had vanished. He lowered himself on top of her and wrapped his arms around her, feeling every part of himself touch her.

None of this could be wrong, he told himself, because it felt too damn right.

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25

The next morning, Melanie awakened to the rustling of sheets beside her. The memories of the night before flooded back. All the kisses and caresses. All the ways he had stroked her body and slowly driven her wild with desire. It had seemed an eternity before he took her, and only then—she remembered with a blush—it had been because she had rolled on top of him and taken matters into her own hands.

A bold move, but she recalled he hadn’t seemed to mind. She pressed her face into the soft, down pillow to hide the grin spreading across her face.

Behind her, she could hear Taz roll out of bed, pad to the bathroom, and close the door. Morning light glowed around the edges of the lush draperies, and she knew she should get up, but it all seemed so perfect right now. The sexed feeling gave her a warm glow, and she didn’t want to lose it.

She wanted to linger in the memory of that amazing night.

When Taz emerged from the shower, with just a towel around his waist, she was propped up in bed, watching a rerun of
Supernatural
.

“That’s a first,” he said, using a second towel to rub his wet hair.

“What?” Her mind raced with possibilities. First woman in his bed? No way. First morning-after? Just as unlikely.

“First time I’ve seen you watch anything in color.”

She laughed. “I’m not narrow-minded. I watch a lot of different things.”

He walked over to the bed and crawled toward her, nuzzling her neck with kisses. “You are definitely not narrow-minded. Some of the things you did last night,
whew!
They blew my mind.”

“Me? I remember a few… shall we say adventurous… moments on your part as well.”

He pulled back, and with a self-satisfied grin, added, “You’re right, I was on fire last night.”

She slapped him lightly. “You’re naughty.”