A Bride Worth Fighting For (9 page)

“Private dancing lessons,” she read.

His anticipation shattered. “What’s the second thing on the list?”

“Oh, come on. Dancing sounds like fun. Let’s give it a try.”

“No way. I don’t dance.” His heart pounded, filling his eardrums, leaving him unable to think of a way to distract her from her purpose.

“That’s what the lessons are for—to learn. What do you do at parties now?”

“Hold up the wall, and I’m damn good at it.”

She laughed and patted his cheek. “Private means you and me and an instructor. If you venture away from the wall, no one else has to know.”

He let her tug him down the hall. His standard cop-out excuse had failed him, so he needed to find another way out of this disaster. He could be a good sport about a lot of activities. Dancing was not one of them.

Gwen turned into a room with a hardwood floor and way too many mirrors on the walls.

Deflect. Redirect. He slipped his arms around her. “You know, I can think of other far more enjoyable things we can do in front of a mirror.”

“Oh? Whatever could you have in mind?” Her eyes widened with exaggerated innocence, and her grin turned saucy. She rubbed her hands over his back through his T-shirt and then dipped into the back pockets of his jeans, squeezing his ass.

“Glad to see I can skip the lessons on slow dancing and hip grinding,” a tall, ethereal woman with long silver hair said with a laugh as she strode into the room. “I’m Trixie. I met you, Gwen, during your extremely brief yoga session. I understand you’re looking for a refresher on some basic dance steps.”

“I am. I’m hoping I already know the steps, and as soon as I get a little guidance, it’ll all come back. But no guarantees.” She shrugged.

“And, Tucker….” Trixie held out her hand to him. “I don’t believe we’ve crossed paths yet this week.”

He shook her hand, murmuring a polite greeting instead of admitting he’d have preferred not to cross paths at all.

“If you two are willing to partner up, we won’t need the man I have on standby. Too bad because he was willing and very cute.” She winked at Gwen.

Tucker gritted his teeth. He could walk out. No one was forcing him. Gwen would still get the dance lessons she wanted. All he had to do was allow another man to wrap his arms around her and move his body in time with hers, to accept that the man’s cock would grow hard and rub against her, that she might even enjoy the guy’s company and find herself attracted to him.

“I’m Gwen’s partner,” he said, jaw aching from clenching his teeth.

With a smile, Trixie tipped her head in acknowledgement. Then she strolled to a panel on the side of the room and turned a knob, surrounding them with the strains of classical music. “Let’s start with a basic waltz.”

Gwen faced him, her left arm bent at the elbow, her right arm extended. She’d assumed the proper position without prompting. He stepped toward her, moving his right arm just under her left to place his hand on her back and taking her right hand in his left, the stance so natural he didn’t have to think twice. She settled her left hand on his right arm and beamed at him.

“Excellent,” Trixie said. “I’ll count, and we’ll begin with a simple box step.”

Panic and a bone-deep familiarity shot up his spine. He might not have performed a box step in decades, but, according to family lore, his first baby steps had been to the box step of a waltz. He couldn’t have explained the steps if his life depended on it, but his feet moved of their own accord, adjusting to the rhythm of the music, Gwen’s body, and the instructor’s steady counting.

“Beautiful,” Trixie proclaimed. “Continue with a Six-Count Underarm Turn.”

She didn’t explain how to do it, but his feet executed the steps without hesitation. Gwen spun and then returned to him, her cheeks glowing.

Trixie stopped calling out moves and counts, but he and Gwen continued dancing. Her body melted into each step with his. The music transitioned into a foxtrot, and they glided along the length of the dance studio. By the time they moved on to the tango, they were dancing so close, his knee slid between her thighs as they moved in step.

“Are you ready for the mambo?” Trixie asked.

The music picked up, but Gwen faltered, and, without her confident gait, he became unsure of the moves.

Trixie paused the music. “Okay, I’m going to guess the mambo wasn’t part of your repertoire.” She began talking them through each move.

Gwen rubbed her forehead. “Can we go back to the foxtrot? I’d like to concentrate on the dances I seem to know.”

“Of course, but now that you’re familiar with each other, let’s sharpen each step.”

Tucker eyed himself in the mirror as he danced. His footwork wasn’t bad, but his posture was sloppy.

“Elbows out. Back straight,” his mother called. “Slow, slow, quick, quick.”

He stumbled and released his partner.
Mom?

“You missed a turn,” a woman said. Not his mother. Some other lady that his mind had briefly morphed into his long-dead mother. He blinked and found Gwen and Trixie staring at him.

“I-I need some water.” He strode from the room. In the empty hallway, he bent over, placing his hands on his knees and pressing his face into his hands. His stomach churned, and his eyes ached.

What the hell had he been thinking, deciding to dance after more than two decades of holding himself together? He should have let Gwen dance with that other guy. Stewing in jealousy would have been far preferable to this emotional shit storm.

“Tucker.” Gwen caressed his back. “Sit down. Trixie’s bringing some water. Are you light-headed? Sick?”

Even though he fit both descriptions, he shook his head. However, he did drop to the floor, his legs too weak to hold him.

“What happened in there?” She sank alongside him, continuing to rub her hand over his sweaty shirt, as if she could heal him with her touch.

Oddly, his stomach did settle a bit. “Fucking memories. It’s why I don’t dance.”

“Can you tell me?”

“No.” He didn’t talk about this, but the words spilled from him anyway. “My mother was a ballroom dance instructor. Rather than hire a babysitter when she went to work, she’d take me with her. More ladies than men always signed up for her classes, so as soon as I could walk, she used me to bolster the number of male dance partners. I could tango before I could tie my shoes.”

“I bet you were adorable,” Gwen whispered.

And innocent and blissfully happy, until the tragedy that shattered his childhood. He sucked in a deep breath. “One night after class, the roads were icy.”

He shivered, every fiber in his body begging him not to relive the memory. But he wanted Gwen to understand the horror dancing represented for him. “Mom tried to stop at a stop sign, but the car slid through the intersection into oncoming traffic. I walked away with a quarter-sized bruise on my arm.”

He punched the spot on his arm that had long since healed, wanting the share of pain and hurt that should have come to him, but nothing could change the past. “Mom wasn’t so lucky. She was gone before the ambulance arrived.”

“I am so sorry.” Gwen wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tightly.

He shouldn’t have needed her comfort for something that had happened so long ago. But grief washed over him, as fresh and overwhelming as when the hospital chaplain had delivered the news his father had been too shell shocked to utter.

Footsteps reverberated on the floor toward them and then moved away. Tucker didn’t look up.

“Drink this.” Gwen pressed a glass of water into his hand, ice chinking against the cold, wet sides, soothing his hot, sweaty palm.

He took a sip, the cool liquid relaxing his raw and aching throat. “I never went back to the dance studio. Dad sold it, and we never talked about it.”

“You’ve suffered such tough losses with both your parents.” Gwen scooted around and squatted in front of him, facing him with her hands on his thighs, close enough to his groin he had to catch his breath.

“But you had such a closeness with each of them during the time you did have together,” she continued. “Don’t ignore that. Celebrate it. Rejoice in the happy memories and your special bond with your mother.”

His heart still ached, but he recognized the truth of her words. “Mom was always happiest when she was dancing. The first time I saw you, you were dancing, and your face was lit with pure joy.” He trailed his fingers over her cheek, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“I’m happy right now because I’m with you.” She shifted onto her knees and pressed her lips to his. She kissed and caressed every inch of his face and neck while he closed his eyes and absorbed her tenderness.

She touched him with such affection and care, he wanted to carry her upstairs, lay her across his bed, and make love to her. But he couldn’t. Even though her feelings were genuine, he was still living an act.

Coming to the Wiccan Haus had been for her healing alone, but her status hadn’t changed. Meanwhile, every area of his life had been emotionally ripped open, and, amazingly, seemed to be piecing back together without the painful ache he’d carried around for so long.

Maybe Cemil had been right about him.

“What’s next on your list?” he asked Gwen.

“This is next.” She kissed him, her tongue sliding between his lips, stealing not just his thoughts but his very breath.

“You’re killing me,” he whispered, placing his hands on her shoulders and holding her back from him.

“Killing you how? Because you think you have to be noble and resist me? We’re engaged, aren’t we?”

If he were truly noble, he’d admit the truth, but he was selfish. With his emotions still in turmoil from dancing, he needed her companionship too much to push her away by admitting his fraud. “I don’t think the relationship counts until you remember.”

She brushed her lips over his eyelids. “Maybe I’ll remember if we make love.”

His stupid cock rose and voted yes.

“No. I’m not putting that emotional pressure on you.” He’d just begun to shed his baggage. He didn’t intend to heap more on by living with the guilt of taking advantage of her because of the lie he’d built her trust upon.

She rose to her feet. “Fine. Let’s knock some more things off the memory list. Maybe I’ll hit a breakthrough so you can get lucky tonight.”

His cock once again voted for it. Unfortunately, his brain was smarter. A scenario didn’t exist where she would realize the truth and still welcome him into her body.

Tucker accepted the hand she held out to him and let her lead him down the hall. They spent the next couple of hours making cinnamon applesauce and hot cider in one of the kitchens. Afterward, they attended a meditation class on the lawn. Gwen fell asleep against his shoulder, leaving him with too much time to think.

If he didn’t take drastic action, the evening would end with their naked bodies entwined. She’d signaled her willingness—hell, her eagerness—and she had his cock’s solid support. Most damning, he’d lost his ability to see her as an injured person in need of care or an unscrupulous person out to hurt his family. She felt and acted like a woman he wanted in his life on a long-term basis—a girlfriend, a fiancée.

After dinner, while Gwen wandered through the lobby to talk with the staff member encouraging guests to try their hand at the piano, Tucker took the opportunity to wave down Cyrus and Rekkus. “I plan to sleep out under the stars tonight. Are any places off-limits?”

Cyrus frowned at him. “You were given a room here. If we let people sleep wherever, we wouldn’t bother with room assignments.”

“I’m used to sleeping outside. Weather and darkness and lack of amenities don’t bother me. Wildlife doesn’t bother me.”

Rekkus snorted. “Some of the wildlife here might change your mind.”

“Anything I might run into other than ’coons, skunks, and possums?”

“Considering it’s a new moon, weres and shifters aren’t likely to get out of control, and we haven’t had any issues with vamps this week,” Cyrus said.

Weres? Shifters? Vamps? Some of the people across the dining room had given him weird vibes, but unless Cyrus was messing with him, the island was a lot stranger than he’d imagined.

“You’ll find a clearing off the path going to the lake. You can stay there if you like, but don’t change locations. We need to know where you are to keep you safe.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it.” The paranormal crap—real or imagined—didn’t scare him compared to what Gwen did to his insides and his control. By leaving now, he could keep his heart safe and keep her safe from him.

***

Tucker had disappeared. When Gwen told him she wanted to visit with the staff by the piano, she’d thought he would wait for her. Instead, he’d simply vanished. After circling the lobby and finding no sign of him, she headed upstairs alone and knocked on his door.

No answer. So much for the anticipation she’d been sure had been building between them all day. She lay down on her bed. Unlike every other time she tried to sleep, her mind refused to shut down.

Giving up on sleep, she threw back the covers and crossed the room to her memory-activity list laying on the counter. Although she’d been sure they had completed every task, one remained at the bottom of the page.

Go on a night walk.

Since the alternative meant lying in bed alone and obsessing about whether Tucker was intentionally avoiding her, the idea appealed. With her partner MIA, she’d make this a solo activity. The earlier activities had seemed to help him reconnect with his memories. Without him along, she’d have no one to steal the benefits from her.

She added a sweatshirt to the flimsy tank top and pajama pants she was already wearing and pushed her feet into a pair of slippers. After one more unanswered knock on Tucker’s door, she descended to the lobby.

A dark-haired woman wearing all black glared at her as she stepped out of the elevator.

She faltered, bracing herself for a scolding, like a teen who’d sneaked out of her room after curfew.

“You’re late,” the woman said.

“Uh, sorry?”

“Stop scaring her,” Cemil chided the woman. Smiling, he ambled toward her. “Don’t mind my sister Sarka. She’s always grumpy.”