One Last Dance (3 page)

“You can’t say no to that.”

She swallowed heavily. He was
offering a lot of money, and Sophie was not so rich she could just turn up her
nose at it. But Henry was wrong. She could say no, and she would. Money like
that came with strings attached, and she knew she’d be indebted to him for more
than just dance lessons.

“I don’t have time for this, you
have my answer,” she said.

There was a moment of silence on
the other line before he spoke again. “When you change your mind, call me.”

Sophie chewed her lower lip,
aware that his number would be programmed into her caller ID. “I’m not going to
change my mind.”

“We’ll see,” he said before
hanging up.

Sophie slammed the phone into the
receiver and braced herself for Darren’s slew of questions. She knew he was
chomping at the bit to ask her what that had been about but she was too angry
to talk about it.

He reached for her hand, but she
stood and moved cautiously toward the classroom door.

Darren followed, eyes narrow.
“What was that about, missy?”

“That,” she said, eyeing the
empty classroom, “was about nothing. Just someone wanting me to do some
freelancing. But I said no. End of story.”

He crossed his arms again.
“Freelance work? And why would you turn that down?”

She shrugged. “No time.” Which
was almost true—her only free time was before and after work, her business
hours were booked solid.  But really she just didn’t know how to tell
Darren that the “freelance work” seemed to include more than just private
lessons.

Sophie scrolled through the songs
on her iPod, looking for some Enya. She found the lilting cadences of the
Celtic music relaxing. “I’m going to do some yoga for my knee. You can go ahead
and lock the front door on your way out. I’ll get the rest.”

“Are you keeping things from me?”
Darren asked, hands on his hips. She unrolled her yoga mat, shaking her head.

“Nothing important.”

He studied her a moment longer
and then sighed. “Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow, right?”

“Right. Eleven a.m. sharp. The
Great Apartment Hunt.” She smiled up at him as she folded herself down onto the
mat. He bent and brushed a light kiss on her cheek before leaving.

When she was alone she closed her
eyes, adjusting herself into lotus position, and began some deep breathing. She
let the quiet of the studio and the light notes of the music wash over her like
warm water. She cleared her mind of everything, the spill during class, her
earlier thoughts of Christian, even Henry’s offer.

Her third physical therapist was
the one who’d suggested she try yoga. In the year since her final surgery she’d
regained much of the movement in her knee, and the joint was strong, but her
flexibility was severely inhibited. The damaged tendons were not as elastic as
they had once been.

She moved out of lotus and rolled
onto her stomach, getting into position for Cobra. She kept her eyes closed,
concentrating on slowly bending her knee while extending her arms. Her physical
therapist had introduced her to a friend who taught yoga and Sophie had been
doing it ever since. It helped with the pain, the weakness, and the
flexibility, and she doubted she’d be able to teach at all if it hadn’t been
for the exercises. But still, she could hardly dance.

Though, that hadn’t been true the
other night. Sophie froze in the midst of rolling to her back, realization
slamming into her like a fist. It hadn’t occurred to her at the time. She’d
been so consumed with her sudden, wild attraction to Henry that all she’d been
thinking about was him. Not herself. Not her
knee
.

Despite his outlandish offer,
Sophie still found herself inexplicably attracted to him. She remembered the
way she had followed his lead and how her body had acted in a way that had once
been instinct. She’d done rulos, cuatros, boleos, even caricias. She hadn’t
hesitated to put her weight on her bum knee at all. And she hadn’t faltered,
hadn’t fallen. What if he hadn’t been propositioning her? She wondered. He was
a good dancer, what if the lessons were really just worth that much to him? She
scoffed, knowing how foolish that sounded.

She pushed herself up into bridge
pose, squeezing her thighs together.

It had been a fluke. Henry may
have been able to make her forget her knee and dance like she wasn’t crippled,
but if she had taken him up on his offer it would have been a disaster. She
would have floundered sooner rather than later. And whatever he had in mind for
after the lessons, well, she couldn’t do that either.

Even if she had imagined it,
desired it, she couldn’t be bought.

She wished she hadn’t worn the
skirt. Sophie never wore skirts anymore. Especially not knee-length skirts with
a handkerchief hem. She didn’t know what had possessed her this morning. Though
the cosmetic surgeons had done wonders, her knee was still scarred. And every
step she took briefly bared both knees. She felt as if everyone had been
staring at when she walked to Darren and Wayne’s first apartment showing.

No one was, of course. She was
being ridiculous. She knew that. Still, she had to keep herself from turning
around and going home so she could change. But when she showed up at the
apartment she saw how excited her friends were, and she knew she was being
selfish. Besides, the apartment showings would help keep her mind off Henry.

She had dreamt about him last
night, about the dance they’d shared in the studio. It hadn’t ended there,
though. In her dream, Darren hadn’t interrupted them. The kiss had happened.
And then some. Sophie shivered, remembering the vivid visual of a primal, dark
eyed Henry taking her from behind while she clutched the ballet bar and watched
him move against her in the floor to ceiling mirror. Her anger at him only
seemed to fuel her desire.

“How many square feet is this
Cindy?” Wayne’s voice snapped Sophie from her thoughts.  She looked around
the apartment they were standing in, taking in its low ceilings and fading
paint job. She knew Darren probably hated it.

“This unit is seven hundred
square feet. Only the one bedroom, but it’s big. Fully furnished throughout.
And as you can see,” she stepped aside with a flourish, showcasing the sliding
glass doors to the terrace, “it’s got a great view.”

The apartment’s door opened into
the wide living room space, and to the right was the hallway that lead back to
the bathroom and the bedroom. Darren was disappearing down it, dragging his
fingers along the wall beside him.

“And how much was this one,
again?” Wayne asked, frowning down at the listing in his hand as he trailed
Darren. Wayne was a broad, brown-haired, serious man while Darren was lithe,
blond, and gregarious, but the two seemed to fit together like puzzle pieces.

“Fifteen hundred a month. Well
within your price range,” Cindy replied.

Sophie opened the refrigerator,
inspecting it for mold or mildew as Wayne and Darren wandered in and out of the
rooms, whispering to one another about the pros and cons of the space.

“So?” Sophie flinched at the way
Cindy drew the word out into multiple syllables. She had to admit though, it
matched the woman perfectly. She was curvy, blonde, Southern, and wearing a
power suit in lemon yellow. “What do we think?”

Darren chewed his lip. “It’s
cute...” he trailed off, glancing around the living room and out toward the
balcony.

“But,” Wayne continued for him,
“we have some concerns about the size. We were really hoping for a two bedroom
place.”

Cindy twisted her face. “I’m
sorry Mr. Albright but the best properties in your price range are one
bedrooms.” She tapped a long nailed finger against her lower lip. “If you’d
like, though, I could show you a few places just a tad more pricey. There’s a
lovely one on the Upper West Side that’s
perfect
. Just over a thousand
square feet, communal terrace, gorgeous views, a fireplace. It’s only a scootch
out of your range.” She held up her thumb and forefinger, less than an inch
apart, indicating her definition of a ‘scootch’.

“It sounds wonderful,” Darren
said, hopefully.

Sophie and Wayne shared a glance.
They both recognized that tone of voice. Darren had already begun to make up
his mind.

A half hour later Cindy was
pulling through massive wrought-iron gates that opened as her car approached.

“It’s got off street parking!”
Cindy exclaimed, pulling into a reserved spot.

“I think this might be more than
a ‘scootch’ out of our range,” Darren muttered to Sophie as they got out of the
car. Looking around at the other cars in the lot—Mercedes, Porsches,
Bentleys—she was forced to agree. But she held up her thumb and forefinger,
much the same way Cindy had.

“Come on, give it a shot. Can’t
hurt to look, right?”

Cindy was halfway to the complex,
her heels clicking loudly on the concrete, as she prattled to Wayne about
security, double paned glass, and rooftop gardens. Sophie tugged Darren along,
both of them hurrying to keep up with the bubbly realtor. When they stepped
into the building’s lobby, Darren gave a low whistle. It was clear from the
stone tiled floors, muted sage walls, and tasteful decor that this building was
vastly different from their previous viewings.

There was a uniformed security
guard, breast patch emblazoned with the words
Figleaf Terrace
in green,
sitting at the front desk. Cindy waved to him.

“Hey Clive! Just taking some
clients up to twenty-six for a tick.”

The guard nodded, touching the
brim of his hat with one finger.

Cindy ushered them into the
elevator and hit the button for the 26th floor. “There’s security around the
clock. The neighborhood has the second lowest crime rate in the city anyway,
but still. And great schools. Sacred Heart and Brightman Montessori are both
within walking distance.”

Wayne was listening to Cindy’s
laundry list with brow furrowing intensity. Sophie nudged Darren in the side.
“Good schools, Papa.”

Darren rolled his eyes.

The elevator rose quickly and
silently, doors sliding open with a soft, musical chime as they reached their
floor.

Cindy led the way to apartment
2647, pushing the door all the way open with another sweeping gesture. “As you
can see it has brand new carpeting throughout. All the latest appliances, of
course.  Plus, well, take a look for yourself.”

The apartment didn’t need a hard
sell. Darren gave a soft gasp of delight as he stepped into the entryway and
took in the living room with its big windows that let in the afternoon
sunlight.  The walls were bare and painted in soft shades of beige, but
even Sophie began imagining what they could look like with artwork and family
photos.

To their left was a large open
kitchen with golden brown Tuscan tile flooring. Between the living room and the
kitchen was a small dining area done in blonde oak. From the apartment door,
Sophie could see all the way out onto the wide terrace.

She noticed two bedrooms, a
master suite with its own bathroom and a smaller one down the hall, just what
Darren and Wayne had been looking for.

“There’s a washer and dryer,”
Cindy pointed out, indicating a cupboard near the kitchen. “And roof access!”

“You could put your plants out
here, babe. Your herbs and stuff?” Darren had thrown open the terrace doors and
was indicating the long length of ledge.

Wayne sat carefully on the plush
sofa in the living room, leaning back and gazing around. “We could hang the TV
there,” he said, indicating the wall leading to the master bedroom. “And the
Kandinsky print near the kitchen.”

“We’d have to get a dining table.
This carpet is too nice to eat in here.” Darren rubbed his toe through the
plush fabric.

“
If
we get the apartment,”
Wayne corrected him.

“Baby,” Darren began, but Wayne
held up his hand, turning to face Cindy.

“How much is it a month?” he
asked, straight off.

Cindy tugged at a lock of her
dark hair. “Well...” she hedged. “Like I said, it’s a scootch more than you
were looking for.”

“What is it?” he repeated.

“Forty-five hundred a month. Very
reasonable for what you’d be getting!”

Wayne climbed to his feet. “I’m
sure it is, Cindy, but that’s more than twice what we were looking to pay.”

“Maybe...” Darren said, but he
trailed off. Even he knew it was out of their price bracket. His green eyes
dimmed with disappointment.

Wayne crossed the room to his
husband and looped his arm around Darren’s waist. “Sorry, hun. We’ll find
something else we’ll love just as much.”

Cindy, as if sensing a day of
wasted apartment shopping, seemed to exude even more enthusiasm at them. “Let
me just
show
you the roof. It’s a must-see.”

“I don’t think so, Cindy. But
thank you,” Wayne said gravely. Wayne took Darren’s hand and squeezed it,
drawing him toward the elevator. “It’s lovely, Cindy. Really. But it’s just not
in our price range.”

Sophie, Cindy, and Darren all
sighed at the same time. Cindy’s shoulders sagged a little, the first chink in
her over-bright armor that Sophie had seen all day.

“Okay then, let’s move on to the
next unit on the list we’d already discussed. We’ll have to head back to
midtown.”

Darren and Wayne reached the
elevator first and pressed the down button. Wayne was quietly murmuring to
Darren, no doubt consoling him over the loss of their dream apartment, but Sophie
didn’t hear a thing they said because the elevator doors slid open and Henry’s
voice poured out and over her like warm honey.

“I’m going to need the building
inspector’s report on that,” Henry was saying. He stepped out of the elevator
beside a short, balding man who was fervently taking notes on his iPad and
nodding.

“Of course, sir,” the bald man
said.

She faintly heard Darren’s soft
gasp of surprise, but when Henry’s dark eyes met hers, she felt a jolt of
electricity run up her spine. Henry stilled, addressing his balding companion
without looking away from Sophie. “That’s all for now, Jack. I’ll call you
later.”

The man didn’t even question
Henry’s sudden change of demeanor. He just ducked back into the elevator and
was gone. Cindy’s voice was suddenly shrill in Sophie’s ear.

“Mr. Medina! I’m Cindy Tremaine!
I didn’t realize you were going to be here today. It’s such a pleasure to meet
you in person.”

Henry’s eyes were still on
Sophie, full of some dark, unfathomable expression. It made her want to touch
his face. She curled her hand into a fist to resist the urge. Henry cocked one
of those thick, black brows. Ignoring Cindy, he turned to Sophie. “What are you
doing here?” he asked softly.

“I was just showing—” Cindy
began.

Sophie cut her off, inhaling a
slow breath through her nose. “I’m here with my friends. They’re looking at
apartments.” She nodded to Darren and Wayne, who were watching her and Henry
like spectators at a tennis match. Cindy’s mouth had fallen unattractively
open.

Henry turned slightly on his
polished Ferragamo’s, smiling at Wayne and Darren. “Are you going to be renting
in the building?”

Wayne was blinking stupidly at
the handsome businessman. Sophie had never seen him look so flummoxed. If she
wasn’t so galvanized by Henry’s presence, she would have laughed. Darren, on
the other hand, could at least manage a coherent sentence.

“We’d love to, really. The
apartment was perfect, but it’s just a scootch out of our price range.” He
winced as he said ‘scootch’. Sophie did snicker then, and Henry’s gaze flicked
to her. She saw his eyes dip briefly to her cleavage and then graze her legs
beneath her skirt. Her heart seized, frozen inside her ribcage, as she wondered
what he’d think of her scars.

But the look in his eyes, when he
raised them back to hers, was far from disgust. She saw again the heat she’d
felt when she was in his arms.  Henry’s jaw flexed briefly as she bit her
lower lip, but she immediately averted her gaze when she remembered yesterday’s
phone call.

“Ms... Tremaine, was it?” Henry
asked as he turned to Cindy. “Are you the listing agent for 2647?”

Cindy’s hand was pressed to her
throat, as if she needed to massage the correct words out. “Yes, I am. And
there’s been just a ton of interest already—”

“What’s the asking price?” He cut
her off, expression pleasant, though his tone brooked no argument.

Cindy swallowed, blinking
rapidly. “Ah, that unit is forty-five hundred a month, with a move-in fee of—”

“That won’t do.”

“Pardon me?” Cindy frowned,
clearly not following. Sophie wasn’t either. She’d thought, when he first
started talking, that he lived in the building. But she was beginning to get
the feeling that there was more to it than that.

Henry took Cindy’s elbow in his
and drew her closer to his side. “I think if you check again, you’ll see the
the listing price for that unit is...” He paused, raising his brows at Darren.
“Twenty-two hundred?”

Sophie’s chin hit her chest.
Wayne and Darren were gaping too. But none of them so much as Cindy. She had
gone red in the face. “But... Mr. Medina!”

“Don’t worry Ms. Tremaine, I’ll
be sure you still receive the standard commission.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Sophie
blurted.

Darren waved his hand at her
frantically. “Sophie!”

She ignored him. “I’m sorry,
Hen—Mr. Medina. But you can’t do that.”

“Can you?” Wayne asked, arms
crossed.

A tiny smile crept up over
Henry’s lips. “I can. And I will.” He shot this in Sophie’s direction. “On one
condition.”

Wayne’s brows rose to his
hairline. “And that is?”

“One dance. With Sophie. Right
here and now.”

“No.” The word was out of
Sophie’s mouth before she even thought about it. She wanted to say yes,
desperately. In fact, she had dreamed about being in his arms again. But she
didn’t want him to think that she had reconsidered his offer for the private lessons.
She couldn’t open herself up to this man.

Darren curled his arm around her
waist, tugging her further away from the group. She blinked at him in surprise.
She hadn’t seen him move from his spot beside Wayne. “Sophie,” he said,
chuckling nervously, “can I talk to you over here?”

Henry raised a brow at her, lips
twitching. She flashed Henry a sharp glance, but let her friend pull her a few
feet away. He was hissing in her ear. “You are kidding, right? You’re going to
dance with him. This is just some play-hard-to-get female flirtation thing.
Right
?”