Slow Tango With a Prince (Royal Scandals) (18 page)

Emily kept her gaze locked forward, over Victor’s shoulder, and hoped against hope she didn’t look as heated as she felt. His muscles moved beneath her fingertips as his feet glided across the floor in the slow, sensuous walk Eva had demonstrated.

“Let him guide you,” Eva reminded her. “Do not think of your steps. The tango is not about steps, but about the music and the connection to your partner. When you think of your steps, you lose the passion of the dance. Tango is the dance of passion. Even when slow, it is powerful.”

Rita’s low voice carried across the dance floor. “I’m going to need a stiff drink when we’re done. Maybe a cold shower.”

“Me, too,” came Mike’s response. “And yes, we’ll edit out our comments."

Victor paused, his energy coiling as the music reached a crescendo. Not expecting it, Emily slammed her knee into his.

“Shoot,” she muttered. “I’m sorry.”

“Do not apologize,” Hector said, rounding them to stand where she could see him. “A man wishes to be lost in the dance. Hearing his partner apologize is a break in this dream of tango, yes? Accidents, they happen from time to time.”

Emily nodded her understanding even as Victor whispered, “It’s all right. Occasionally I deserve a good kick in the pants.”

That was enough to drain the tension from her muscles. The next time Victor paused with the music, Emily was relaxed enough to follow his lead. For the next hour, they danced to set after set—
tandas
, Hector called them—occasionally switching off so Hector could partner with Emily and Eva with Victor. There were definite mistakes, both on Emily’s part and Victor’s, but the lesson became more engaging the longer they danced. When she broke from Victor for the last time and thanked him according to custom, as Eva instructed, Rita and Mike broke into applause.
 

Emily dipped a gracious curtsey, glad for the distraction. The separation from Victor after nearly two hours in each other’s arms left her with an acute case of loneliness, one that reached to the marrow of her bones.
 

The realization left her reeling.

For months, Rita had accused her of hiding her need for companionship in her life with her work. She’d heartily denied it and believed every word, which was why she’d been stunned when Victor made a similar accusation after he’d kissed her.
At Home Abroad
kept her invigorated. It gave her purpose. It wasn’t easy to serve as both host and co-executive producer, but the hard work wasn’t without its rewards. Not only had she made terrific friends—and deepened her long friendship with Rita—the show was her every aspiration come to fruition. Each time an episode aired, she felt an enormous sense of pride.
 

But now, as Victor expressed his gratitude to Hector and Eva and complimented them on their teaching technique, she realized that Rita may have had a point. While Emily loved her job, she’d become so used to physical isolation it had become her natural state. She’d forgotten how much she enjoyed dancing, how banter with an attractive man her own age challenged her. How it felt to be held close, to breathe in a masculine scent, and—dammit—to be kissed with passion, the way Victor had kissed her last night.

“We ready to move on?” Rita asked, jarring her from her thoughts.

“Yes. Absolutely.” On both fronts.
 

Chapter Twelve

Rita’s brow rose in concern, making Emily wonder how long her friend had been trying to get her attention.
 

“I’m sorry. Distracted.” By the memory of Victor’s mouth melding to hers, of the hard planes she’d felt under his shirt when she’d placed her hands on his chest. Of his body fitting against hers.
 

How could a man about whom she knew so little, a man with whom she was supposed to be acting professionally, occupy her thoughts so completely?

“We need to decide about the
practica.
It’s being held in a park with an outdoor pavilion a few blocks from here. It’s all of a two-minute walk. They start in about fifteen minutes and we have permission from the organizers to film.”

“That’s perfect.”

“The downside is that you’ll likely be dancing on stone, not a dance floor. Are your feet in any condition to keep going?”

Mike angled a thumb toward the windows. “The light’s still good. We have another hour or so to get the best shots. If not, I have a lot of good footage from the lesson alone.”

A glance at Victor confirmed he was fine to continue. She turned back to Mike. “Let’s give it a go. They’re expecting us, and I can certainly handle an hour.”

Hector cleared his throat. “Before you go, there is one more thing you must learn. You will not need it at the
practica
, but if you ever attend a
milonga
, it is important.”

Emily started back to the center of the dance floor, but Eva held up a hand. “It is not a step. It is the look.
El cabeceo.
”

“A…look?” Rita stepped back to study Victor and Emily’s clothing.
 

“No, you misunderstand me.” Eva rested her index fingers at her temples. “The look with the eyes. In Argentina, a man does not ask a woman to dance with the voice. He must ask with the eyes, then with a nod of his head. It is more subtle. It allows for a woman to say no without the difficulty for the woman or the man.”

“Without embarrassment?” Rita asked.

“Yes. Without embarrassment. Here, Hector and I will show you.” Eva crossed the dance floor to the bench where Emily put on her shoes at the beginning of the lesson. Back straight and hands perched atop one knee, she managed to appear relaxed and confident as she sat, rather than stiff. “At a
milonga
, there are often many tables around the room. When you arrive, the host will seat you at a table of their choosing. A woman should always sit with energy, like this. Men wish to dance with a woman who is pleasant and would make a good dance partner.”

Eva patted the space beside her and waited until Emily sat, imitating Eva’s form while Hector strode to the opposite wall. His gaze swept the room, as if he had dozens of women from whom to choose.
 

To Victor, Hector said, “The men, they will find a place to stand with a good view, or they might walk about the room in search of partners. Their eyes, they move, yes? You do not stop on one woman until you are sure. You must be…cool.”

“Cool. Understood.” Victor couldn’t hide the amusement in his voice at the old-school traditions Hector and Eva presented.

With a wave, Hector urged Victor to his side. “Now, your turn. Take your time. Be a mystery. Search for a woman who has spirit, but is not too eager. If you have already seen her dance, that is even better. Then you know she might be a good partner. When you have made your choice and a new
tanda
is about to begin, you meet her eyes.”

Victor flicked his gaze past Eva to Emily. Hector caught his shoulder, urging Victor to keep his line of sight fixed. “Now. She is looking at you. You have made the contact and she is not looking away. This is good, but you must be sure. So continue on.” He released Victor’s shoulder, then tapped the button on the wall that restarted the music. “Let your eyes move, but without stopping on another woman. Then, slowly, come back. See if she looks at you again, if she captures you with her
mirada
.”

“This is what you must perfect,” Eva said to Emily. “Your
mirada
is subtle. It is a look that lets him know he is safe in asking you to dance. But if you give him your
mirada
and he doesn’t respond with
el cabeceo
” —she shrugged— “you are not bothered. It is you who are cool.”

“This is hilarious,” Rita said to Mike as he followed along with his camera. “We’re being schooled in the art of flirtation.”

“No, no,” Hector corrected, though he kept his focus on Victor. “Not flirtation. Invitation. Now, the woman has met your look again. If you know she is the one and you are confident she will say yes, you must nod, like so. If she does not look away, then that is acceptance.”

Hector locked eyes with Eva and gave a slight tip of his head. When Eva’s attention did not stray from his face, Hector moved across the floor, acting as if he were making his way through a crowded room. He paused a few feet from his wife. “The man should stop at the woman’s table or at the edge of the dance floor closest to her. He should keep his eyes on her as he approaches so she knows that he wishes to dance with her, and so that the women nearby do not mistake his intent.”

Hector signaled for Victor to imitate his action. Slowly, Victor allowed his gaze to travel past Mike and Rita, past Eva and Emily, then he drew it back to Emily and lingered. Despite the fact it was nothing more than an exercise in etiquette, Victor’s subtle perusal sent adrenaline rushing through her veins.

“Yes, that is it!” Eva clapped her approval. “Now, Emily, you may look away, but if you wish to dance with him, don’t look away for very long. Only enough to be certain he intends to dance with you and not a woman sitting behind you. Then, once he gives you
el cabeceo
, you must keep your gaze on him if you wish to dance. If you have made a mistake and do not wish to partner with him, then look away again and do not look back. Do you understand? This is the polite way to say no, without embarrassment.”
 

Eva encouraged Emily to return her gaze to Victor’s. Much as she tried to be cool, she found it impossible. The man had a way of seeing through to her soul when he looked at her that way, as if he knew she was envisioning the kiss they shared outside the park. As if he knew it turned her inside out and made her ache to do it again.

Did the whole room see the same smoldering heat in his eyes that she saw? Did they know her face—her entire body—flamed in response?

Fixed on his destination, Victor strode across the floor with the smooth, controlled power of a lion after a trapped gazelle. When he was nearly across the floor, Emily rose, but was corrected with a quick rap on the knees from Eva. The contact wasn’t painful, but surprised Emily enough that her rear hit the bench with an unladylike thump that made Rita wince.

“Wait until he is at your table,” Eva said. “Do not stand or approach him. You must be certain that you are his target. Remember, you must be cool, never too eager. No big smiles.”

When Victor finally stopped in front of Emily, his eyes still riveted on her face, Eva motioned for Emily to stand. “Do not speak. Approach him, then he will lead you to the floor. You are then expected to dance the full set. Usually, this is four tangos. You may speak quietly between dances, but not during the dance. It is considered rude. When the music plays, you speak with your dance and with your energy.”

Once again, Emily found herself in Victor’s arms. The slight pressure of his large hand against her back calmed the nerves jangled by Eva’s censure. He guided her through the basic steps until Hector stopped the music and asked them to run through
el cabeceo
again. This time, Emily waited before she stood.
 

“Well done.” Eva clapped her hands and smiled. “A very good first lesson. You should enjoy the
practica
.”

They said their goodbyes, thanking Hector and Eva for opening the tango school to
At Home Abroad
and letting them know when the episode would air. Noting the declining outdoor light, Mike took the lead as they made their way down the stairs and onto the street. His long strides across the cobblestones were quickly matched by Victor’s. Music wafted down the narrow road as they approached the neighborhood park where the
practica
was already underway.

“That was amazing,” Rita noted once the men were far enough ahead that she was confident she wouldn’t be overheard. “You two looked so elegant. And
hot
. My gosh, Emily. Our ratings will go through the roof if we use that footage to promote the show!”

“I’ll reserve judgment until I see the edit.” Much as Victor appeared both suave and talented during the lesson, she doubted the same held true for her. She’d felt like a bumbling teenager at her first school dance. If she looked confident, it was only because she’d forced it. Even her remarks to the camera hadn’t come as naturally as they usually did.
 

“Trust me. It adds exactly the right amount of sex appeal to the episode.” Rita looked over her shoulder to take in the sight of an accordion player perched on a wooden stool so old its green paint had peeled, his arms moving in and out with the rhythm of his song. “That’s what I love most about Argentina. It’s unapologetic about the role romance plays in its culture. The art, the food, the tango…all of it. And it’s so gracefully done.”

Emily couldn’t stop her wry grin. “I kicked Bob, if you didn’t notice.”

“I did. I promise, we’ll edit that out.”

“And I stood too fast. Can’t forget that the romance here is of the old-fashioned variety.” With impeccable timing, an elderly man with a robustness that defied his wrinkled countenance strode out of a café near the corner, then paused to hold the door for his wife.
 

“Nothing wrong with that. Old-fashioned romance can have its charms.” Rita didn’t bother to hide her admiration of the couple as the man took his wife’s hand, then tucked it in the crook of his arm while they made their way down the street.
 

“Most of the time, I’d agree. But in the tango lesson? The man chooses, the man asks, the man approaches. And naturally, a woman cannot be too eager.” She pulled a face. “As if by standing up I was showing I was desperate.”