When they reached an empty spot near the edge, he turned to face her and put his hand on her waist.
Drova froze.
It was not a panicked freeze. It was an information-gathering freeze, the kind a warrior did when something new entered the perimeter and needed to be assessed. His hand was warm. It was placed exactly where it was supposed to be placed, neither too high nor too low, neither too tight nor too loose. It was the hand of a guy who had clearly danced before and knew where to put his hand on a female's waist.
She lifted her free hand and put it on his shoulder, the way she had seen Wonder do with Anandur, the way the romance novels described, the way Cassandra was doing with Onegus.
His shoulder was solid under her palm.
"I don't know how to do this," she said.
"I'll guide you."
"Don't you dare make fun of me."
"Never. Just relax and follow my lead."
"Fine."
"Step back with your right foot when I step forward with my left. Then step left with your left foot. Then step forward with your right foot when I step back with my right. And then we do it again."
"That's confusing."
"It really isn't. Just think of it as fencing moves. Pretend we are sparring."
She smirked. "I could teach you a thing or two about sparring. Did you forget who my mother is?"
His expression turned serious. "No, I didn't. I also didn't forget who your father is. You are an exceptional fighter and a powerful compeller, but you don't know how to dance, and I do. So, listen and learn."
Drova didn't like it when people brought up her father, but then she had inherited her compulsion ability from him, and that was the trait that defined her, so there was no escaping it.
"Then do less talking and more teaching," she snapped.
His smile was back, and with it the stupid butterflies taking flight in her chest.
She got the first step wrong, putting her right foot back when she should have put her left foot somewhere else, but Pavel adjusted around her without comment, and on the second pass she got it right, and on the third pass she got it right again, and on the fourth pass her body started to figure out the pattern in the way her body was good at figuring out fight sequences.
"Look at you, Drova. You are dancing."
She nodded but kept her eyes on their feet.
The romance novels had prepared her for this. There was always a dance scene, and it always involved the heroine discovering that the hero smelled good and was solid and that something previously theoretical had become real.
The dance scene was where the heroine started to admit to herself the things she had not been prepared to admit before, like the fact that dancing was fun.
Dancing with Pavel was fun.
He was looking at her with that corner-of-his-mouth thing that was more pronounced than usual, and it wasn't the same way he'd been looking at her before. He was looking at her the way Ruvon looked at Arezoo.
Well, that was a slight exaggeration.
Ruvon looked at Arezoo like he couldn't believe his luck. Pavel was looking at her like he was still deciding something.
Drova didn't know what it was, and she wasn't going to ask.
She let him guide her through the step pattern and pretended that her heart was not doing things it had no business doing.
"You smell like cedar," she said, before her brain could stop her mouth.
