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Amira adjusted her stance so that her frame was locked, and all her weight rested on her left heel. The loneliness that pervaded her waking hours seemed to dissipate. This man, this stranger whom she did not know, called to her on a primordial level. She attempted to relax her shoulders, to regulate her breathing, but it was as if she were drowning in him.

His hands cupping her ass.

His mouth—demanding—at her nipples.

Little shocks rippled over her breasts.

Oh yes, she could picture what sex with this dark-haired stranger would be like. How he would devour her, driving her to the edge and then over, again and again. She trembled, mouth parched.

The Argentinian’s voice floated behind her. “It is important that you both feel that connection. You should feel the pressure of your chest in contact with your partner, such that if the gentlemen stepped forward, ladies, you would move accordingly. Remember you are responding to the music as one.”

Her nipples pebbled against his body and a delicate shiver traipsed down her back. There was almost an erotic quality to being able to see when her partner could not.

The connection was effortless, intimate.

They shifted weight from one foot to the other, executing simple turns, all the while their chests pressed together, their bodies moving as one. Amira was overcome. By him. By her need for a man. By the luxury of another’s touch.

She held her back straight when all she wanted was to sink against him. Lulled into the rhythm, she glided, barely listening to the instructions from the teachers. Her sole focus was the mysterious stranger whom she fantasized about for so long now.

“Whoever you are, you have a beautiful embrace.” The timber of his voice vibrated through her chest. It was deep, smooth. A flush crept over her face. She lapped up his words, savoring them and her response.

Amira cleared her throat. “I could say the same of you.”

His eyes flashed open, a dark and deep brown. Surprise and appreciation dawned across his face. He lingered on her lips, heating her skin.

She stared back. Afraid it was a dream. Afraid to break the connection.

“I knew you would have this…”

“What?”

He weighed his words, pausing. “Sensuality. There is something about the way you move that draws people to you.”

“Just people?”

She was emboldened by his words. She was another woman in his arms.

They swayed, shifting the weight from one foot to the other. He kept a small space between them, leading as per the Argentine’s instructions. His gaze lowered, leaving a trail of embers scattered across her breasts until it hovered above her panties, setting her alight.

“Me. You intrigue me, Amira. As you do countless other men. Social dancing has refined your technique. I’ve made it a point to study you.”

“Study me?”

“I’ve watched your progress…but then you know that. I’ve waited, and I think you’re ready.”

“Ready?”

“To dance with me.”

His response shocked her. His assurance and arrogance pinched at her pride. A year ago, she had just begun to dance socially. She hadn’t found her style then, hadn’t known who she was when she danced, or even what she enjoyed. A lot had changed in twelve months.

“Am I?”

“I don’t repeat myself. You’re a sought-after dancer now. Steady on your feet. It’s a powerful aphrodisiac. Men line up to ask you to dance, and yet you are just at the beginning. I can take you further. Make you better. I think you’re ready.”

“I thought you never repeated yourself.”

His mouth curved; his expression softened. “So it would seem.”