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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.
Chapter Five
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 looke
d 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?”
