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“Okay, three steps forward, then back, tap behind your foot with your other toe when you stop. I’ll lead with my left, so it’s right foot forward for you. Here we go. And don’t forget those hips.”
Rachel frowned in concentration as they moved together.
“Not bad,” he encouraged. “Now let’s try some turns.” He took his time, talking her through some more basic moves. “I’m gonna spin you and bring you back against me, and then we’ll move together. Your back to my front. Okay?”
She hesitated, then nodded. Harvard spun her out and drew her back quickly. With her back pressed to his front, their hips moved in rhythm together. He flattened his right hand on her stomach while his left still held her left hand against his chest.
Her long sleek hair brushed against his arm as she gazed up at him. “What do I do with my free hand?”
“Whatever you want.” He lifted his chin toward a couple close to them, who were dancing the same way. The woman’s hand covered her partner’s on her stomach, as her face turned into his throat. They moved in perfect sensual movement, lost in each other and the beat of the music.
Slowly, tentatively, Rachel rested her hand on his. He resisted the urge to tighten his hold, to pull her even closer. Instead, he quietly talked her through some other moves, feeling the loss when they separated.
But it wasn’t for long. Harvard pulled her into his arms, in the classic hold used for a waltz, only closer, and rested one hand on her hip while the other held hers against his chest. Their bodies touched as they moved, repeating the footwork they’d already learned, but this time, fully together.
It was perfect. Rachel’s ballet lessons came back to her, and she moved easily with the music, gradually relaxing in his hold. Harvard gently tugged her closer, resting his cheek against her hair as the music engulfed them. The tension eased from her body as she sank into the beat, her movements gradually becoming more sensual and lyrical.
Feeling her soften, watching her let go, was one of the best experiences of his life so far. For the first time since they’d met, he felt like she was allowing him to see a part of her that people rarely—if ever—saw. The honor of her trust made his chest swell with pride.
Harvard was realistic. He knew that the sarcastic, cutting, painfully smart woman who tormented everyone around was who Rachel truly was. He didn’t have some misguided savior complex. There was no believing that with the right man to love her, she’d transform into someone lighter and more forgiving. No, he liked Rachel exactly as she was, bitchy tendencies and all. But he suspected there was more to her than met the eye. A soft little underbelly that she never exposed to anyone.
And he wanted to be the man she trusted enough to let him see it.
Which meant baby steps. Because you didn’t win the trust of an alpha female overnight. That took time, patience, and an ego made of Teflon.
This wasn’t like the nightclub experiences Rachel remembered from her youth. Those dark, crowded dance floors where you either moved around beside someone but never touched or fought off some guy who wanted to rub himself against you. This was different. More intimate. And…safer.
While she couldn’t explain it, she could feel the difference.
It was as though Harvard created a little box with his arms, defining how far she could move from him. It was a box that no one else was allowed to enter, one meant for them alone. A place where she could relax and let herself go. Where she was protected. Where she was secure.
She shook her head at the thoughts as her body moved to the rhythm of the music. No one looked at her; they were all lost in their own little worlds. No one knew who she was or expected anything from her. It was freeing.
And with each step she took, her muscles remembered what it meant to dance, to move in synchronicity with someone else. It wasn’t like ballet, nothing like it, although the movements were familiar. But where ballet was all about distance, comportment, grace, this was about closeness, sensuality, and expression. It was a strange new world. One Rachel found she enjoyed exploring.
As she followed Harvard’s lead on the dance floor, the rest of the world faded to insignificance. There was only the darkness, the music, and the feeling of their bodies as they touched and moved together. For the first time in years, there was peace in her busy mind.
Harvard didn’t push her boundaries, didn’t try to make the experience more intimate than it naturally was. His hands didn’t stray; his touch didn’t linger. And yet, each gentle brush of his skin against hers was a caress that sank straight into the depth of her being.
He did that thing again, where he cradled her against him, her back to his front as they moved. Her hips swayed of their own accord, feeling his strength, his solidity against her, and her eyes drifted closed. In that moment, there was only the man guiding their dance and her own desire to move.
The music changed, and Harvard turned her. “Put your arms around my neck,” he whispered against her ear.
Her arms obeyed before she made the conscious decision to follow his instruction. His hands on her hips, they moved to the new beat, and Harvard’s low voice sang softly to her. Rachel didn’t understand the language, but she understood the feeling behind the words. He was serenading her.
Her breasts flattened against his chest as her hips swayed under his hands. Eyes closed, she pressed her face into his throat, breathing in his ocean scent. He smelled of adventure. Of freedom. Of beautiful, clean waves.
“What does it mean?” she whispered, her voice so low and intimate she barely recognized it.
“It’s a love song,” he murmured. “The singer is desperately in love with his woman, and no one can understand how deep it is. It’s beyond anything ever seen before. It’s eternal. Immortal. That’s what the song’s called: Inmortal,” he finished in Spanish.
“I…like it.”
“I do too.” One of his arms wrapped around her, holding her close.
She didn’t feel vulnerable or exposed; she felt strong and courageous. Because he made it possible for her to feel that way. There was no judgment in anything he did or said, no expectation. Only delight…and promise. As though he knew he was giving her a safe space, somewhere just to be.
“Are you thirsty?” he asked. “Do you want a drink?”
