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“If that’s your way of changing the subject, I’m not buying it.”
He reeled her in with a slight tug on her hand. “Who said anything about needing to change the subject? I enjoy flirting, you’re the one with the problem.”
If he only knew.
She didn’t know how to flirt, had zero experience. Jax had targeted her, played her, said all the right things, done all the right things to get her to fall for him. Flirting hadn’t entered into it. As for her other two dates, they’d been stilted, awkward, rushed dinners with limited small talk and frequent glances at watches on both sides.
It wasn’t so much as having a problem with flirting, she didn’t have a clue how to do it.
She stumbled, winced, treaded on his toes, and wished the floor would open up and swallow her.
“Easy, Ginger. Just follow my lead.”
If he’d smiled or smirked or had the faintest amused twinkle in his eyes she would’ve slammed her heel on his foot—well, thought about it—and made a run for it. Instead, he tightened his hold on her hand, gently increased the pressure with the other in the small of her back, and counted softly under his breath as he led her around the dance floor.
The counting was for her benefit but it didn’t help. Clumsy, stiff, and awkward didn’t begin to describe how she felt in his arms, like a mannequin given an airing before being dumped in a shopfront in only her knickers.
Thinking of knickers while in his arms had her trampling his toes again and she bit her lip, silently cursing her ineptness.
“Sorry.” Her gaze fixed on his chest, heat scorching her cheeks.
He stopped twirling her about, placed a finger under her chin, and tilted it up so she had no option but to look at him.
“Don’t apologize. This class is about learning and you’re doing great for a beginner.”
His understanding smile sent a tremor through her. Why couldn’t he be condescending and obnoxious so she could dislike him, rather than considerate and kind?
She mumbled a noncommittal answer, wishing he’d stop staring at her like a pet project. Though it could be worse; he could’ve looked down on her as a charity case with pity in his eyes.
“Just feel the music. Let the beat take you.”
Easy for Fred Astaire junior to say.
Her dubious expression had him chuckling as he pulled her closer again. “Come on, you’ll enjoy it.”
To her surprise, he was right. As soon as she stopped focusing on her feet not stomping his and ignored the fact he was holding her close, she started to relax. The music filtered over her, soft and ethereal, a classical hit from a bygone era, and she found herself humming softly, swept away in the magic of the moment.
She closed her eyes, remembering a dancing show she’d once seen on TV, and imagined herself in a siren red chiffon dress with a fitted bodice held up by willpower alone and handkerchief layers cascading from her waist to her ankles. She imagined snazzy red shoes to match, sequinned, with impossibly high heels that floated across the dance floor of their own volition.
With immaculate hair and makeup and the smile of a ballroom dancing champion, she lived the fantasy, let the music infuse her body, her senses, allowing Zac to whisk her around and around, her feet finally falling into step with his as an exhilaration she’d never known rushed through her.
She’d never felt so light, so graceful, so unselfconscious. If this is what ballroom dancing could do for her, she’d sign up for a year’s worth of classes as soon as she got home.
But there was more to it than perfecting a waltz and she knew it. Zac had given her this gift, had given her the confidence to let go of her reservations and enjoy the moment. He’d empowered her to believe that for a precious few minutes she could be agile and lithe and elegant rather than a shy, clumsy klutz.
When the music faded, her eyelids fluttered open and rather than feeling let-down by reality, the gleam of appreciation in Zac’s steady gaze had her craving to do it all again.
“You’re good.”
His admiration made her want to perform a few extra twirls for good measure.
She flushed with pleasure. “Thanks, so are you.”
“You up for a cha-cha?”
Ignoring the usual flicker of nerves at trying something new, she nodded. “Sure. Let’s give it a try.”
Not only did she learn the cha-cha, Zac showed her the finer points of a foxtrot too. While the class danced around them, she matched him step for step, exhilarated by his fancy manoeuvres, thrilled by her increasing confidence to try more complicated steps.
