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A shock went through her system. That was a city she knew well.
“I saw you dance in a competition and you had more pasión than I had ever seen.”
He had no accent, yet the way he said pasión showed he knew the language, and probably tango. Sophie felt a jolt in her stomach and her shoulders slouched. She wasn’t expecting another reminder of her past from a stranger. A reminder of a time before her knee had betrayed her. Whatever he was expecting, it was from a past version of herself. He would be disappointed by the present Sophie. “I’m sorry, Mr.—”
“Henry. Please just call me Henry.”
“Okay then, Henry,” she said, shaping the syllables with her tongue and lips. “I appreciate the compliment, but that was a long time ago. Why did you come in here tonight?”
His gaze rested on her mouth as she spoke his name and again she felt that flare of heat on her face. A slow, crooked smile spread across his sensual lips, his mouth turning up at one corner and revealing a deep dimple. “I saw you through the window and I felt compelled. I’ve wanted to see you dance since that night, but I couldn’t find any of your performances. Then tonight as I’m walking down the sidewalk I see you teaching a class. You’ve been under my nose this whole time.”
The stab of pain in her stomach intensified. That she could have such an effect on a man this beautiful was so flattering, and yet realizing that the dancer who had created that effect was no longer able to dance devastated her. She needed to get him out of here before she began to cry. “Henry—”
“Dance with me.”
“I beg your pardon?” Did he really think he could come into her studio and dance with her because he saw her in the window? Because he had seen her at a competition once? “If you’d like lessons, I’m happy to give you a schedule. We have new classes starting all the time.”
He was already stalking over to the chair at the front of the room and the loathsome cane propped against it. She saw him pluck something from the seat and realized it was her
iPod remote. “I don’t want dance lessons. I want to dance with you.”
“I’ve had a full day. And I don’t give out free private lessons.”
His thick brows rose. “I’ll pay double your normal rate. For the whole hour. One dance and I’ll leave.” He pointed the remote at the iPod dock and waited, gaze steady.
He couldn’t be serious. “Does that normally work? The ‘double your rate’ bit?”
“I wouldn’t know. First time I’ve used it.”
So he was a charmer. Sophie’s thoughts went to her knee. She wiggled her leg a bit to test its strength. It felt fine, which was strange given the pain she had been in earlier. Her attention returned to the beautiful man in front of her. The urgency that had emerged in his eyes left her startled. “Well I can tell you. It doesn’t.”
His hand dropped, but his gaze remained fixed on her, his dark eyes searching. They travelled down her body, and Sophie thought for a moment she felt his eyes linger on her bad knee, but they returned quickly to her face. “No? What about this: when I saw you dance in Buenos Aires, I felt your pasión. I felt connected to you, like I knew you just by watching you move. I feel that again today, and I have to know if we have that connection.”
He stepped toward her, stopping a foot in front of her. His eyes locked again with hers. “So I’m going to say it again. Dance with me. Please.”
His close proximity brought a new warmth to her body, and Sophie was surprised to find she had begun to grow wet between her legs. She knew the connection he was talking about. It was something she had felt with Christian when they had danced, and as she thought about it she realized it was something she shared with the gorgeous creature in front of her. Henry. She tasted the unspoken syllables in her mouth, wondered what it would be like to scream them.
She snapped out of her reverie and dropped her eyes down to the skin exposed at Henry’s open collar. A shake of her leg showed her knee was fine. “Henry—”
His hot breath was in her hair as he stepped forward. “I will pay you ten times your normal hourly rate. One dance, that’s all I’m asking for.”
She looked up and saw his expression. If eyes could be on fire, his dark eyes were blazing. For her. “You don’t even know my rate,” she said quietly.
He smiled. “Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter.” His hand came up for her in perfect form, just as Darren’s had earlier.
One more check of her knee. It felt good. What the hell, she thought. It was worth one dance: the money—she would have to make up her private rate—and to know if this handsome man she had just met could connect with her in a way no one had in a long time. “One dance,” she said.
She lay her hand in his grip, a shock of arousal flashing through her as their palms touched. His broad hand curled around her fingers, dwarfing the slender digits in his warm clasp, and drew her closer. The music started. “Thank you,” he whispered into her ear. His breath sent a pleasant shock through her system.
Sophie’s hand slid instinctively up his arm and came to a rest on his shoulder. His right arm slipped around her back, his long fingers brushing tantalizingly against her left side. He pulled her even closer, twining her hand in his. She was achingly aware of the press of her breasts against his broad, hard chest through the thin cotton of her t-shirt.
He moved fluidly backward, drawing her with him into the basic steps of the tango. Though he stuck to the simple configuration for the first several revolutions, it was clear he didn’t need lessons. Sophie blinked up at him, startled by the graceful glide of his movements. His eyes were a much darker shade of brown than hers, nearly black. She was suddenly caught in them, unable to look away, as if the shiny pupil of his eye was really the tar it appeared to be and she was stuck fast.
She drew in a quick breath, heart whirling, as he began to lead her in some more complex combinations. He sandwiched her, pushing her foot to spin her into a set of backward ochos. Sophie’s heart began to beat in time with the music as he pulled her back into him, his hard thigh pressing between her legs.
The contact sent a ripple of excitement into her belly. If she’d been wearing one of her competition dresses, he would not have been so fully against her inner thigh, but in the soft, stretchy yoga pants she wore to teach class, she could feel the heat of his skin as if nothing separated them.
She brought her left leg up in a thigh stroke and saw a flare of fire in those inky irises. The look in his eyes wasn’t focus, it was absorbtion. It had been a long time since she’d been in a man’s arms like this. She danced a few steps here or there with Darren to illustrate proper form or execution, but that was as similar as acting in a play was to living life. Clasped against his hard, warm body, Sophie shivered. She needed to say something before she completely melted in this stranger’s embrace.
