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“I’m Sophie, by the way,” she breathed, biting at her lower lip at how inane the words sounded to her own ears. She gritted her teeth slightly, trying to bite back any more conversation and just concentrate on the music. It was an impossible task. The feel of his hand on her back, thumb softly stroking her side, was too distracting. As was the glide of his legs between and around hers. His powerful body moved nimbly to the beat of the music. He said nothing.
Arms around his neck for a complicated drag she hadn’t attempted in ages, Sophie felt the puff of his exhalation against her mouth. She blinked rapidly, scenting peppermint on his breath. When she managed to pull her eyes away from his, they dropped to the full, sensual curve of his lower lip. She watched the corners tick up slightly, only really becoming aware that he’d tilted her into a volcado when she realized she’d used her left leg for a series of rapid embellishments she hadn’t done since her competition days.
The music came to an end as he tipped her back up onto her feet and drew her in close once again. Sophie’s hand was pressed between his shoulder blades. The very edges of his fingertips just barely brushed the curve of her breast. She shuddered, once more raising her eyes to his.
His head was bent slightly, a lock of dark hair that had come loose during their dance hanging over his forehead. His lips were mere inches from hers. She felt his cool breath against her mouth and trembled, her lashes fluttering. He was bending his lips slowly closer...
“Hey Soph, I forgot to—” she heard Darren say. She spun around to find him at the entrance, green eyes wide. He shook his head. “Forgot to say goodnight. Goodnight!” He scurried out of the room and was gone before either of them could say anything.
She had been that close to kissing a stranger after one dance. That was a definite no-no. What had gotten into her? This guy was probably used to asking for a dance and ending up doing the horizontal variety. Not exactly a gentleman. It was time to nip this in the bud. He was obviously expecting her to be a different kind of girl. She took a step back. “Did you just try and kiss me?”
Henry stepped toward the door and picked up her business card from the table beside the entrance before looking at her. For the millionth time since she had seen him, Sophie admired the sculpted features of his face. “I’d like to dance with you again, but I know I’ve given you a lot to think about. Sleep on it and let me know what you decide when I call tomorrow. One hour, once a week, my place. I’ll pay anything you want.”
“Henry—”
“Sleep on it. I’ll call tomorrow for your answer. And thank you.” He stepped toward her. Instead of shaking her hand, he clasped her fingers briefly and bowed low over their intertwined hands before striding out toward reception. In another moment he was gone.
Sophie sighed. She couldn’t deny that she had enjoyed dancing more, with him, than she had since before her injury. At the same time, nice men didn’t dance like that. Not with women they had just met. The last thing she needed was a man whose interest in her hinged on dancing. She stared at the empty classroom a moment longer, flipped off the lights, and locked the front door. Better not miss the bus.
Chapter Three
Her usual seat up front was taken. Sophie made her way slowly to the back, turning to keep her bag from striking anyone’s shoulder. She folded herself into the very last seat and slid against the window, enjoying the view of the city outside. She had fallen in love with New York City while she was a student, and still touring and it was still her favorite place.
She’d been too far away places while on tour, or for competitions, full of interesting people, foreign food, and strange music. The city seemed to capture some of that exotic energy from all over the world and encapsulate it in microcosm. Sophie smiled at her reflection in the glass. When she missed those wild days of travel, all she had to do was take a bus to Little Tokyo, Brighton Beach, or the Argentinian enclave that was Forest Hills. The thought of Argentina brought to mind tonight’s tango. Not that it had ever completely left.
And the man. The olive skinned, dark eyed Henry would fit in just fine among the residents of the upscale Queens neighborhood. It was the feel of his hand stroking her side, the strong support of his arms, the heart-pounding rhythm of the dance. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so swept up.
But that was a lie. She could remember quite well. She just didn’t want to think about Christian. Not today, not ever again. She felt a twinge of pain in her knee and glanced down, surprised to find herself gripping her own thigh with tight fingers. Thoughts of her ex-partner had that effect. She sighed, smoothing the yoga pants down.
She and Christian had met as part of a company years ago. They had been so young. The tall, sable haired young man with piercing blue eyes had drawn the attention of every woman in the troupe. He’d taken advantage of the attention too. Sophie hadn’t been interested at first. He was a player and she wasn’t the kind to get played. But when she’d left the group to begin competing, Christian was her partner. They had danced together and been lovers for two years before her injury. When it became clear that her knee was never going to recover, he’d left.
And now Henry. The strong, sensual stranger had strode into the studio and quite literally swept her off her feet. She hadn’t danced a tango that passionately in longer than she cared to remember. His embrace had been warm, strong, and utterly receptive. They could definitely dance together. But someone who could move like that with a stranger was obviously receptive to many bodies. He was a man who knew what he wanted. “Private lessons” at his place? Any price? There was nothing wrong with a man who knew his desires, but she just wasn’t interested in that kind of arrangement. His forwardness made it easier to say no. By the time the bus reached her stop, she knew what her answer would be when he called the next day.
***
Thirty minutes later she was unlocking her apartment door. She shot a resentful look at the Degas print in the foyer. The Dance Class, of course. A gift from her parents when she opened the studio. They meant well, but she would have rather had L’Absinthe instead.
She pushed the door shut with her foot, and set her bags on the kitchen counter. The kitchen was her least favorite room in the apartment. It was small and the counters were bright white. Sophie wasn’t sure whether she spent so little time in the kitchen because it was so bare, or if it was so bare because she spent so little time in it. Either way, she much preferred the living room, with its orange-red walls and vintage Parisian ads.
She stuck the sushi she’d picked up on the walk home in the fridge, kicked off her shoes and headed into the bathroom. There, too, the tile was bright and white. Yet she liked it there, the white offset by her sage and lavender colored towels. What was sterile in the kitchen felt calming here. Sophie turned on the water in the shower and peeled out of her sweaty clothes. She kept her eyes away from the mirror, not wanting to see her disheveled blonde ponytail or the dark circles that were no doubt under her eyes.
Her body always felt like a run-down machine these days. Best not to look too hard. Well. Not always. She remembered the look on Darren’s face when he’d walked in on her and Henry dancing and wondered how she’d looked to him then. Her cheeks had been hot, no doubt bright with blood. She’d licked her lips, leaving them wet with saliva. And she’d been panting, slightly out of breath from the proximity of the man and the intensity of the dance.
A woman ravished, or about to be, was how she imagined herself to have looked in that moment. Her body had felt anything but run-down then. More thrumming, aroused, alive. She shivered, recalling the way Henry’s thumb had lightly caressed the very edge of her breast. They felt suddenly heavier now as her nipples tightened to hard points. For all his forwardness, god, he was attractive.
She stepped beneath the warm spray with her thoughts still humming, tilting her head back and letting the water run down her face and neck. It did nothing to release the tension coiling in her belly. Sophie pushed her wet hair back from her face, sliding her hands down to her neck and rubbing the tense muscles there. Her body wash was orange scented and lovely as she lathered her shoulders and arms.
Citrus scented suds slid down her torso, coasting on currents of heated water. They clung to her sensitive nipples, and slipped, tickling, across the flat plane of her belly before catching up in the dark brown curls between her legs. Eyes closed, Sophie let her fingers follow the bubbles’ languid path.
Finally, she allowed her mind to drift back to the dance. The cool tile of the shower became the floor to ceiling window of her studio. Henry pressed her hard against it, mouth and tongue demanding against hers as he kissed her. His left hand snaked beneath her shirt, strong fingers pushing her bra up to release her breast into his palm. He massaged it firmly, rolling her nipple between thumb and forefinger, pinching lightly.
Sophie gasped at the arrow of pleasure this sent flying straight to her pussy. Her clitoris throbbed in time with his touch. She whimpered at the loud clank of his belt buckle and the rasp of his zipper lowering. Outside, it was dark. Cars whizzed by and it didn’t matter.
“Hook your leg around me,” he murmured against her lips, urging her thigh up to his hip. She did as he said, hitching her calf around his waist, letting him and the window take her weight. She wrapped her arms around his neck, clinging tightly as he drew out the hard length of his cock and rubbed the satiny head between her slick lips.
Sophie arched her hips, pressing against him, trying to draw him into her. Henry nipped at her lower lip, teasing her with just the tip, sliding his rigid shaft up and down her slit.
“Henry, please,” she cried into his mouth, desperate for him to fill her.
