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His thumb traced small circles on the small of her back. Was he doing that on purpose? It felt as if he was striking matches against her skin, pleasure flaring with each stroke.
The song grew faster and their movements echoed its rhythm, speeding up. He tilted her suddenly off axis, away from him, but Sophie’s body didn’t jerk or tense. He wasn’t going to let her fall. Her heart never even quavered.
She wasn’t disappointed. He swept around her and then righted her, moving through the simple basic eight formation for a few steps before once again tilting her, forward this time. Sophie kept her body straight but supple as Henry dragged her against him. The sweet tension in Sophie’s body translated perfectly to the dance.
Chin up, breath coming raggedly as they whirled and twisted, Sophie licked her lips. She put everything she had into the tap of her toe, the tautness of her frame, the swing of her leg. She spoke to Henry with each step.
Amagues, caricias, pasada, lustrada, toque.
I’m sorry, I should have listened, I know you didn’t tell Nicole about my accident.
His body seemed to be speaking to her as well, but Sophie was unsure of what he was trying to convey. Or rather, she was afraid the passion she was sensing, the joy at having her back in his arms, the eagerness to try again, was just her reading him wrong. She was afraid her hope that that’s how he would feel was coloring her perception.
Whether or not she was receiving his non-verbal signals correctly, they still moved together beautifully. They always did. Whatever tension was between them, whatever mistakes and misunderstandings, they were never off here on the dance floor.
Their heads and hearts might stumble, but their bodies never seemed to. They glided over the smooth floor like water, rippling and swirling. Sophie’s heart thundered in her chest. She could feel it beating in every vein, every artery, every capillary. Her body throbbed with the music, with Henry’s nearness.
It had never been like this. Not with anyone. Not even with Christian. Every particle
of her being was focused on Henry, the music flowing through him into her. This was what she’d always loved about dance, this feeling. She’d never experienced it with another person as intensely as this.
Looking into Henry’s eyes, she thought he could feel it too. His dark gaze blazed into hers, leaping like black flame. Sophie could swear she felt his heart beating against her chest, just as frantic as hers.
It took her more than a full minute to realize that the music had faded and the thunderous thump ringing in her ears were cheers and applause. It had been years since she’d heard it. She blinked, readjusting her focus from the press of Henry’s body along the length of hers, the inky fire in his eyes, and the pulse of the music, to the room around them.
Carl was whistling, long fingers pressed against his lower lip. Army McCullough’s small, pudgy hands were clapping resoundingly, his palms a pink blur. Sophie grinned, only just realizing that everyone had cleared off the dance floor, leaving her and Henry alone on the smooth, wood surface. When had that happened?
Nicole and Jorge, of course, were both scowling as if Sophie had had the poor taste to strip in the middle of the cocktail party. She slid her gaze back to Henry’s face, her fingers squeezed his shoulder. His lashes swept down, that muscle in his jaw jumping again. His voice was slightly strangled.
“Sophie, what you said the other day—”
She pressed her fingers to his lips. “No. Not here. I just... I wanted to ask you to dance for once, to give to you what you gave back to me.”
His lips parted beneath her fingers. She resisted the urge to stroke them just barely. She shook her head. “I want to talk. You know where to find me.”
Sophie lifted her hand, touched his jaw briefly, and strode away. She smiled, dipping her head in acknowledgement of the applause, making her way toward the door. Carl caught her eye and winked. He gave her a thumbs up.
She hoped his optimism wasn’t unfounded. She’d taken the first step. Now she had to wait and see how Henry reacted.
Chapter Twenty-two
The classroom called to her. Sophie had been planning to wait and see if Henry followed, to be calm and cool and collected when he arrived, sitting at her small desk and smiling.
But there was too much energy pumping through her body. She rummaged through the office, glad to find a spare pair of the soft, stretchy black pants she wore to teach class and a worn yellow T-shirt from the last Tango World Cup she’d gone to. Sophie struggled out of the gorgeous red dress and laid it reverently aside to return to Carl.
She wasn’t entirely sure how the comic had gotten his hands on a designer dress on such short notice, but clearly Carl Barrett was a good man to know.
“Let’s just hope he knows what he’s talking about when it comes to his best friend.” Her voice was loud in the quiet studio, despite her murmur. Henry’s reaction was... puzzling, to say the least. She’d expected anger—she had said some hurtful things the last time they spoke, and falsely accused him of betraying her confidences—or maybe happiness to see her again. What had he meant when he said “You don’t know how much those words hurt me” over the phone? Did that have anything to do with it?
Aside from his initial surprise at seeing her, and the silent communication of his body that Sophie was unwilling to trust just yet, he’d been remarkably quiet. That wasn’t like Henry. He’d been reserved in the past, but never to the point of near silence.
Sophie wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or a bad one, and she was too anxious to sit quietly and wait. Her body was still warm and thrumming from their dance, her mind whirling with possibilities.
Feet bare, she padded into the large from classroom and flipped on some of the lights. Not all of them, but just enough to shed a dim glow in the center of the long, rectangular room. Though laid out differently, it was not all that unlike the big classroom at Miss Clara’s, Sophie realized.
Echoes of her past, even here.
Just like she’d done in the abandoned building, Sophie began to dance. This time she moved to the rhythm of the tango with a shadow partner, the darkness swirling around her bending and swaying form. She recalled every turn and step of her dance with Henry vividly.
