Authors: Angela Stephens
“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.
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.
He smiled and she felt his teeth
against her lips. “That’s it,” he growled, “beg me.”
She tugged at his hair, bringing
his mouth back to hers, twining her tongue with his. She pressed her breast
into his rough palm and rocked her hips, gliding her pussy along the heated
expanse of his erection. She begged him with her body.
He pulled his hand from between
them, tangling it in her hair and crashing his mouth hard onto hers as he
thrust forward, burying every inch of his rigid flesh deep inside her quivering
sex. Henry sucked at her lips and tongue as he moved in and out of her, slowly,
powerfully. He twisted his hips on every downstroke, rubbing over her clit and
shooting sparks of pleasure into her belly.
His movements were graceful and
fierce, like his dance moves had been. Primal and muscular and sensual.
Sophie bit her lip, rolling her
head to press her cheek against the shower’s cool tile. She kept her eyes
squeezed shut, picturing the sexy stranger’s high cheekbones flushed with
passion, his dark eyes heavy-lidded as he looked into hers and plunged
rhythmically into her. He muttered low, dark words in her ear.
She swirled her fingers around
her clit, spreading her slick moisture over her inflamed sex. She pushed three
fingers inside of herself, rubbing the base of her palm in wide circles,
pretending it was Henry touching her, Henry inside her. And when he whispered
“That’s it, come for me,” she shattered, clenching around her own invading
digits.
Sophie shuddered, every inch of
her skin trembling in a tingling wave of orgasm more powerful than anything
she’d experienced in a long time. Even the warm, soft fall of the water on her
skin seemed to heighten every sensation, shivering through her in pulses of pleasure.
She collapsed against the shower
wall, panting and gasping, unable to do anything but feel the water crash down
on her skin for a long moment. When the last sweet aftershocks had subsided,
Sophie finished her shower quickly and bundled herself into her robe. Her
fantasy about the charming, sexy stranger still lingered as she hurriedly ate
her sushi and climbed into bed. When she pulled the covers up, she found she
was already hot again. This tall, dark and handsome situation might be more
difficult than she thought.
Darren made it until nearly 4
o’clock before asking her about Henry. But his speculative looks had followed
her all morning. Sophie’s shoulders ached with tension. Waiting for him to say
something was worse than him actually saying something.
“So,” he began as they warmed up
for the afternoon beginner class. “Tall, dark, and gorgeous from last night.”
He leaned his thin frame toward his toes and wiggled his eyebrows in curiosity.
Sophie stretched, groaning
slightly at the pull of the tight muscles between her shoulder blades. “Don’t
give me that look; he’s just a potential student.”
“Really? Because it looked like
there was potential for some lip locking when I walked in on you guys.”
She instantly found herself
thinking of Henry’s lips opening over hers, of him sucking her tongue and
scraping his teeth lightly across its surface. She shook herself free of the
image, blinking at Darren and trying to ignore her suddenly hard nipples. “It’s
a passionate dance, that’s all.”
Darren flopped onto the floor,
long legs splayed in front of him. “Maybe if you danced like that with me we
could get a few more customers in here.”
“That’s not a bad idea, just
start imagining me as that hot boyfriend of yours and we’ll be booked solid for
months,” she teased before turning to the bar and stretching her back.
“That hot boyfriend of mine can
barely do a two-step, your mystery man could definitely teach him a few
things,” he said as he widened his eyes at her in the mirror, awaiting more
details. She couldn’t deny that her boiling attraction to Henry had been on her
mind since she woke up. From a dream. About Henry.
She knew he was going to call
today. He didn’t seem like a man who would make promises lightly. He’d told her
to sleep on his proposal, and she certainly had. Heat flooded her cheeks and
her stomach knotted as she considered her options. On the one hand, she
desperately wanted to see him again. Her body hadn’t felt this supple and alive
in years, and the tingle of sexual awareness was nice.
On the other hand, being so aware
of her body made her think of her knee and what it had cost her; she didn’t
want to risk exposing herself again.
She changed her mind about the
sensual Henry and his strange request every second. Private lessons weren’t
uncommon, but the usual customers were partners training for a competition or
beginners who needed extra help advancing to the next level—and the lessons
were always at the studio, never in the student’s home. But Sophie couldn’t
exactly justify saying no to the extra income; her business was doing well but,
between rent and utilities for both the studio and her apartment, she rarely
had spending money lying around.
Darren’s hand touched hers as he
joined her at the bar. She twitched in surprise, jerking her attention back to
her friend.
“Okay, so I know he was drop dead
gorgeous in a Latin lover kind of way and all fierce and commanding with the
‘That’s fine, I’ll wait’ business. What else? Spill.” His grin was wide and
mischievous.
She sighed, knowing her friend
would keep badgering her until she gave him something. “His name is Henry. He
likes to dance.” That’s all she knew, aside from the feel of his hands on her
hips and the subtle movement of the muscles in his back as he danced. The press
of his hard thigh against the throbbing space between her legs had been a
particular highlight. Her mouth went dry and she swallowed hard, turning her
face away from Darren.
“Come on Soph,” he said, “It’s
been nearly six years since Christian. Don’t you think it’s time to get back
out there?”
“I am out there.” She lowered her
eyes, knowing full well that she’d been avoiding men since her injury.
“When’s the last time you went on
a date?”
“He asked for private lessons,
Darren, not dinner and a movie,” she snapped, sick of his interrogation.
A look of remorse twisted onto
his face and he quickly changed the subject. “Are you still coming with me and
Wayne to look at apartments on Saturday?”
She let out a small laugh; she
had never been able to stay angry at him for very long. “Of course I’m coming.”
Darren and his husband had been
in the same tiny place for the past three years, but the zany blond had finally
convinced his more cautious partner that it was time for them to find a new
apartment. And thus began the Great Apartment Hunt of 2013. They’d already
spent endless hours preparing—making lists of neighborhoods, amenities, schools
(for when they had kids, Wayne intoned solemnly, with a twinkle in his eye),
and figuring out a price range. Now it was finally time to begin the actual
hunting.
“You think I’d miss the two of
you in action?” she asked. “You guys are hilarious together. You know Wayne’s
the perfect straight man.”
He gasped dramatically. “Don’t
even joke!”
She grinned. “You’ve been
together for five years, I’m pretty sure he’s all yours.”
“God, I can’t believe it’s been
that long. I was just a baby when we met.”
“Because you’re
so
mature
now.” She rolled her eyes playfully.
Darren jogged quickly out to
reception, shouting over his shoulder. “I am! I’m looking for an apartment,
aren’t I? That’s grown up and responsible.”
“Whatever you say!”
As she moved to the small desk to
set up the iPod the door to the studio banged open. Stephen, one of the young
boys from her beginners classes, skidded to a halt in front of them. “‘Scuse
me, Miss Becker.”
Sophie breathed a sigh of relief
at his arrival; she needed to work off the tension she was feeling from all the
Henry talk. She winked at the boy. “Save that energy for the lesson, Stephen.”
She was on the floor before she
realized what had happened, her students staring down at her with wide,
startled eyes. A wave of hot shame washed over her. She’d been demonstrating a
simple step, moving backward on her left leg, and it had just buckled beneath
her without warning.
“Ms. Becker! Are you alright?”
one of the younger girls asked her, panic lacing her words.
Sophie shook herself, anger and
mortification burning in her cheeks. Her eyes stung with tears, and she blinked
them rapidly back. “I’m fine. Really. I just slipped.” The girl took Sophie’s
elbow in one hand and helped her to her feet. She didn’t protest; her knee was
throbbing now.
The other students fluttered
around her, bobbing nervously. This is what she had feared, the frightened
looks and uneasy whispers. She steadied herself against a nearby wall and let
out a slight laugh. “It’s okay everyone. Let’s get back to our places and begin
again.”
“Soph?”
She sighed at the worried note in
Darren’s voice. He must have heard the commotion from reception. Her shoulders
slumped. He was going to come in and insist she sit down. Her spine stiffened
at the idea of letting her injury get the better of her. But her knee
was
throbbing.
Sophie forced herself to smile at
the ring of anxious faces. “I do feel a little dizzy. Maybe I overdid it today.
Darren? Why don’t you finish the class and I’ll take over at the front desk.”
He was at her side in an instant,
hand on her shoulder. “Everything okay?”
“It’s fine,” she assured him.
“Just a little dizzy, like I said. You think you can handle this?” She motioned
to the surrounding group. Darren snorted, rolling his eyes.
“They’re kids, Soph, not a pack
of piranha.”
She grinned, pleased that she
cajoled him into a lighter mood. He’d be less likely to hound her about the
incident later. “Same difference,” she whispered with a wink. He grinned and
shooed her toward reception.
Sophie closed the door behind
herself, moving slowly toward the front desk. She slid into the chair, her knee
a ball of hot pain. Even taking her weight off it didn’t help lessen the
pulsing ache. She gritted her teeth, taking deep, even breaths, and squeezed
her eyes shut.
She was not going to cry. She’d
cried enough.
“I don’t know what you expect me
to do,” Christian had said, throwing his hands up. “I can’t
actually
carry you through a performance, Soph.”
It was the second rehearsal since
the doctor’s had proclaimed her healed. Or rather “as healed as she was going
to get.” She reached for Christian, drawing him back into her embrace. “I’m
just a little stiff, Chris. It’ll get better, I promise. With the physical
therapy and practice.”
His blue eyes were hard, but he
curved his arm around her back. “Just go for it. Give me one ‘wow’ moment
today, and I’ll have a little more faith.”
She nodded, desperately grateful.
She moved when he did, ignoring the stiffness in her knee and throwing herself
into the rhythm of the dance. The music pounded in her ears, through her blood.
Her breaths were short and hard as she pushed her trembling leg muscles as far
as she could. She’d made it through the whole dance, all the ochos and
colgadas, heart thundering in her chest. Sweat pricked her brow and slid down
her neck, but she’d made it.
They were meant to end with her
right leg hooked on his hip, her left carrying her weight. It was dramatic and
had a strong visual flare for the judges. She was pressed against him, breasts
heaving, as she stared into his eyes. She saw the ice melt from his gaze, saw
the same flare of passion that had tumbled them into bed one night in a hotel
in Paris when she’d finally come to the end of her resistance. And her heart
sang with triumph.
But then she overbalanced. Her
left knee wobbled, the atrophied tendons not strong enough to hold her up as
she leaned into Christian’s arms. She toppled against him, right leg squeezing
his thigh in an attempt to hold on. The heat in his eyes faded as he tried to
right their position, but she was too off balance. They both tumbled to the
floor.
Hot spikes of agony seemed to
stab into the tender flesh of her knee and she cried out. Christian flinched,
extricating himself from her and quickly getting to his feet. He didn’t offer
her a hand up. “This is ridiculous,” he said bitterly, and then walked away.
Sophie sat, sprawled on the floor of the practice studio, and wept
That rehearsal had been a mere
few weeks before Christian had informed her that he was leaving her. The
horrible thing was, part of her understood.
Dancing had been their shared
passion. Even when Christian’s self-involvement and occasional pettiness had grated
on her nerves, she had never doubted that he was committed to the dance. And he
couldn’t give that up just because she could no longer perform. The part of her
that was a dancer didn’t blame him at all for continuing to pursue his dream.
But the part of her that was a
woman could never forgive him for loving the dance more than he’d loved her.
Her breath hitched, hot tears flooding her eyes and trembling on the edge of
her lashes, as she thought about Christian’s fickleness .
“Soph?” Darren’s voice came
quietly from behind her. She swiped hurriedly at her eyes and turned to face
him, wobbly smile in place.
“Is class over already? That went
fast!” she said, feigning pleasant surprise.
Darren put his hand on her
shoulder, squeezing. “Everyone’s just packing up. You okay?”
“I’m great,” she chirped. Her
nails bit into her palms, the tiny pricks of pain offering her a distraction.
Darren crossed his arms, leaned his hip against the desk, and waved absently to
the students as they exited.
“Mhmm,” he replied, doubt evident
in his tone. “And I just taught twenty kids how to tango in half an hour.”
She hiccuped a short laugh. “I
should let you teach classes more often.”
He rolled his eyes. “Oh,
whatever. Fine. You don’t want to talk about it. Message received. All I’m
going to say is—”
The phone rang. Sophie could have
kissed the person on the other line. As much as she loved Darren, hearing him
bad-mouth Christian wasn’t going to help. She snatched up the receiver and held
it to her ear. “Silent Poetry Studio, this is Sophie.”
“Have you thought about my
offer?” Her heart skipped a beat at the sound of Henry’s throaty rumble. Darren
inclined his head, eyes questioning, but she waved him off.
“Oh, hello,” she said lamely, too
caught off guard to address his question. She could hear the scratch of a pen
on paper and pictured the gorgeous businessman poised over his desk, a slick
suit hugging his muscled form.
“The offer?” he asked again, more
insistent this time.
He didn’t sound like he was
willing to take no for an answer, but she was still skeptical. Why did he want
the lessons to take place at his house? Why did he want lessons at all?
“I’m sorry, but I’m too busy with the classes I’m already teaching.”
Darren’s eyebrows shot up in
realization and a knowing smile creeped across his face. Sophie shoved at him,
biting her lip to keep from giggling at his expression. The scratching of the
pen on the other line stopped and turned into a low tapping.
“I’m willing to work around your
schedule, Sophie.” An edge had creeped into his voice.
She was surprised by his apparent
anger and wavered a little. He seemed to want this badly, but her knee chose
that moment to give another sharp throb, and she knew she couldn’t take Henry
up on his offer. “No. I’m sorry, it’s just not going to work.”
The clicking sound sped up. “What
do you charge for classes?” he demanded.
“It depends, maybe a couple
hundred but—”
“I’ll pay a thousand dollars an
hour. That should more than cover the cost of your time away from the studio.”
Sophie sucked in a quick breath.
She suddenly felt sick with the thought that he was propositioning her—no one
would pay that kind of money just for private tango lessons. “Excuse me?” Her
voice came out in a squeak.