Dance for Me

by J.C. Valentine

I can still feel the imprint of his fingers on my skin, long after I make my escape.

  SEVEN

  I lost count of how many drinks I had around number seven. Seeing as seven is my lucky number, I can’t go wrong. Stepping onto that stage tonight seems like a pretty good idea from where I’m standing, which is on top of my chair.

  “If you don’t stop shaking your ass like that,” Brody chides, “you’re gonna bust an ankle.”

  I glance down at my heeled blue suede boots and shake my head. It spins in response, which sends all of my senses into a tailspin. I throw my hands out to steady the walls, feeling like I might throw up. “These shoes would never hurt me,” I slur, knowing I’m right because Elvis would never steer me wrong.

  Shaking his head, Brody returns his attention to the stage where a female duo is wrapping up their version of Wind Beneath My Wings.

  It’s at that moment that the chair slides out from under me.

  I screech as I begin falling, but before anyone at the table has time to react, a pair of strong arms catch me just in the nick of time. I’m so happy I didn’t break my ass that I cling to my savior like a bur.

  Until I realize who is holding me.

  Black-as-midnight eyes glare back at me, as though I’ve done something to personally offend him, and I shove out of Professor Scott’s arms, rolling awkwardly to my feet. He’s such a gentleman, though, that he refuses to relinquish his hold on my arm until he’s certain I won’t make a repeat performance.

  “What are you still doing here?” I brush any dirt I may have picked up from my clothes.

  “I think the question is what are you still doing here? How many drinks have you had tonight? Because I counted seven.”

  Well, what’s the point in asking if he’s just going to answer for me? I lift my chin a little higher. “I know my limit.”

  He leans closer, placing his lips against my ear. “Yeah? Then why are you swaying on your feet right now?” As if to prove his point, the room tilts and I pitch sideways. Grasping my arms, Professor Scott holds me upright. Which is good, because I am pretty sure my legs have turned to rubber.

  Maybe he has a point.

  “Come on, you’ve had enough for tonight. I’ll drive you home.”

  “I’m not ready to go home yet. I have a performance and I can’t miss it.”

  “The only performance in your future is climbing into bed and sleeping it off.” Focusing on something over my head, Professor Scott says, “We’re heading out.”

  Baffled, I turn to see who he is speaking to and see Brody nod in agreement. “Cool. I’ll have someone follow me over in the morning to drop off her car.”

  “Wait, you two know each other?” I ask, fighting through the alcohol-induced fog.

  “Who, Ransom?” Brody asks as he abandons his chair to join us at the end of the table. “He’s the art teacher.” He says this as if everyone knows this, which maybe they do. The man is gorgeous. You’d have to be dead not to notice him.

  Ransom. So that’s his name. It’s… hot. Dangerous, just like I know him to be. I wonder just how much Ransom has told Brody about us. But the fact that Brody isn’t beating his face in right now suggests not a lot.

  “He’s gonna take you home, okay, kid?” Brody’s massive hand lands on top of my head and gives it a little shake. Hair falls in my eyes, and I shake him free in annoyance. “I’m gonna need your keys before you go.”

  “My keys? What if I say no?”

  Brody gives me his trademark crooked smile that says he finds me funny. “You’re wasted, and I already made the arrangements. Do me a favor and cooperate for once. I’ll make sure your car is waiting for you when you wake up tomorrow.”

  I’m not sure how I feel about him going behind my back, but the alcohol is starting to get to me and I don’t think to question it further. My chest constricts at how nice Brody is to me. He’s such a good guy. It literally brings a tear to my eye. I sniff and wipe it away as I hand over the keys. “Don’t hurt her.”

  “Not unless she asks me to.” Smirking, Brody pulls me into a quick hug and then hands me back to Ransom. “I don’t care if she asks you to, don’t hurt her. Got it?”

  “You have my word.”

  ***

  I don’t live far, and Ransom has no problem following my directions. Surprising considering I can’t quite remember how to get home right now. With a hand on my arm to help steady me, he walks me to my door and uses my keys to let me inside.

  “Thanks for seeing me home safely,” I say as I step inside and feel around for the light switch.

  “Do you need any help with anything before I go?”

  Looking back at him, the slight frown Ransom wears confuses me. I’m not sure if he was hoping I’d tell him no so he can leave, or if he wants me to ask him inside. “I’ll be fine,” I assure him. It’s probably best that he leave anyway. There is nothing cute about being drunk, and I am pretty sure I’m going to be worshiping the porcelain god soon.

  Bending to take off my shoes, I have a difficult time maintaining my balance. Using the wall for support, I succeed, though barely. The sound of the door closing behind me is startling, and my head jerks up. “I thought you left.”

  Ransom shakes his head. “You can barely stand. I’d be angry at myself if I didn’t at least stick around long enough to make sure you made it to your bed.”

  I don’t know how I feel about him being in my personal, private space. With a relationship like ours, this kind of thing isn’t supposed to happen. He isn’t supposed to know my name, who I spend my time with, or where I live. In a week’s time, that careful balance has been shattered.

  The kindness in his dark eyes is surprising, though. There’s something different about him tonight, but I can’t quite put my finger on it. The man I know never had a look that I would call “kind.” Predatory is more like it. Is this the man he really is outside the bedroom? Not that I am complaining. What girl doesn’t like being taken care of?

  Placing a hand on my lower back, he urges me on. “Come on, let’s get you tucked in.”

  Following my lead, we walk together through the hallway that connects my minute living and dining rooms with the even smaller kitchen, bathroom, and single bedroom. It is such a tiny space that it only takes a few steps before we are standing outside the door. Staring at my queen-sized bed, I can’t decide what my next move will be.

  On the one hand, I really want sleep. On the other, I really need the bathroom. As drained as I am, I know I have to take care of one before I can do the other. “I need to…” I point to the bathroom behind us, my cheeks feeling flushed.

  Taking a step back, Ransom gives me enough space to get by. “While you do that, I’ll go get you a glass of water.”

  I nod, thankful that he is giving me distance, and close the door. After spending a solid five minutes hanging over the toilet bowl and realizing that I haven’t quite reached the point of no return, I relieve myself and take a minute to scrub my face clean of makeup and pull my hair back. When I run out of things to do, I return to the bedroom to find Ransom sitting on the edge of the mattress.

  The sight of him there makes my blood simmer. Screw personal space. I like the idea of having him in my bed, of his rich cologne permeating my sheets.

  He stands as I walk in. “I found a bucket under the sink, in case you need it later. Water is on the table. Do you need me to bring you anything from the bathroom, aspirin or Tylenol?”

  How incredibly…sweet. I study his offerings, unable to keep the smile off my face. “This is perfect,” I tell him. I’m used to taking care of myself, so this is a treat. “That was very thoughtful of you. Thank you.”

  His eyes widen a fraction and I step closer. Placing my hands on his chest, I reach up on my toes to show him my gratitude. My lips graze his, and the fleeting contact is electric.

  “What are you doing, Josephine?” Grasping my wrists, he draws his head back and forces me away from him. The stern look in his eyes is confusing.
He’s denying me?

  “I was thanking you.” I try to step into him again, but his firm hold ensures I keep my distance.

  “You’re drunk,” he says, dismissing me entirely. What. The. Hell.

  “Ransom, I’m not that drunk,” I protest.

  “Well, then, I’m going to pretend that you are.” Dropping my wrists, Ransom turns his back on me and begins walking away.

  “Ransom! Wait, don’t go!” Even though the voice inside my head suggests that I leave well enough alone, that this is the way it’s supposed to be, I can’t keep myself from running after him.

  Once he reaches the front door, Ransom rounds on me. “What did you think was going to happen here tonight, Miss Hart?”

  My jaw drops at the formality, and I flounder for words. “I—I don’t know. You’d stay the night maybe?”

  His head drops to his chest and he shakes it in disbelief. “I’m your teacher. You’re my student.”

  He was really going to pull this card on me? I understand the confusion. I feel it, too. But there is no sense in pretending that nothing has happened between us. He had his mouth on my nipples just days ago, and I know the taste of his cock well. Pretending none of it ever happened doesn’t mean it will just go away. I know. I tried. And look where it’s gotten me.

  “Then why bring me home? Why come inside?” I challenge.

  Scraping his hands through his hair, he lifts his gaze and I can see the war being waged inside him. “You’re a nice girl, Josephine. I knew you’d had too much to drink tonight, and when your friend asked me to do him a favor and take you home, I said yes. I was just trying to help.”

  Sure he was. Or maybe he got closer than he intended and is running away. Where has my confident, take-charge mystery man gone? I much prefer him over the one standing in front of me. If only I could turn back the clock and choose a different path.

  Instead of being the complacent little mouse I have always been for him, I get angry. “Thanks for all your help, but I’ve got it from here.” Crossing my arms, I glare at him. I just want him out of my apartment. I haven’t completely forgiven him for bringing that woman to me, and I am furious that he would come all this way just to walk out. I feel like a fool, running after him when he clearly doesn’t want to be chased.

  Well, I’m done.

  Sighing, Ransom opens the door. His hand freezes on the knob as he looks back at me. “I’m sorry I upset you. You’re an attractive girl, and you seem really nice, but I just can’t go there. When you wake up in the morning, you’ll see that, too.”

  Although his words ring true, I don’t care to hear them.

  “And Miss Hart?” Regret shines in his dark eyes. “From now on, I think it would be best if we stick to formalities.”

  For some reason, that really stings, almost as much as knowing he’s slept with another woman. As he closes the door behind him, I scoop up one of my black pumps and lob it at the door. Then I flip the lock so he can’t come back.

  From here on out, Ransom Scott is dead to me.

  EIGHT

  My outlook is good come Monday morning. After spending the remainder of the weekend catching up on homework and wallowing in self-pity, I am resolved to start fresh. Nothing of the past week will affect my time moving forward, and anytime my thoughts attempt to stray toward the past, I shove it into a little black box in the back of my mind.

  That plan goes to shit the moment I enter the classroom and see Ransom sitting at his desk. He’s dressed casually in tan slacks, a light blue button-down shirt with a navy sweater-vest overtop. His head is bent over, one hand delved deep into his tousled black hair, the other writing something in red pen.

  Annie is absent today, and I want to kill her for leaving me to my fate, but I’m also grateful, because it allows me to escape. With hurried strides, I bypass my usual seat in the front row and claim one at the back of the room.

  I try my best to remain invisible throughout the next hour. I slump in my seat, keep my head down, and volunteer for nothing. When Ransom hands down our final assignment for the semester, I groan inwardly. We have to find a way to inspire art. I don’t know what that means exactly, but he assured us that as the class progresses, it will become clearer. Of course, if we have any questions, he is always available after class.

  I’d rather Google it.

  The bad thing about being in the back of the room is that it prevents an easy escape. I do my best to blend in with my classmates, and as the door draws nearer, I think I have succeeded, until I hear my name.

  “Miss Hart, can I see you for a moment?”

  Those nine words chill me to the bone. My head droops on my shoulders. Why me? Taking a deep breath, I turn and make my way back into the room, stopping several feet from Ransom’s desk.

  He is busily tucking papers into his leather briefcase when I approach and it takes a moment for him to acknowledge me. “I noticed you hiding in the back today. Any particular reason for that?”

  “I prefer the back of the room.”

  He nods, seeming to understand. “Does this have anything to do with Saturday night?”

  My arms clench tighter around my books. “I’m afraid I had a few too many drinks with my friends Saturday night. My memory is a little foggy.” A lie, but when cornered like prey, sometimes it’s the only chance of escape.

  Snapping the case closed, Ransom lays it flat on the desk, and then presses his palms into the soft material. “I understand if you feel uncomfortable around me, but I want you to know that I have zero interest in complicating matters any further than they already are. My job is on the line, so if it’s okay with you, I’d like to put this weekend behind us and move forward.”

  “As if nothing happened?” My lip curls at the idea. It’s what I wanted, but hearing those words come from his mouth somehow makes them more real. His willingness to walk away from me makes my stomach lurch.

  Those midnight orbs lift, and I swear I see the same pain and confliction in them that I feel inside of me. Could it be that he doesn’t want this any more than I do? That he, too, longs for our time together. “Nothing happened, and that’s the way it needs to stay.”

  I hear the growl in his voice and even though I know it’s wrong, my body responds. I feel the flames of desire licking between my legs, making my nipples grow tight. Does he have any idea what he does to me?

  I’m not sure how to take his words. Is he just saying that because it’s the right thing, the only way to cover his ass, or is it because he really believes that what we have shared together amounts to nothing?

  Both possibilities are difficult to face, because there can be no good outcome either way, but I still want it, even if he doesn’t. “So where does this leave us?” I ask, using my books as a shield against my feelings for him. Ransom is the only man who has ever affected me this way—he can strip me bare with a single look. He can reduce me from a strong, intelligent, educated woman into a puddle of wanton desire with the stroke of a finger.

  Pushing his hands into his pockets as he comes to stand before me, I realize, with a mix of horror and intrigue, that this man is the only one that has ever held the power to hurt me.

  He holds my gaze as he stares down at me, and I see the muscle in his jaw tick in time with my heartbeat. We’re connected in a way that neither of us fully realizes, and I feel the draw to him growing stronger. “This leaves us right where we stand, with me as your professor and you as my student.”

  The deep rasp of his voice triggers something deep inside of me, and I feel myself lean closer. The allure of those full lips is nearly impossible to deny. You can tell so much from a simple kiss. I want his on me—on the most intimate parts of my body—and I want him to know that.

  His gaze drops to my mouth, and even though I know I shouldn’t, I need to kiss him. If this is it between us, then I need this last connection, this final goodbye.

  “Miss Hart.” My name is a low warning as it whispers past his lips, but I ignore it.

&n
bsp; “Please, call me Josephine,” I whisper just before my mouth closes over his. I don’t know who moans first. If Ransom meant for us to go our separate ways, then I probably shouldn’t have kissed him, because the way he is kissing me back definitely isn’t a goodbye.

  His mouth is hesitant at first, as if he is unsure what to do. I understand his confliction. This is the worst case scenario, a student falling for her professor. Movies have been made about this sort of thing, but neither of us heeds the warning.

  It doesn’t take long for him to throw himself into the deep end, though, and then we’re both drowning, surrendering to the torrent of emotion rushing between us. I’ve never felt a man surrender, much less this man, who is normally so aggressive, but he is definitely giving in to me now.

  I am still clutching my books to my breasts, which have grown swollen and heavy, and his hands are still shoved deeply into his pockets. The only part of us that is touching is our mouths, but Ransom’s wet tongue probing the inside of my mouth is like a full body caress. It takes me back to our hotel room, and I start imagining what it would be like to have him bend me over his desk, pull down my pants, and take me right now.

  That fantasy is shattered when I hear voices approaching. I break the kiss first. Ransom stares at me with some emotion I can’t name. His breathing is labored, his lids heavy, eyes dilated, and the bulge in his pants is unmistakable. He looks like how I feel—hot, raw, and aching, the need to touch and be touched almost too powerful to ignore.

  But I can ignore it, because we’re no longer alone, and I won’t risk him losing his job. I would never do anything to hurt him, just as I instinctively know he would never do anything to hurt me. For as complicated as our relationship may be, we have a mutual respect for each other that runs deep. We give each other pleasure, and in return, we respect and protect each other’s privacy.

  “You should go,” he says, his voice a guttural rasp so thick, he has to clear his throat.

  I love that I can affect him this way. It gives me a rare sense of power that I typically only experience on-stage. “See you tomorrow, Mr. Scott.” I back away, smiling. The last image I have of him is his dark scowl, but it doesn’t concern me, because as much as Professor Ransom Scott might say we’re done, I know the truth.