by Susan Arden
“Well, I hope he’s got what she’s interested in, ‘cause I sure as hell don’t intend on dealing with her civilly, if she can’t take the hint.”
His father and brother had always preached, don’t make a mess in a place you can’t escape. Well, his past just took a bite from his ass. For once, he got how history didn’t vanish. It could rear its thorny head and want to take a man down. He had no desire to delve into the past, particularly dredging up history with Lori.
There was no way he’d kiss and tell about Gillian and him. He’d not had the right opportunity to discuss with Gillian if they were on a path of exclusivity. Shit, he’d gotten tossed off the path for days, and now he wasn’t about to do something as stupid as tell one of Gillian’s friends they were… Hell, he didn’t know exactly what they were doing, only that he wanted it to continue. Forever.
Stephen’s jaw tightened, and he ground his teeth. The thought tore at him, more because he was unable to do anything other than fear that forever might be a matter of mere months. He watched Cory assemble the dancers into rows. Men facing women. He stood at the front of the class, waiting for his sister. He nodded, recognizing some of the people by name, others by sight.
The music began, a slow song. A familiar rhythm and melody, and he recognized the dance Cory would demonstrate. A tango. Not the dance he’d envisioned practicing tonight. He caught Cory’s attention. She smiled. This was the one dance she knew caused him problems. A popular dance choice for competitions, as he’d learned after watching a hundred or so videos online.
He hadn’t been able to find out from Gillian if this was the one she’d have to dance for the competition. The tango, out of every stinking dance choice, turned out to be the one where he sucked. He’d listened to the music, tried to tune in to the emotions, dive into being fluid, and he came up sputtering with two left feet. His sister came forward. Smiling.
He gritted his teeth, whispering, “I thought we were going to practice the rumba. I’ve got that one down pat.”
She laughed. “Alright. Everyone, eyes forward. I want us all to listen to the music with our hearts. Don’t laugh. This is a dance of passion. A dance of fire.”
It left him cold. No flame. No roast. Only a chill. “I’m drowning,” he muttered to himself.
Cory raised her hands. “Suck it up,” she whispered back to him.
“Did you speak with Gillian?” He took her hands, listening to the music. Nothing came to him as the music played. No zing or flight of inspiration.
“Stop complaining. This is your song, like it or not. You must commit.”
He danced with Cory, listening to every one of her explanations. Going through the dance steps brought him no closer to uncovering the hidden secrets of the tango. Cory said he danced like a wooden log. It was true. He lumbered instead of gliding. Even the older man to his right, in the space of forty-five minutes, could expertly dance a set of well-placed steps, including a whole set of ochos.
He yawned, shaking his head. “Maybe I should sit this one out.”
“Don’t give up hope,” one of the other dancers said. “Before I met my husband, this dance meant nothing to me. I hated it. Then, one day, it clicked. This is a dance for lovers. Like love, the dance must evolve. It has its own rhythm. Give it time.”
“Thank you.” He watched the woman rejoin an older gentleman. In cowboy boots, the man controlled her. Moving gracefully, the dancers faced each other. Time and time again they glided across the floor. Mirrored movements, yet different. There was most assuredly some form of communication going on, yet he was clueless as to what.
Another day, and then Gillian would be home. He’d be a totem pole of no use if he didn’t learn to move, and learn fast.
Cory tapped him on the shoulder. “Go dance with someone else. See if it makes a difference. You’ll have to cut in. It’s acceptable here.”
He went in search of another partner, in the opposite direction of Lori. He approached a couple who looked like they’d been dancing since the time of his parents.
He tapped the man on the shoulder. “May I?”
The man bowed, and the woman smiled. “I’m Veronica. And you’re Sarah and Wade’s boy.”
“Yes. Second oldest.” He took hold of the woman’s hand.
“Your mother and I went to school together. Your mama came home with me one college vacation. She stayed with my family for a week. Never went back to school after meeting your daddy.”
“I’ll tell my mother we met.”
“I’m happy to meet you. May I give you some advice?”
“I’d welcome it.”
“Pay attention to the beats, and how the notes connect. Take a moment to listen. Then move.”
He listened for the beat and began dancing. His partner performed a dibujo, a series of movements similar to sketching circular forms. He turned her, easily.
“Don’t think about your next move. Anticipate mine.”
He stopped concentrating on his inner micro-climate, and used the music and the dancer in front of him to put together the puzzle of this dance. He moved to where he believed she’d go, and his heart thudded. He caught her, and moved her back. She winked and started to move again. This time he turned, coming to stand in her path. It was game of hide-and-seek. This was the first time he’d been able to make his own way, without Cory giving him hints as to what to do next. The music ended. He stood next to Veronica and grinned, his heart pumping.
He bowed over Veronica’s outstretched hand. “Thank you. This is the first time the tango has made any sense.”
Chapter 15
Gillian came around the corner and nearly bumped into Stephen. He held on to her by the shoulders, saying in a husky voice, “Thought I was late.”
“You’re right on time.” She dropped her bag and threw her arms around his neck. “Perfect timing.”
He pressed the small of her back. “Feels like I’ve been on a treadmill that just stopped. Suddenly.” Their mouths met, and he kissed her languidly, a deeply delectable welcome back.
There was no hurry. She was home. The only place she longed to be was naked in a bed with him. But this embrace was a fantastic second. She moaned, pouring out sounds that had no meaning for anyone other than Stephen.
“Gotta have you. Right now.” He pulled her out the exit doors, down the stairs, and into the parking garage. They walked silently, hand in hand, until he had her standing next to his truck. “Climb in. I’m going to do you right here.”
She wasn’t about to argue. He opened the back of the cab and lifted her inside. He got in beside her and slammed the door, giving her a long, hard look that made her melt. She scooted along the seat while he began unbuckling his pants. No way to stop him. She didn’t want to, either. Reclining against the cool leather, she lifted the hem of her dress.
Stephen groaned. He knelt between her legs, the head of his cock a purple mushroom ready to explode. His fingers were at the laces of her bodice. Undoing each of them, he moved his hands, spreading the neckline of her dress open. “I’ve missed you,” he said, tracing the outline of her bra.
Gillian ran her palms over his arms, down his legs, and finally around his erection. A prize between her fingers, soft as kidskin and hard as steel. He pushed her back so that she lay flat and let him have his way.
Stephen placed his hand on her belly. Her muscles rippled under his warm touch. Slowly, he moved his hand down her legs to the lace garter belt she wore. “Sexy. Very seductive,” he murmured.
“Bought just for you. I wondered if you’d like the color.”
“It’s perfect on you.” He lifted her legs, positioning them over his shoulders. In the back seat of his truck, she didn’t care. They were in the corner of the garage. Secluded. He kissed her ankles, grazing the skin down her leg.
She pulled him suddenly, and yet his body moved over her without protest. With the arch to her brow, she dared him to do something. She could feel his lips curl against her mouth as he let his drago
n-desire free. Her mouth sought his in a long, intimate duel of lips and tongues. No time to get her panties down, not with him between her thighs.
“Damn. This might become a habit.”
She knew what he meant. His fingers brushed against her clit and she jerked, digging her fingers into his back. “Do it. Please.”
The crotch of her panties was in his hand. He pulled, stretching the material across her hips; then he sharply yanked. He threw the severed material onto the floor of the cab. “I’ll buy you more. Whatever you want. I need you.”
“Then take me. All.”
He drove his cock into her with one powerful, glorious thrust. Stephen moved slowly then, going deep. Staring down into her face, he whispered, “Beautiful baby. I’ve missed you.”
This was different; the way he made love to her captured every part of her being. There was no mystery in what they did together. He held on to her thighs, breaching her farther, plunging all the way into her center.
“Babe,” she groaned. Each of his thrusts pushed her to the edge. Farther and farther, he delivered her, slam by delicious slam.
Her moans grew louder. She gave in to the sensation of racing waves. The heat from his cock blasted into her, at first indolent strokes that now changed to rapid, powerful pumps.
He gripped the door, slamming into her. Penetrating her again. And again. The air inside the cab grew moist. She was swollen, and pulsing around his erection. The slapping sound of their bodies grew as their fervor intensified. She gave in to him wholly, and was tossed up into the air, a kite into a storm. This vortex carried her away. But she wasn’t alone. Never alone, with him.
She flexed her hips, moving with him, letting him dive farther into her. She clenched him. Milked him as she’d never done before.
He came into her full-force. Wet, scalding, deep. He tensed again, and then another burst jetted inside her. “Stephen! No protection!”
“Sorry, baby. Too late.” He panted. Sweat dripped from his face, down his neck.
Her heart was pumping wildly. The thought of him coming inside her was strangely satisfying instead of scary. She tightened her arms around him, licking a drop of sweat from the side of his cheek.
“I’ve missed you more than you know.”
“Gillian, I do know, if it’s anything like what it’s been like with you gone.” His mouth slid over her jaw, capturing her mouth.
When their breathing returned to normal, she remained under him, stroking his beard. “People are weird in Hollywood. I don’t think I fit in very well.”
“You’re home now,” he murmured.
Her hair was matted to her temples. She caressed his wrists, memorizing the way he gazed at her through half-open eyelids. “Thanks for picking me up.”
A fleeting, pained expression crossed his face. “I’d come for you any place. Any time.”
* * *
She’d spoken with Cory each day, sometimes many times a day, checking in to see about the studio. Cory questioned her about the meetings. Gillian divulged what she knew, which was little. The idea of the television show coming to Annona seemed to intrigue everyone she’d met in Hollywood. They didn’t get out enough, she’d silently concluded. Nothing they proposed sounded difficult, only requiring planning.
The only issue she had was that they weren’t interested in seeing a solo dancer. She hemmed and hawed when they asked who her dance partner might be so they could get in touch with him. Maybe spend time with him, if he was local.
They asked if there was a special man in her life. She adamantly refused to disclose Stephen or any aspect of her personal life. That would have been absolutely unfair, and she was afraid one tidbit might lead to another in the fact-finding mission. If they uncovered that Haden was in rehab, she could just see how that angle would be exploited and, in seconds, splashed all over the media.
She needed to talk with Haden. Clear the air. She’d spoken to him, not really giving him details about the show. Only that she had traveled to Hollywood for some dance business. He’d been on edge, and the counselor had explained that during the first week many patients would be on a roller-coaster ride, veering from promises of recovery, to possible depression, or even rage. By the end of the second week, when they were learning to negotiate a life that did not include alcohol or drugs, they were more stable. Maybe not happy, but most clients were able to deal with their emotions. This was day number five for Haden. She tried to prepare for seeing her brother tomorrow, but had no experience to draw from.
Stephen took her to his house. This time, he had candles alight on a table he’d bought for his dining room. She squealed on seeing Chance. He was more doglike, wagging his little tail and barking. Still just a mite, though. She hugged Stephen so hard for taking in this little beggar and turning him into a spunky puppy.
She was worn out, and fell asleep in Stephen’s arms. She awoke hours later, yawned, and sat up in bed. It was early, still dark. She stopped moving and listened to the barely-audible strains of evocative music. Accordion music. An Argentinian tango came to mind.
Padding across the bedroom, Gillian pulled on one of Stephen’s T-shirts. She walked down the hall and froze in place. She rubbed her forehead. The sight of Stephen with his eyes closed, shirtless in a pair of pants, moving in dance steps, had her dizzy. His body expressed perfectly fluid motion. The way his muscles bunched and rippled with his movement fascinated her.
She couldn’t stop him. Didn’t want to the dance to end. The music halted and he finished. She’d rarely seen better ochos. She imagined being his partner. That would be asking too much. But why was he practicing, if not for her?
“Do you like?” His voice caressed her from across the room.
She walked toward him. “Where did you learn to dance like that?”
“It was supposed to be a surprise. But the cat’s out.”
“You learned to dance for me?” she asked.
“Who else? You said you might need a favor. I wanted to be prepared. I can do other dances. The tango has given me the most…headaches.”
“It can. It’s the most passionate of all the dances. But with the right partner, it’s heaven.”
“Dance with me.”
“I’m barefoot.”
“So am I. I won’t step on your toes. Promise.”
He clicked on the iPod on the side of the sofa and music poured into the space. Their hands touched. He firmly took hold of her. There was no mistaking who led whom. She followed, and he seemed to know her intentions almost before she herself did. He matched her step for step, guiding her, bending her, dominating her.
She tried to dupe him, and he didn’t fall for her trickery. With a cocked brow, he said, “Don’t even think about it.” His arm encircled her with greater force, bringing her flush with his body before he bent her back, with a look of unshakable authority.
Tiny pleasure points burst along her skin. A fire deep in her belly smoldered. She dug her fingers into his arms, coming undone. At the end of the song, she ached for him.
Their breathing was labored but, even so, he took possession of her. Ripping foil. He bent her over the sofa, positioned himself between her legs, and thrust into her body. Then his rough hands were on her hips, hoisting her up and down on his erection.
Oh, God. In seconds she was going to come. He pumped faster. Their dance had been the ultimate foreplay. He lunged backward and then thrust into her. Repeating this movement, unrelenting in his pounding. Long, rapid, power strokes. She nearly orgasmed, would have if he’d not commanded her, “Don’t come just yet. Hold back. A few more seconds.”
His rhythm, like his dance steps, had her gasping. Every one of his movements was ahead of her, anticipating what she needed.
“Come for me,” he groaned. His words sent her right over the brink. She arched up against him as she exploded. He kept pumping inside her, groaning her name.
She clenched around his cock, her body aglow in pleasure. He pulled out of her, pulling her up and
into his arms. His eyes were fierce, smoldering embers of primal heat. “Damn, you’re on fire.”
“I’ve never danced like that before,” she whispered, bowing her forehead to rest against his shoulder.
How could anyone dance like this? Make love like this? Both were a mixture of each other—erotic. Hedonistic. The network censors would never permit anything like this on television.
“So. you think you can pull it off? With me as your partner?”
“Oh, I think we’ll pull something off. I just don’t know if it’s rated appropriately for families to watch.” She gazed at him. “I need to ask you a question.”
“Shoot. I don’t have a resume prepared.”
“No. It’s about us dancing together. The producers wanted to find out if I had a special someone in my life. I said no. They wanted to do a day in the life of that person. I didn’t think it was fair.”
“You don’t owe anyone an explanation. We’ve never discussed this. So what do you suggest?”
“For the sake of not having this become a circus act, can we just be friends on camera? I think that makes sense, from what I’ve seen in Hollywood.” She didn’t want to push him into admission of something he might not be ready for, and she certainly wasn’t going to beg him to hold her hand in some last-minute relationship display. Friendship seen on camera wouldn’t hurt if things didn’t work out.
* * *
The meeting with Haden was set for ten o’clock. At nine-thirty Gillian’s cellphone rang, just as she went out the door. “Hello?”
“Miss Sinclair, this is Piedmont Place. I’m Mara, your brother’s counselor. I’m sorry, but we’ll have to reschedule your meeting today.”
Her pulse threaded faster, but she held her voice firm. “May I ask why?”
“Haden didn’t have a good night. He woke up in a dither. At the moment he’s not being cooperative. This is common among patients with substance abuse issues. He’s in withdrawal. Patients can become anxious before a visit. There is nothing to worry about insofar as his care is concerned. But a few bumps in the road can sometimes be expected. Please let me call you later and give you an update on his condition.”