Anne’s beautiful mouth broke into a smile, and Chris felt his heart melting just a little bit more. “I have an even better idea. How about if you take pictures of all my students for their parents? Candid shots. As long as you don’t distract my students.” Or me.
“Deal.” He reached out his hand and she automatically took it.
It wasn’t her imagination. And it was even worse the second time. Clearly, just touching his hand made her go weak in the knees. Not a good thing for a dancer. Not a good thing for a woman who prided herself on being able to resist becoming so attracted to a man that she rendered herself helpless in his presence. Not a good thing at all.
There it was again, Chris thought. That electricity between them. All they had to do was shake hands. Maybe this wasn’t going to be so difficult after all. Maybe Anne Jameson’s stubborn rejection pattern finally would be shattered. All he could think was why the hell hadn’t he introduced himself to her months ago?
Chapter 5
So far Chris had shot fifteen dancers—upwards of ten candid shots of each one. He had no problem with that. Except that Anne was on one side of the studio while he was on the other, as far across the room from him as she could get. And it would only get worse once they moved to the local school theater to rehearse where she would actually be backstage, assuming there was a backstage. And he’d be standing on a ladder in front of the theater seats. He needed to be closer to her. He needed to be close enough to have that same effect he’d clearly had on her the first time they’d met. But she was keeping her distance, and he would bet his favorite Nikon that the undeniable chemistry between them was the reason why.
He stowed his camera in its case. On second thought . . . He snatched the camera back, set the lens for a close-up shot, and walked toward the back of the room. Anne was focused on her students. She wouldn’t notice him coming toward her.
As soon as the music ended and she called it a day, he reached out from behind her and put his hand lightly on her shoulder. Startled, she whirled around to face him. Just what he wanted. He took the shot, hoping it would reflect the disarming effect he seemed to have on her. The pink cheeks were definitely getting pinker. He shot her again.
“Hey!”
“I like candid shots.”
“I’m not dancing.”
He lowered the camera and smiled at her. “No, you’re not. You’re glaring.” Equally stimulating, he decided, feeling a little bit more confident every time he had a conversation with her. “You’re very photogenic when you’re glaring.” And sexy as hell. He raised the camera again, and before she could protest, said, “We need to set a date.”
He took the shot just as her eyes widened and she got that look of panic that he seldom saw. “A date? What—?”
“For a private shoot? Of you dancing?”
“Oh, right. That.” Anne gulped for air. “When?”
“How about tomorrow afternoon? Here. Before your classes start.”
“One o’clock?”
“Perfect.” Before he tipped her off by staring at her for a minute too long or by drooling and sending her defensive tactics into overdrive, he turned on his heel and headed back across the room to fetch his camera case.
“You’re late,” were the first words out of her mouth.
Purposely he had arrived five minutes after the designated time. He had not wanted to appear too anxious. He ignored her reprimand and followed Nick’s suggestion to play it cool and focus on the work. He turned and looked around the room, studying the light. “Over there.” He pointed toward the area where the sunlight was shining in through the windows. That way he could stand with his back to the outside and capture her in all her perfect glory.
She glided across the room. “What do you want me to do?”
Kiss me. Take off your clothes. Make wild passionate love to me. Shit. He had to get his wayward mind back on his work. “Dance. Whatever you want. I’ll just point and shoot and see what we have.”
She shrugged and took a deep breath and started dancing. He had to remind himself to take pictures. She looked different. Beautiful, but different. She’d actually put on more than a tiny bit of makeup and had put her hair in an elaborate bun for the occasion. He preferred it down. This was okay too. Hell, he was standing with her in her dance studio. Alone. Definitely okay.
Anne inhaled a series of short breaths. She could do this. She had started dancing from the moment she could stand upright. If there was anything she could do, it was dance. So, why was she having so much trouble getting her body to move?
“What’s wrong?”
Dance, Anne. If she was dancing, she wouldn’t have to hear his deep husky voice asking her questions. “Uh, nothing. I’m just—”
“Don’t be self-conscious.”
“I’m not!” She turned and glowered at him. “I’m just— It’s not every day I do a photo shoot.”
Almost every day, he thought. She just didn’t know it.
He set down the camera and took a step toward her. “Okay, how about you just start dancing. Ignore the camera. Ignore me. Pretend my Nikon and I aren’t even here. And then when I think the time’s right, I’ll start taking pictures. You won’t even notice.”
Yeah, right. That was like asking her not to notice the purple alligator in the room. She walked over to her CD player and pressed play. A simple classical piece she used for her classes. Easy to dance to. She moved across the floor in a series of turns. Then as the music shifted, she did a series of extensions and contractions. She had to admit, she wasn’t really feeling it. But then, her mind was, for a change, not on her dancing. It was on the man standing there watching her. All she could think was how much she wanted to get this over with.
She stopped dancing and turned to face him. “Well? Aren’t you going to take any pictures?”
“Soon,” he said calmly. When you dance the way you were born to dance. This wasn’t good. Or maybe it was. She was so distracted, there was no passion in her movement. For the first time since he’d seen her dance, she looked like a wind-up doll. “Try it again. Just relax.”
She scowled at him. “Relax?”
“Yeah, relax,” he repeated, bending down to pick up his camera.
“I’m plenty relaxed!” She stiffened, positioning herself in a classical ballet fifth position and started dancing.
She was a contemporary dancer with some classical ballet training. But he’d never seen her do strict ballet. It wasn’t her. He snapped a couple shots, but couldn’t get past the ice cold expression on her face or the rigid posture.
When the piece ended, she stopped and turned toward him. “Well? How was that?”
Did he tell her the truth or give her a line of crap? “It was okay.” So he’d opted for crap with a touch of honesty thrown in. “But now let’s see you really dance, the way you love to dance.” He walked over to her, removed a couple clips from her hair, just enough to give it that messy natural look—to say nothing of indulging himself in a seven-month fantasy—and turned and walked back toward the windows.
Anne felt the heat rushing up her cheeks. The man had nerve, that’s all she could say. It was as if he was telling her how to dance! Her! And how to wear her hair! And he’d touched her! God! He’d touched her, and she’d thought she was going to fall flat on her back, or at least into his arms. And beg him to make love to her right there on the floor of her dance studio! For a frivolous instant she wondered if she’d locked the door after he’d come in. What was she thinking?
She glanced at the clock on the wall. They had thirty minutes left. Thirty fricken minutes left of this torture session. She went back over to the CD player and selected a different piece of music. Tchaikovsky this time instead of Bach.
“Why don’t we try something contemporary?” Chris asked.
She scowled, left the music she’d selected playing, and crossed over to the sunlit spot on the floor. Then she went into another classical dance, one she had choreographed for last year’s c
lassical production of The Nutcracker. When she finished, she landed in a perfect arabesque and held it before relaxing. “There. You should have some good shots now,” she said. “Are we finished?”
Chris lowered the Nikon and looked at her. “For today,” he mumbled, despite the fifteen minutes they had left. He wouldn’t be using any of these shots. He’d seen a different side of Anne Jameson. A cool, icy side he had not known existed, a side that apparently he had managed to bring out in her.
Anne wanted to scream. She’d messed up. Big time. She paced back and forth across the dance floor. He hadn’t liked what he’d seen. Clearly. Otherwise he never would have let her off the hook fifteen minutes early. But maybe it was for the best. She had to keep this guy at a distance. He had disaster written all over his gorgeous face . . . to say nothing of his sexy body. Shit. What the hell was it about him? She’d never been this attracted to a man before. She’d certainly never wanted to throw caution aside and jump into bed with a man after shaking his hand for the first time.
She quickly reminded herself that her students would be arriving soon. She had to pull herself together and get her wayward mind back on her work. She couldn’t let this disastrous photo shoot get to her. As she walked toward the CD player she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. And the distraught look on her face. She’d blown it, really blown it. It was one thing to keep the man at a distance, but what was she thinking, giving him attitude. This was a photo shoot for God’s sake. An incredible opportunity. Had she just thrown that away because she was scared to be around the photographer?
She only hoped that, as much as she enjoyed watching Christopher Newell’s ass walking out the door, it wasn’t the last time she was going to see it.
Chris laughed as he scrolled through the shots he had taken that afternoon. Ice queen. Something he had never expected to call Anne. His first reaction had been bewilderment. Then came the frustration, followed by annoyance. Now he was simply amused. He’d gotten to her. So much so that she couldn’t even dance. Well, yeah, she went through the motions of dancing, and of course, her technique was extraordinary. But that wasn’t what he considered dance. And it certainly wasn’t what had attracted him to the dancer the first time he’d seen her on a stage in San Francisco.
She was determined to keep him at a distance. She refused to let him help out backstage and had him instead stuck behind a camera in front of the dancers which meant he was as far from her as possible. When he came anywhere near her, feigning the need for a different camera angle, she bolted like a spooked filly. And when they were alone together, she turned from self-conscious and nervous to ice. As amused and pleased as he was by her obvious reaction to him, he still had to break through the barriers she’d been erecting between them. Only now he’d pretty much need a pick axe to chop through the recent igloo she’d created. He had to convince her that despite the chemistry between them, she was safe with him. For that to happen, they needed an opportunity to become friends. Once they had achieved that, he could slowly work toward a romantic relationship. And hopefully, somewhere along the way, she would fall in love with him. She would fall too deeply to find her way out. Because God knew, he sure as hell had.
At the sound of a text message, he snatched up his cell phone. Nick, asking how the private photo shoot had gone. Instead of texting back, he’d stop by the pub on his way to Winslow. He locked up the apartment and trotted down the stairs. Nick was behind the bar. Skye was nowhere in sight.
“Where’s Skye?”
“Jewelry making.”
“She’s really going to help me win over her best friend?”
“Yep.”
He still couldn’t quite believe it. “Why?”
“Because she thinks you appreciate her passion for dance and won’t try to change her. She’s going to talk to Arielle, her Cousin Matt’s therapist wife, and see if they can come up with a way to convince Anne to give you a chance.”
“Uh, I don’t think that’s a good—”
“Don’t worry. They’re not going to go up to her and tell her she should go out with you. They’ll be subtle. Trust me. They know Anne well enough to know how to get through to her.”
“Good, because I sure as hell don’t.”
“The session went that badly?”
“Worse. When she’s not avoiding me altogether, she turns into ice queen.” Chris filled him in on the events of the past couple days.
Nick didn’t try to stifle a chuckle. “Wow. She really is scared of you.”
“I haven’t even asked her out.”
“Don’t!”
“Don’t? Not even for a casual cup of coffee?”
“Not if she’s that afraid of her attraction to you. You can’t let her know you’re interested in anything but her as a dancer because she’ll turn you down flat. Just play it cool. You’re a photographer, here to do a photo spread. You love the valley and are enjoying your time here. Maybe taking pictures of the area as well. Not really interested in her. But you like to help out. Eventually, you’re a friend. Nothing more.”
“Hmm. That’s pretty much what she thinks now and what I’ve been doing. I’d just like to find a way to be around her more. Not stuck a mile across the room taking pictures.”
“Take it slowly. How long do you have here?”
“As long as I want. I’ve rented your old apartment upstairs, remember?”
“Right. That was a good move. That place is magical.”
Chris considered the one-room studio with its double bed and utilitarian desk, window seats, and a tiny kitchenette. Not exactly magical.
Nick laughed as he followed the man’s train of thought. “Let’s just say it became Skye’s and my love-nest. After us it was Matt and Arielle. Then Alex and Cassie. Needless to say, we are all either engaged or married.”
Chris was grinning as he reached for the pint of Newcastle Brown Ale Nick had drawn him. Maybe it was magical after all. At least if he could get Anne there, it would be. But he knew he had to take things slowly. Friendship first. And before anything else could happen between them, he had to make damned sure that there was no possibility of her tossing him aside and sending him on his way when she left on her next dance tour. Now all he needed was the opportunity to get just a little bit closer to his goal. Literally as well as figuratively.
Chapter 6
Chris shook his head as he stared down at his sister in amazement. “I don’t get it, Shel, how can you stand going there?”
“It’s for Sara.”
“Right. She really needs to hear what a failure her mother is.”
“She knows better. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Depends on your definition of wrong. According to the family, it’s marrying your high school sweetheart and getting pregnant before your twenty-first birthday.” He kept the rest to himself. And watching your husband go off to war. And before your baby is even born, getting news of his death.
“True. But maybe they’ll be different this time.”
“Keep dreaming, sis.”
“I wish you’d come with me. You didn’t visit them over Thanksgiving, and you were in San Francisco.”
“Yes, and I had a very pleasant Thanksgiving.” He’d spent it with friends. People who actually liked him and appreciated him and respected the career he’d chosen. “And I plan to have an equally pleasant Christmas.” Hopefully with the McCullough family. But if not, at least he would not be subjecting himself to the lectures and insults that he would be forced to endure in his family’s home.
Shelly sighed a deep, cutting sigh. His arm went around her shoulders and he pulled her against him. She didn’t deserve the crap they dished out, any of it. To him, she’d done it all right, especially the part about having Sara, his niece, their grandchild. As far as he was concerned, if they were so horrified by the fact that since her hero husband had died, she was waiting tables for a living, that was their problem. Snobs, the lot of them, especially the male side of the family. Bu
t the women went along with it all, the attitudes, opinions, behavior. Apparently, they had no other choice. It was expected of them.
But he understood. Shelly longed for a family. Unfortunately she was sadly mistaken if she thought theirs could actually ever be one, in the true sense of the word. It would be the same formal Christmas it always was with the men dominating the conversation and the women drinking too much. Gifts would be plentiful. They would dote over Sara and lavish her with presents they thought she should have and should want. And snide insults would fly like daggers throughout the evening. A few at each other. Even in his absence, several would be aimed at him and at the “hobby” he was wasting his time on and his failure to uphold the family image. And far too many insults would be directed toward Shelly and the choices she had made.
Another of those deep sighs. But this time he recognized it as something else. She was tired. She’d lost weight recently, weight she couldn’t afford to lose. Her dreary beige waitress uniform was hanging on her even more than it normally did. Her thick brown hair looked thinner for some reason. And her brown eyes that had once glowed with vibrancy still had not recovered after eight years.
“Please tell me you’re not thinking of moving back.”
Shelly shook her head against his chest but he stepped away so he could see her face. She refused to look at him. He tilted her chin upwards and forced her to meet his eyes. “What is it, Shel?”
“I’m just so tired is all. Sometimes I’m so exhausted I don’t know if it’s day or night. If I moved back, I wouldn’t have to work so much. The money I get from Max’s military benefits would cover more of my expenses. This isn’t a cheap place to live, and with my recent car repairs . . . .” She sighed again, her shoulders slumping lower. “But I love it here and so does Sara. She’s been through enough. I really don’t want to pull her out of her school. I’m just so torn.” She was speaking so softly, Chris could barely hear her. “And I don’t have enough time for her and I hate that. She’s growing up so quickly. And I can scarcely pay for her dance lessons and she wants to take more. Not enough time, not enough money. The story of my life.”
December Dance Page 4