December Dance

by Verity Norton

  She was playing with fire, even thinking those thoughts. But, she reminded herself, as usual, there was a due date. She was leaving in three months and eight days. That was plenty of time to get him out of her system before her next tour. So, what was she afraid of? Wasn’t getting involved a surefire way of getting over him? It always had been in the past. So, the sooner she got involved, the better.

  “Would you like to get a cup of coffee?”

  Chris was so taken aback he almost stammered. Had Anne Jameson just asked him out? On a date? Just coffee, but still, it was a date, wasn’t it?

  Damn. What did he do? If he said yes and went out with her, and she stuck to her normal pattern, it could very well be the beginning of the end. Did he dare risk it? But if he said no, where did that get him? Nowhere. “Uh, sure. What did you have in mind?” he heard his voice saying. It was just coffee. It didn’t mean the beginning or the end of anything. Two acquaintances drinking coffee together. Two acquaintances whom he hoped would soon be friends. And eventually a lot more than that.

  “Uh, I don’t know. I just thought, maybe, you know—”

  He shook his head. He honestly didn’t know.

  “Uh, that maybe we should talk a little, get to know each other.” She was pulling so hard on one of the buttons of her cardigan sweater that Chris expected it to come popping off. “For the sake of the photo shoot?”

  Ah, she was blaming it on the photo shoot. She wanted to get to know him. Hell, the way she’d been looking at him and the way she got so nervous when he came anywhere near her, he was pretty damned sure she wanted him. She just didn’t want to want him. Apparently she had given up on keeping her desires at bay. But no way was she going to get him, not without some kind of assurance that he was not just another one of her between-tour playmates. He was not about to be tossed into her pile of rejects.

  “Uh, never mind. It was a stupid idea.” What was she thinking? Wasn’t it bad enough that she had to be around him at the studio? Now she’d gone and asked him out for coffee?

  She wasn’t thinking. Obviously. But damn, she didn’t know what to do with this attraction she felt for him, this amazing chemistry between them. There weren’t many men she’d been this attracted to. Actually none. And that scared the hell out of her. And it wasn’t just a physical attraction. There was something about him. The way he looked at her, even through her. The way he was with Sara. The way he looked at everyone when he studied them through the lens of his camera. He didn’t just take pictures of their physical being. He was looking deeper, and he was seeing something beyond their physical presence when he focused in on them. It was as if he was photographing their heart and soul when he clicked the button on his camera.

  She’d seen him at work enough times to know he was no ordinary photographer. She’d seen enough of the pictures he’d taken of her students to know he was a different kind of photographer. He was an artist. An artist who saw her. And knew her. Really knew her. And that was what terrified her the most.

  Chris put a hand on her cheek, gently, softly, and only for an instant once he realized what he was doing. “Not stupid at all. Where and when?”

  “Tomorrow morning? After my yoga class? Nine o’clock? The book café?”

  He smiled. He knew he shouldn’t be smiling at her like that. He couldn’t see it, but he could feel it, and he knew he was conveying way too many of his feelings through that smile. “I’ll be there.”

  She nodded and turned away before she did something stupid like grab him by his corduroy jacket lapels and pull him toward her and kiss him . . . in the middle of her dance studio with half of her students watching. “Uh, we’d better—”

  “Get this dance class underway,” he finished for her.

  Anne arrived late. She didn’t want to appear anxious. But she was. It still wasn’t too late to turn and run. She could say she’d forgotten. Had to stay late and help a yoga student. Had to help with an emergency at the horse ranch. Or she could be an adult about this and walk in and tell him she’d changed her mind. That meeting him for coffee was a bad idea. That the last thing she needed and wanted was to get involved. She stood outside the book café that was next door to the family pub and stared at the door. Yes, that was what she would do. She would tell him that she did not want to get involved. Except that he’d given her no reason to believe that he wanted to get involved. And this was hardly a date. It was simply a photographer and his subject getting to know each other over a cup of coffee. And it was her idea in the first place.

  “It’s only coffee,” a voice said from behind her, an incredibly sexy voice.

  Damn. He could read her mind.

  “Between friends.”

  Damn, he wanted to be friends. Whoa. Had she really thought that? At least she hadn’t said it. But then, he did have an artist’s eye, like her Cousin Skye. And he did seem to be able to read her mind.

  Chris stepped past her and pushed open the door, inhaling the scent of lilac and jasmine as she walked past him. Even in winter. Was that disappointment he’d seen on her face when he said the word friends? He could only hope. Apparently he’d been right to keep it on a purely friendship basis. At least for a little while. Nick and Skye had both agreed. Now there was no doubt in his mind that this was the best strategy with the beautiful dancer. The only question was, how long was a little while?

  “Herbal tea?” he asked her without thinking. Shit! A definite tip off to the fact that he’d been observing her. Stalking her.

  Her head tilted to the side and she smiled up at him. No cranky backstage director or shivery ice queen today. “How did you know?” she asked demurely.

  His mind went into overdrive as he searched for an excuse. “There’s a mug at the dance studio with your name on it. Always has a tea bag hanging out of it.”

  Of course. Hard to miss. But at least he’d noticed. And remembered. “They have a nice blend of chamomile and peppermint here.”

  He nodded and headed for the counter to place the order. By the time he returned with the cup of tea for Anne and a cup of strong black coffee for himself, Anne was seated at a table in the corner.

  After he joined her, there was an awkward moment of silence. There were so many things he wanted to say to her, none of which he thought would be wise, particularly the ones that involved her preference for positions. And he wasn’t thinking about dance positions.

  When she initiated the conversation, he started breathing more easily. “I think I’d like to redo that photo shoot.”

  “You mean I get an extra hour of your time this week?”

  “Well, you didn’t exactly get a full hour yet. Still, I doubt you got very many decent shots.”

  None. Instead of telling her that, he smiled.

  She cringed with embarrassment. “Sorry about that. I was in a bad mood.”

  “A bad mood?” Not quite the way he would have described it. It was more as if she’d taken a defensive stance against the enemy who was threatening her. That would be him.

  “Well, not really a bad mood. I guess I was just really self-conscious.”

  “Understandable. You’re used to dancing without thinking about a camera.”

  “Thank you for understanding.”

  “So, when would you like to redo the shoot?” And was that the only reason for this cup of coffee—and tea—they were sharing?

  “When is good for you?”

  “Anytime.”

  “Aren’t you busy with other shoots in the area?”

  “I can work around your schedule,” he hedged. “How about this afternoon? One o’clock? I like the light in the studio just after noon.”

  “Okay.” She took a long sip of her tea, and he hoped this wasn’t the end of their coffee date. But when she looked up at him with those deep ocean blue eyes, he knew it wasn’t. “Why me?”

  “Why did I select you for the shoot?”

  She nodded.

  “I saw you dance in San Francisco.”

  She sa
t upright, surprised at this bit of information. “You did? When? What was I dancing?”

  He could hardly admit that he’d seen every one of the performances she’d done in the Bay Area over the past several months. “Uh, it was a contemporary piece to an Emily Dickinson poem, I believe.”

  Her eyes lit up. “Really? You saw me dance that? And that’s why you chose me?”

  “I knew you’d be right for my book.”

  “Book? This is for a book?”

  Shit. He couldn’t trust his damned mouth when it was around her.

  “I thought it was for a magazine article.”

  “It is. But I’m hoping to eventually develop it into a book.”

  She set down her cup of tea and leaned back. “This isn’t helping. Now I’m going to be even more self-conscious.”

  “Don’t worry. You’ll get used to it. After a while you’ll forget there’s a camera focused on you.”

  Yes, but would she be able to forget that he was the one holding that camera? She felt her cheeks tingling with heat and raised her cup to hopefully cover up that fact. “Promise?”

  “I’m patient, don’t worry.”

  “You mean you won’t give up on me and run off and find a different dancer to photograph?”

  “Not a chance.” He stared into her eyes wanting her to hear the real meaning behind his next words. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m here for the long haul.”

  Anne felt shivers run down her spine as she struggled unsuccessfully to break the hold his eyes seemed to have on hers. He was different from other men, she quickly decided. He was dedicated to his art. And he appreciated her as a dancer. And the way he was staring at her had to mean something. She was certain he was attracted to her, but she’d been the one to ask him out. And now that they were out, he hadn’t even taken her hand. Nothing. Except those chocolate brown eyes looking so deeply into hers that she felt as if she were sitting there naked in his presence. And if she wasn’t, she damn well wanted to be.

  Chapter 9

  Her bedroom door creaked open and for an instant Christopher Newell’s face flashed in front of her. Then logic kicked in. She was in bed at home, her parents’ home. It was close to midnight. Chris probably didn’t even know where she lived. And if he did, he certainly wouldn’t be sneaking into her bedroom.

  “Mom? Is that you? Dad?”

  “Are you okay, honey?” Nan Jameson responded.

  “I’m fine. What are you doing up at this hour?” Midnight was late for many people, but for a ranch family whose members tended to get up by five in the morning, it was far later.

  “I woke up. Not sure why. I don’t know if it was a dream or not, but I had an image of you in my mind so I came to check on you. Why are you still awake?”

  “Too much coffee?”

  Nan chuckled as she reached up and turned her daughter’s lamp on its lowest setting. “Since when did you start drinking coffee?”

  “I do now and then.” She just hadn’t today. But it made a good excuse.

  “Okay, so now tell me the real reason for your tossing and turning.”

  Anne groaned. She never could fool her mother, not even when she was a kid and had sneaked the last cookie. She wondered how she could always zero in on which one of her children was the guilty one. And how she knew things they’d done when she was nowhere near them, like the time she and her Cousin Kelly had gone out riding but had actually gone to meet up with some boys from town. She got the blame since she was seventeen at the time and Kelly was only fourteen. Still, how had her mother even known? All they’d done was meet up with them in the meadow between their property and her Uncle Nigel and Aunt Ivy’s property to talk a little. And kiss a little. No big deal. Except that Kelly was only fourteen.

  She wasn’t allowed to go riding for a whole two weeks after that. It was the first time she’d ever been grounded. And the last.

  Her mother had never told her how she’d found out. She figured it had to do with the horses not being ridden that much. Or maybe Kelly had confessed to her parents, although she still denied that to this day. The only other thing she’d come up with was that one of her siblings had spotted them and told their parents. But they denied it too. So that left only one thing. She looked guilty. And that was all it took for her mother to figure it out.

  “What do you think it is?” Anne asked her mother, returning to their present conversation.

  “In other words, you don’t know and you’re hoping I, in my motherly wisdom, can figure it out?”

  “Something like that.”

  “I’d say you’re restless, as reflected by all your tossing and turning.”

  “How do you know I was tossing and turning?”

  Nan motioned toward her daughter’s bedcovers that were in a tangled heap.

  “Oh that.”

  “So, I’d say you’re feeling restless.”

  “But how can I be when I’m in the midst of my Nutcracker production? And it’s not as if I wasn’t on tour recently. It’s only been a few weeks since I got home, and I was so happy to get back.”

  “It wasn’t a good tour?”

  “It was a great tour, but I knew I was missing out on things here—you know like preparations for Sean and Sophie’s wedding. I really wanted to help more than I was able to.”

  “Little did you know Matt and Arielle would throw a surprise wedding in at the last minute on Thanksgiving day!”

  “Or that Alex and Cassie would get engaged. Looks like my intuition was right. I was missing things. A whole lot of things.”

  “So you can help with your big brother’s wedding.”

  Anne reached down to untangle her sheet from her blankets. “Not much, I’m afraid, not with my production. That’s taking most of my time.”

  “After it’s over, you can help. It’s not going to be until after the holidays, probably late January. And then after that, I’m sure Skye will put you to work on hers. That should make up for missing out on helping with the others.” Nan cocked her head to the side and studied her daughter. “But that’s not the point, is it? It’s not about helping with other people’s weddings.”

  “What?” She narrowed her gaze at her mother. “You think I want to be planning my own or something?”

  “You said it, I didn’t.”

  “Yeah, but you thought it which made me say it. And you’re way off! I don’t even want to get married! Ever!”

  “Okay, so then what’s going on with you?” Not that Nan believed her daughter for a minute. She wasn’t even certain Anne believed her own words.

  “I wish I knew. Any more wise deductions? More accurate this time?”

  Nan chuckled. “My hunch? It has to do with a man.”

  Not the answer she was looking for, but undoubtedly an accurate one. Anne knew enough to keep her mouth shut. If she denied it, her mother would see though her. If she admitted it, she’d have to tell her mother a lot more than she was prepared to tell her. Or herself, for that matter.

  Nan leaned down and kissed her daughter on the forehead. Clearly she wasn’t ready to talk about it . . . or him. But she was reasonably certain there was a him in this equation. She only hoped it wasn’t a man she’d met in San Francisco, or even worse, a man she’d met somewhere on tour. She really didn’t want her daughter to leave Canden Valley. She cautioned herself about being selfish, but she couldn’t help it. With the twins still off at college, and Alex having lived and worked in San Francisco for the past several years, it was comforting having Anne here. But Alex was back now, she reminded herself, about to marry the girl-next-door, about to bring a new baby into the family. Maybe it was time for her to let Anne go. Not that she needed to. Anne was a free spirit. She did what she wanted, went where she wanted, when she wanted. Maybe that was part of the problem. It was hard to make room for a man in your life when you were as free-spirited as her daughter was.

  Anne sighed when her mother closed the bedroom door behind her. She never failed to appreciate the w
oman who had raised her. She knew how privileged she was. Privileged to be part of such a loving family as the McCulloughs, and to be raised by Nan and Grant Jameson.

  Her mother didn’t judge. She accepted. Anne adored her. She strove to emulate her. And failed. But at least she knew enough to try. Maybe when she was a mother herself, she would be more like her mother.

  What the hell? Had she really thought that? She had no intention of being a mother. She was a dancer. She didn’t have time to be someone’s mother. She didn’t have time to be someone’s wife. She shook her head as if that would rid her mind of those thoughts.

  But she had time to date, to enjoy the company of men, which she had done well over the years. Casual relationships, all of them. Well, not so casual when an affair was involved. But they were always affairs with due dates stamped on them. Due dates that coincided with her departure for her next dance tour. So, why was she feeling so confused when she thought about Christopher Newell? What was it about him? Was she afraid he wasn’t interested in her like that? Would he resist having an affair with her? Or, despite believing that the best way to get over him was to get involved with him, was a small part of her afraid that she wouldn’t be able to leave him at the end of their time together?

  Chris lay on his bed, his arms crossed behind his head as he smiled up at the shadows playing with his imagination on the ceiling. If nothing else, he’d managed to confuse her. Nick said that was a good thing. Skye agreed. Let her stew. Don’t touch her, Skye had advised. He would listen. At least he would try to. Nick claimed that no one knew Anne as well as Skye did. Except maybe her mother and her grandmother, but he wasn’t about to ask Nan Jameson’s advice on how to win her daughter’s heart. Although Nick had suggested that a visit to the elder McCulloughs’, Evan and Eleanor, the cousins’ grandparents, wouldn’t hurt. Sean had taken Nick to visit them on the hopes that their advice would help him with Skye. It had. If things didn’t progress the way Chris hoped they would, he might just be tempted.