“Nervous as hell.”
“And how did you deal with that?”
“You mean after I threw up?” He laughed at the memory of losing his lunch in the bullpen, though at the time it has been anything but amusing.
“This is serious. At least it is to me. Very serious.”
“A dancing contest?”
“Not the contest per se,” she explained. “It’s what I want to use the prize money for it we win.”
Ryan gave a nod of understanding. “I have my eye on a new car.”
She said nothing for a few moments, then broke the silence. “My grandparents and my father came to America from Cuba on a rickety boat. It took five days to get here, and along the way people died. When they got here, they could speak a little English, but they couldn’t read it. Do you have any idea how hard it is to function when you can’t read?”
Ryan made every effort not to react to her question.
She exhaled loudly. “Of course you don’t. But lots of people do know, and I bet you’d be surprised to learn it’s not just people for whom English is a second language. Plenty of native speakers can’t read. And that’s why I can’t practice with you on Thursday nights. That’s when I teach adults to read at the church. I do it to help just like someone helped my grandparents. That’s why this is serious. If we win, I’ll donate the prize money to that program.”
Well, damn. The silver convertible was far less important by comparison. Shallow, even. Amara was suffering through his bad attitude in an effort to make a real difference in the world. A difference he should make as well.
“Then by all means, let’s go dance,” he said with resolve. “But first let’s do a selfie so I can tweet it.”
He put his arm around Amara’s shoulder and pulled her to his side. “Say tango,” he suggested before snapping the shot and then stepping away to send it to his followers.
“Shall we?” He held out his arm, and after she hooked hers through it, he led her down the street.
After changing their shoes and leaving their everyday ones with the coat check, they made their way toward the music. Amara greeted a few people by name as they wound their way through the large room to an empty table. Ryan took in the crowd – old and young and in between. Obviously this activity was ageless. They sat in silence while several songs played, all the time watching the dance floor, which was full of dancers at all times.
When their competition song began, albeit a different arrangement, Amara tapped his arm.
“Ready?”
His brain screamed no, but it had done the same thing that day in New York when he’d first been tapped to pitch. He nodded and pushed to a standing position. He pulled out Amara’s chair, then held out his hand.
She wore a bright blue dress with a full skirt that hit in the middle of her calf. The neckline was modest, but the body of the dress left none of her curves to the imagination.
As they walked to the dance floor, the skirt swung around her legs. She pulled gently on his hand until they were in the crowd, in dance position and…dancing. He chuckled, and Amara raised an eyebrow in inquiry, never breaking rhythm.
“I’m doing it,” he whispered against her ear. “You were right. The steps came without thinking.”
She sent him an I-told-you-so look, and by the time the song ended, they had travelled twice around the large dance floor. Not one soul had pointed a finger to single him out as a novice. The DJ segued into another tune, again with the now-familiar tango rhythm.
“Again?” Amara asked.
“Why not?” Ryan wasn’t sure what surprised him more – that he was actually dancing or that he enjoyed it. Of course, what part of having a gorgeous woman in your arms wasn’t enjoyable?
When the tune ended and a rapid fire number began, Amara tugged him off the dance floor to their table.
“Salsa?” he asked, leaning close to her so she could hear him over the music.
“That’s the samba. It’s a Carnival dance from Brazil. Jasper’s dancing the samba in the competition.”
They watched as couples bounced to the music’s lively beat. “Should I be glad we didn’t draw this dance?” he asked half jokingly. “I didn’t know all those parts of the body shook, much less that you could shake them in public.”
Amara’s laugh was almost lost in the noisy room. “Yeah? Wait until you see Jasper. His costume is design to maximize the shake factor.”
Ryan shook his head, then pushed away from the table. “I saw a refreshment booth in the lobby. I need something to drink. Can I get you something, too?”
When he returned fifteen minutes later with a bottle of water for her and a candy bar and Styrofoam cup of cola for himself, he found Amara talking to a man he had noticed earlier on the dance floor. He stood out not only for his height, but his dance skills. If he was dancing in the contest, they would have stiff competition.
Amara had warned him, though, not to compare himself to anyone else. However, it was difficult not to feel like he had two left feet in comparison to the man standing before him. He placed the drinks and candy on the table and cleared his throat.
“Ryan Kidd,” she began, “this is Rafael Garza. We used to compete with the same dance team.”
The man held out his hand, and Ryan took it, squeezing a little harder than he should have. If the man noticed, he gave no indication. What the hell was he doing getting into a pissing contest like this? Aside from the childishness of it, he had no right or reason to act territorial around Amara.
“I was telling him about the contest we’re going to be in and—”
“And how you’re saddled with the worst partner imaginable?” he interrupted.
“Actually, she praised your progress,” Rafael replied, his speech slightly accented. “I saw you two dancing earlier and thought you did quite well for a novice.”
Of course Amara wouldn’t be critical of him publicly. She was too professional for that. Even at their rehearsals she had been even-toned with her criticism, and now that he thought about it, she always pointed out something he had done well too.
“She’s quite a good teacher,” Ryan said, jutting his chin in her direction. “I just hope I haven’t been too much of a problem student.” He thought back to the kiss and diverted his gaze to a spot on the floor.
She narrowed her eyes, and for a moment Ryan was afraid she would change her mind and air all his missteps both on and off the dance floor. Then the corners of her mouth turned up slightly, and suddenly he wanted to kiss that hint of a smile.
“No more of a problem student than anyone else who gets drafted against their will to dance the tango.”
He opened his mouth to volley back a retort but was interrupted by the DJ.
“Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time for the Argentine tango. Grab your partner and get on the dance floor.”
Ryan knew he and Amara wouldn’t dance to that since she had explained the Argentine tango was a different animal.
“Do you remember our competition routine from the finals in Miami?” Rafael asked, holding his hand toward Amara. “Do you mind if I steal your partner for this dance?” he added, staring at Ryan.
Hell yes, he minded, suddenly feeling very possessive. He had no claim on her, however, and he couldn’t reasonably tell the man no.
“Be my guest.” He sank into his chair as Rafael led her away.
Once on the dance floor, Ryan watched as Rafael pulled her closer than the position they used for their tango. Their foreheads touched and his right arm wrapped all the way across Amara’s back, his hand curved around her waist. Her hand cupped the back of his neck. The music was sultry, slow, with a strong beat and a melody carried alternately by guitar and violin.
Rather than moving around the dance floor, the couple stayed in one spot. He guided her back and forth, their footwork complicated and accented by sharp kicks.
The melody rose in intensity, and their movements became more dramatic. Ryan noticed the other couples on the
floor had stopped to watch. When the music ended, Amara lay across his outstretched arm, and everyone broke into thunderous applause. Everyone but him. Instead, his jaw was clamped tightly shut. His shoulders were corded from tension, and the empty Styrofoam cup that had held his drink lay crushed on the table.
He flexed his fingers, then moved his jaw and rolled his shoulders to loosen the tensed muscles. His reaction should have surprised him. But he recognized it for what it was – jealousy. Plain old green-eyed jealousy. He wanted to be the man with his arms around Amara. The man with his forehead touched to hers. The man with his hands on her body.
Her body under his in his bed.
“They dance brilliantly,” commented the woman at the next table. “Don’t you agree?”
The only thing Ryan could agree to at the moment was his need to get away from this place.
And maybe put his fist into the man’s face.
Chapter Eleven
Dancing with Rafael again was amazing. It was as if time hadn’t passed, and the routine that had captured first place for them a decade ago came back to her easily.
Before they had begun to dance, Rafael waved to a petite woman across the room. A petite woman with a very large baby bump.
“That’s my wife,” he explained. “And our son is due any day now. I didn’t want to come tonight, but Melissa said if I didn’t get her out of the house she was going to do bodily harm to me.”
The Rafael she had known in her teen years had been brash and wild. He was two years older, and more than once their coach had needed to discipline him for showing up late or skipping practice altogether.
“You’re going to be a father? The man who glued my practice shoes to the bottom of my locker?”
Rafael let his head drop forward, and he shook it from side to side. “Don’t remind me. And in case I never apologized, let me do that now. You have no idea how much I worry that my son will turn out like I was back then.”
Before they were able to continue the conversation, the music began and Rafael pulled her into a close embrace. The familiar tune drew her into the mood of the dance, and before she knew it, she lay across Rafael’s outstretched arm and the dance was over.
When she glanced around her, she saw they were alone on the dance floor. The crowd applauded, and when she let her gaze wander to Rafael’s wife, she was on her feet, too. One hand rubbed her swollen belly and the other was in a thumbs-up position. The look on her face left no doubt she was both proud of her husband and madly in love with him.
“Thank you for the dance,” he said, leading her back toward her table. “Melissa doesn’t dance, but is gracious enough to come here with me from time to time so I can get my dance fix. But once the baby arrives, dancing will be replaced by diaper duty and two o’clock feedings.”
Amara squeezed his arm. “And that tells me you’re going to be a terrific father. Please let me know when the baby arrives, okay? I’d love to visit.” She rattled off her email address.
“Your boyfriend won’t be jealous?” He motioned in Ryan’s direction. “You two make a cute couple by the way.”
“We’re…uh, no,” she sputtered. “He’s only a dance contest partner. That’s it. That’s all.”
Rafael raised one dark eyebrow and cocked his head to one side. “If you say so.”
Before she could counter, they reached the table, and Ryan rose from his chair. Amara saw the pieces of foam cup on the table. She’d have chalked it up to a nervous habit except for the muscle ticking in Ryan’s jaw. Was he jealous?
She had made it clear after the kiss in the studio that their relationship was strictly business. Too much rode on the contest to risk getting involved with him. The night after the kiss she had dreamed about Ryan, and the dream held more kisses and more—
“Good luck in the contest,” Rafael said. “I’ll watch the paper for the results, and I’ll email you as you asked.” He leaned in and brushed a kiss against her cheek. Amara saw the muscle in Ryan’s jaw kick up a notch into high twitch mode.
He was jealous.
“And my wife is waving frantically at me, which either means she needs to make another trip to the ladies room or she’s ready to go home or both. Or she could be in labor. I’d better go. Nice to meet you,” he said hastily in Ryan’s direction before leaving.
“Speaking of going home, let me know when you’re ready.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, checked his watch, then gave a yawn that was obviously fake. Amara almost laughed, then reconsidered. They had been at the club for over two hours, and to his credit, Ryan had danced every tango except the one she’d danced with Rafael. He’d listened to her directions and suggestions without a single word of complaint. And they still had almost an hour’s drive back to Mimosa Key.
She feigned her own yawn. “I guess I’m ready to go.”
They changed shoes again and made their way to Ryan’s car. And during the drive back to the island, she drifted off with her head leaned back against the leather headrest.
Ryan’s gentle tap on her shoulder and his voice softly calling her name pulled her out of her slumber.
“We’re here. Wake up, Sleeping Beauty.”
Sleeping Beauty? In that nebulous spot between sleep and consciousness, she imagined him kissing her awake. Carrying her from the car to her apartment and inside to her bed.
“Come on. Wake up, sleepyhead. I have to get some rest because I have a conference call in the morning with a recruit from Lithuania.”
Talk about a mood breaker. The mention of Lithuania pulled her fully into wakefulness. She blinked and sat up in the bucket seat. “Sorry that I flaked out on you like that.”
“I guess you were more ready to leave than you thought. Plus, wrangling me around that dance floor couldn’t have been easy.”
“There you go again. Disparaging yourself. You’re a better dancer than you give yourself credit for.”
“Oh? I am?”
“Yes, you are. Don’t let it go to your head, though.”
He chuckled. “I think I will. My confidence needs all the boost it can get.”
Amara yawned, this time for real.
“Let’s get you inside,” he said, undoing first her seat belt and then his. He opened his door and pivoted to exit the vehicle. She grasped his arm to stop him.
“You don’t have to get out.”
“I beg to disagree, but yes ma’am, I do. My mother would skin me alive if I didn’t provide door-to-door service for my date.”
She started to correct him. She wasn’t his date. But that just might make the situation awkward. He rounded the front of the car, opened her door and offered his hand to help her out of the low-slung vehicle. At her apartment door, he waited while she dug a key from her purse and unlocked the door.
“Your shoes,” he said, holding out the black drawstring bag.
She reached for the bag and her hand brushed his. The jolt of electricity shooting up her arm surprised her. The heroines in the romance novels she carried in her purse frequently felt those jolts, but she had decided long ago it was wishful thinking. No man had even elicited such a response from her. Until now.
Now she was a believer. And she wondered how it would feel if the touch was more than accidental.
“See you Monday,” he said, interrupting her flight of fancy. “Are you okay? You have an odd look on your face.”
No, she wasn’t okay. She was mentally willing this man to touch her more, or at the very least, kiss her again. She opened her mouth to answer, and nothing came out. She worried at first that her blood sugar was off from the dancing and she was in danger of collapse. But she’d had that happen enough times in twenty-one years to rule it out. No, this was…lust?
She cleared her throat, blinked and tried again. “Fine. I’m just fine. Tired, but fine.” Her voice sounded breathy to her, like it belonged to a stranger.
Ryan’s eyes tapered to slits, and he studied her. “Okay, if you’re sure. G’night.” He s
wiveled and walked away, leaving Amara in her open doorway still wondering what a good-bye kiss might have been like.
Once inside, she leaned against the door and sighed heavily. Before she could collect her thoughts, a knock sounded behind her. She peered through the peep hole and saw…Ryan?
“I forgot something,” he said when she swung the door open.
She still had her purse and shoes in her hand and couldn’t imagine what he’d left behind since he hadn’t come inside. “What—”
His arms snaked around her. “This.” He lowered his mouth to hers. “I forgot this.”
His tongue grazed her lips, and she opened to him. Their tongues clashed, and she released a soft moan. She dropped the purse and shoes, and as her arms wound around his neck he hardened against her.
He broke the kiss first, lifted his hand and brushed his knuckles against her cheek. Pressed his lips to her temple before kissing down her cheek, her jaw, to that sensitive spot on her neck.
Heat twirled through her, and she rolled her head back to expose her throat. She heard his low groan as his hand slid from her waist up to cup her breast through her dress. Amara knew they should take this inside, but the kiss and his touch took her to a place she hadn’t been in so long, and she didn’t want to break the mood. Not now.
The flash of headlights pulling into the parking lot broke the mood for them. Ryan stepped back, and Amara could feel the heat in her face.
“Okay…well.” He stammered and rocked on his heels before running his tongue across his lips as if to taste where her lips had been. “I think that took care of what I forgot.”
“Okay…well,” she repeated. “That’s good. That you found it, that is.”
“Oh, it was good all right. Way better than good.” A smile played at the corners of his mouth, driving home the point. “I’ll be going now. See you Monday.” And once again he walked away.
Dancing on the Sand Page 6