by Traci Hall
“I can pay via your website?”
“Of course! The address and other information will be there too.” Another low chuckle. “Now I’m really looking forward to the competition. We’ve got thirty dance teams. At the very least it will be a good experience for your dancers.”
Armand’s mouth tightened at the barb. “True.”
“And for you, as a first-time instructor. It will be interesting to see how you do. It’s work, even with seasoned dancers. Have you competed at all?”
“We took third at the Breakers regional last night.” Armand spoke calmly as if the man wasn’t being a complete jackass. “I’ll get that entry fee to you.”
Zamira bristled and mouthed, “Asshole.”
“You did? That’s great,” Colin said. “You haven’t even been in business six months.”
Gritting his teeth, Armand stared at the phone as if he could make it explode with his look alone.
Colin continued, “Break a leg, haha.”
Armand ended the call, holding up his hand to forestall Zamira’s angry rant. “Wait, Zamira. It is better for them to think of us as the underdog. I don’t want any word of our new routine to leak beforehand.” He frowned.
“Lucas will do his best to find out—he seems to bend Christine’s ear the most.” She crossed her arms. “Do you know this Colin person, Armand? He is rude. How dare he speak that way to you?”
“I appreciate your fire, but let’s not get carried away.” Armand snapped his fingers. “Instead, let’s create a routine to bring the house down. We know how to do that, don’t we?”
He held out his hand for hers and she took it with a grateful squeeze. Recalling how they’d racked up trophies and prizes, she knew they were an unbeatable team.
Would he bring out his secret weapon?
Armand shook his head at her as if he’d read her mind. “Joshua is your dance partner. That move took us a long time to perfect and I’m not willing to chance either one of you, especially you, getting hurt.”
She nodded and bided her time.
There would come a day when Armand would dance with her again.
She’d do everything in her power to make sure of it.
He scratched a few sketches on notepad paper as she finished getting ready for their practice. He lifted his pen as she sat across from him at the small dining table.
“We never talked.” His eyes filled with shadows.
“Do we need to?” Zamira was happy to coast in the moment. She’d wanted to talk a week ago, and where had he been? Cooking pasta and boiling his old phone. Now that they’d reconnected physically, it wouldn’t be long before he trusted her again, she hoped. Why bring up Diego, or Chantal, or the future for that matter?
“We do.”
“Armando,” she said with a belabored sigh.
He wagged the pen at her. “We can’t let anyone know that we are together like this. We can be friends only.”
It hurt to hear, but she understood. “Are we…anything? When it is just the two of us?”
Dropping the pen, Armand took her hands, running his thumbs over her knuckles. “Last night made me realize that I still have very strong feelings for you.”
Zamira’s stomach rolled. “That’s it? Strong feelings?” She got to her feet and put her hands on her hips. “Armand Vargas, I have never stopped loving you. Not one second has passed that I haven’t loved you since you left me,”
His eyes flashed. “You chose Diego!”
“I was a fool. Young, mistaken. I love you, Armand.” She smacked the table and the pen bounced. “Never stopped. I won’t accept strong feelings as if your love is a carrot you dangle before me!” Her temper spiked and she spread her arms wide. “I know the look in your eyes. Admit it, Armando, you love me too.” Short of breath, overcome by emotion, Zamira stared at him with expectation, her hand over her wildly beating heart. “You have never been a coward—don’t start now.”
*****
Armand felt the laughter bubbling from his belly and slowly got to his feet. “Zamira, angel, you will never change. Put your chin down before you hurt yourself.” He kissed the end of her nose and she started to giggle as her emotions released.
He turned her so that they each faced the mirror, his arms wrapped around her as if he cocooned her. Tall enough to rest his chin on her head, he said, “I am no coward, but you can’t force me to say words I’m not ready to say.” He dropped his head, lifted her hair from her nape, and nuzzled her neck until she moaned.
“Feel what I feel for you and let that be enough for now, all right?” God, he wanted her again and she wriggled her backside against his erection before swiveling around to stand on her tip-toes and put her arms around his neck.
“It will never be enough, Armando. I want it all.” She nipped his lower lip then drew his mouth into a hot kiss.
Two seconds from tossing her onto the bed, his phone rang. She gave a sexy mew, daring him to forget about anything but her. She didn’t know about Alex, and why he always needed to have his phone nearby.
He hadn’t thought that far ahead yet, either, just going with the flow of passion and want that was Zamira.
“It’s Oscar. Hang on.”
She ducked under his arm. “We have to get moving anyway,” she said with a small pout of disappointment. “Don’t we have to stop and get you clothes?”
He couldn’t take her to his house. Alex was everywhere—pictures, toys. His son’s bedroom.
He shook his head and answered, “Hello, Oscar. What’s up?”
“I just heard a rumor.”
He looked at the time. Less than an hour had passed since talking to Colin. “You did? Can this wait until we get to the studio?”
“You know what I’m talking about?”
“I have a pretty good idea. Don’t spread it, okay. We, I’ll be there in thirty.”
“You’re kidding me,” Zamira said as soon as he hung up. “They’ve already heard?”
“Yeah.”
“Dancers are a bunch of gossips.” She tapped her toe. Wearing pretty blue flip flops, a navy blue skirt and floral sleeveless blouse over her leotard, Zamira was the epitome of effortless beauty. Style. “You can’t wear that—they’ll remember it’s what you had on yesterday.”
“I’ve got clothes in the trunk. I don’t have time to go home.” Most dancers he knew had a wardrobe in the backseat of their car. Extra shoes, tape, towels. He’d upgraded to an organized chest instead of stuff strewn everywhere, but that was just one of many changes that came when he had Alex.
“Go get some then and come back up.” She eyed him shrewdly but didn’t pursue the topic. “I’ll make us bagels. The strawberries are all gone.”
It took less than twenty minutes to change into jeans, leather sandals and a t-shirt. They ate breakfast on the way.
“Should you drop me off and then circle the block?” Zamira asked with a sniff.
He thought about it then saw the look on her face. “Of course not.”
Things were changing, and he and Zamira wouldn’t be able to hide their relationship, if that’s what this was going to be, for long.
He had to do some serious soul-searching tonight, but until then? He’d roll. They parked and got out before anybody else was there. Sophie and Marciana arrived just as he was unlocking the front door.
By two, they were all sitting in the waiting room and staring at him. He transferred the video from his phone to his laptop. “We’ve got the show to watch. It’s very important that you look for areas where you excelled as well as areas that could use improvement.”
They nodded, quiet. Expectantly.
“When the video is over, we will compare notes. Then we have a decision to vote on.”
Sophie leapt up and grinned. “We’ve already voted.”
He looked at Oscar who shook his head. “Wasn’t me.”
Marciana clapped her hands. “Lucas knows and he’s blasting it all over social media! Saying he’s going to kick o
ur newbie asses. We’ve got to make him eat his words.”
“You said,” Lance said. “That we would be the bigger men by showing our skills. You believe we can do it,” Lance smiled cockily, “or you wouldn’t have called Colin.”
“All right,” Armand said, searching the group, careful not to let his gaze stay too long on any one person’s face. “Is there a spy in here somewhere?”
Christine laughed and hurried to explain, “Kendra called me to get the scoop—she’s one of the leads for Lucas—anyway, if you were trying to keep it under wraps, well, Lucas was there with Colin when you called.”
“They’re friends?” Zamira asked, her red mouth pursed in a bow. “That won’t be good for us, then.”
“Not friends,” Sophie clarified. “But they go back a long way. Old school.”
Armand shuffled his feet before the table and tapped the laptop. Was he making a mistake? Pushing too soon? “This is a group decision that we need to make. We’re going in as brand-new. It will be tough enough, without the added prejudice from Lucas.”
“Screw them,” Felicity said.
“Colin has to play fair. This is his reputation too. His competitions are one of the few that offer money as a prize.” Zach took Trevor by the hand. “I’d love to prove them wrong.”
“Are we ready?” Marciana asked.
Armand felt the weight of all eyes on him—he soaked up Zamira’s unspoken assurance that he could lead them well.
“I think you are. Let’s see.”
There was thirty minutes of video that he played against a pull-down projector screen in the studio. They all took notes, studious and eager to be better.
When it was done, he switched the lights from dim to full. They gave him honest feedback, and he agreed with both strong points as well as low points. Lance looked sheepish as apologized again for tripping Christine. “Sorry…”
“Next time there’s a pause before the turn, that’s all,” she said. “We can practice.”
“Christine is right.” Armand’s mind kept going back and forth between what they’d done at the Breakers, and what they could do in two weeks. “We can practice. But before we decide on a dance for Miami, we need to choose a category for competition,” he said. “Strictly ballroom, or open category.”
“What difference does it make?” Lila asked.
“Each category has specific rules that you have to follow, or you will be deducted points. If we choose classic ballroom, we need to show the basics: waltz, fox trot, tango. If we decide to do the open category, then we have more flexibility in our dance routine.”
“What’s the down side to that?” Lance laughed and looked around the room.
“It’s easier, which means it’s harder to score a win,” Oscar explained.
“If we want to win, we should try for the classic but make it unique.” Sophie got up and took a bow. “Which is what you like best, Armand. Fusing the past with the present. Just pointing out the obvious.”
“Do we want to win?” Armand asked. He had a great idea for an Indie waltz that he could do Steampunk costumes with…Zamira had a knack for intricate individual choreography, and it turned out that JoJo could draw.
The team cheered loudly. Armand laughed and held up his hands. “Just checking! Anybody know how to sew?”
A knock sounded on the door between the waiting room and the studio, and Armand gestured for Zamira to get it.
Zamira nodded, walking to the door as she talked about sewing machine rentals. She was enthusiastic and fabulous and Armand couldn’t wait to get her back in bed. If only she’d come with him to the United States when he’d asked, they would already be man and wife. Partners.
Zamira pulled back the knob, still facing the group of dancers, the door at her back.
If she’d come then, Armand wouldn’t have Alex—he wouldn’t have had cause to enter Dance, Dance USA and win a half-million dollars, which allowed him to build a legacy for his son. Things happened in their own time, he supposed.
Now could be he and Zamira’s time.
Bright light spilled into the studio from the open windows in the waiting room, creating a shadow behind a tall figure of a man with broad shoulders and short hair.
A chill of premonition stopped his train of thought. It was like deja vu from when he’d opened his studio that first day to discover Zamira on his doorstep.
This time, he felt the crashing of his world in an awful and familiar way. Zamira turned around and then stepped backward, her hands on her hips to face the person in the threshold.
“Diego?” She stared upward before Diego swept her into his arms and all the way into the studio, right in front of Armand’s gaping troupe.
“Amor! I’ve missed you…are there still spots available in the dance company? I would like to try out.”
“You can’t,” Zamira whispered and got out of his arms in an awkward struggle. She didn’t meet Armand’s eyes.
“She’s right.” Armand tossed his pen and notes to the floor with a resounding smack. This time, he would tear Diego apart. “You need to go.”
Chapter Sixteen
Zamira watched Armand’s face flush a furious crimson as he stomped toward them. Trevor and Oscar each jumped up from where they were sitting on the floor in response to his uncharacteristic anger.
“Armand,” she said, holding her palms up to stop him. She winced and searched his face—but any emotion was shuttered away. Diego chuckled behind her, adding to Armand’s anger.
“What’s up, Diego?” Armand’s gaze dropped to Zamira. “Did you invite him? That takes balls, Zamira, coaxing your way into—my dance company.” She saw him literally bite his tongue and change what he’d been about to say. My bed?
She tamped her own temper down in the face of his. If she was in his place, she’d be hurt and furious too. What was Diego doing here?
“You came to America first, just to ensure Diego a warm welcome in my dance company? Things must be bad in Argentina for you both to show up.”
Christine’s high voice cut across the room. “Diego Santana? Hi! You probably don’t remember me, but we danced together, sheesh, twelve years ago? I was fourteen, I think. I had the biggest crush on you!”
Zamira, Diego and Armand all turned toward Christine, who wore a nervous expression. It was obvious she was trying to deflect Armand’s anger.
Diego, ever the gentleman, turned toward Christine and exuded Latino charm. “Hola! Of course I remember. The American Dance Academy. You were a pretty girl, now grown into a beautiful woman.”
Christine’s cheeks flushed.
Armand, fury ebbing from his eyes, regained control, and faced Diego and Zamira. “What is the meaning of this?”
“When Zamira told me that you were starting a new dance company, I was intrigued,” Diego spoke over Zamira. “Why not help a friend out, I thought?”
“If we were friends that might have merit.”
Diego’s exuberant laugh echoed around the dance studio. “What men in our world have not had a disagreement over dance partners?”
Oscar looked at Armand with a shrug, willing to follow whatever lead Armand wanted. If Diego was to be booted out on his ass, then Oscar, with Trevor and Joshua, would make it happen.
Armand straightened his spine.
Zamira cleared her throat and appealed to Sophie. Armand wouldn’t appreciate a brawl in his dance studio. He was all about being professional.
“Dancing equals drama.” Sophie laughed awkwardly. “Too many men, or too many women. Right now, we’re short a guy.”
Zamira bowed her head. Not the direction I would have chosen.
Marciana bounced to her feet and came toward them, her hand out. “Hi, Diego. I’m Marciana. I’ve seen you dance on YouTube. I found you on the International World of Dance, and followed your channel.”
He’d posted videos when Zamira had broken off their couple’s dance. Diego had thrown in her face that he’d have no lack of partners, and had been r
ight.
Armand glared at Sophie, who flinched an apology.
“Hola, Marciana.” Diego bowed over her hand. “You could use a male dancer?” He swiveled toward Armand. “Give me a chance.”
“We have a competition coming up.” Armand sliced his hand through the air. “Not the time for try-outs.”
Diego had a broad chest and more bulk to his physique than Armand, though Armand was taller and just as strong. “I’ve come a long way, from Argentina. Straight from the airport.” Diego said this as if it would be rude to kick him out. “I’ve got a room full of trophies back home that should suffice for an audition. Besides, you know I can dance.”
Zamira watched Armand’s expression close. What was he thinking? Probably, that if male ego could be put aside, Diego had the strength and skill to be an asset.
She lifted her hand, palm up. “Armand. It seems we Argentines keep barging in without invitation.” Zamira gave a small laugh that he didn’t join. “I have proven myself—and I believe that, if Diego agrees to follow your rules, then he could help us win. The main goal in the next two weeks is to practice a brand new routine, and make Lucas eat his words.”
The rest of the troupe cheered at that before quickly quieting. The drama before them was too great to miss.
“Christine has danced with Diego before. If we choose to enter the classic ballroom category for the regional, then we need to be paired evenly, man to woman. Last time, Lila had to sit out.” Zamira felt Diego start to object and stepped in front of him, effectively giving him her back. “Joshua and I did so well last night that I look forward to what you create for us next, Armand.”
There. Everybody knew that she was not picking Diego. Armand’s expression let her know that she’d be sorry for coming to Diego’s defense. She was not looking forward to that conversation.
Troupes were always short men versus women and as much as Armand loathed Diego, he was a damn good dancer.
Joshua got up as if to show his support. Armand looked around the room at each of the dancers.