by Nancy Warren
“We aren’t looking at any art.” He guided her down the steps to the basement. “It’s time for your next class.”
“Class? What kind of class?” He wouldn’t sign her up for an art appreciation course.
“Dance class.”
Her stomach twisted sharply. “Dance?”
“Yep.” He stopped before a door. “Here we are. You’ll be here on your lunch hours every Tuesday and Thursday. The teacher is allowing you to visit tonight as a personal favor. She has a waiting list from the women in the community for this particular class.”
She took a step back. “I don’t dance.”
“That’s why you’re having the classes.” He flashed a smile that made her tummy flip.
She refused to let him bedazzle her into dancing. “You don’t understand,” she said firmly. “I have no rhythm. Zip. Zero. Zilch.”
“You’ll be fine.”
He didn’t get it. She needed another tactic. “I don’t have the right clothes. I haven’t worn a tutu since I was three.”
“No tutu or special shoes required.” He moved to open the door.
“Really?” That was unusual. Most classes she’d taken in her youth required a complete wardrobe. “What kind of dancing is this?”
He swung open the door. “Bellydancing.”
Her eyes widened. “No!” The metallic tang of panic filled her mouth.
“Stop stalling.” He tried to wave her inside. “It’s time for class to begin.”
“I can’t.” She pressed her body against the cement wall next to the door. There was no way she was going to go shake her chest in front of strangers. Jiggle where she wasn’t supposed to jiggle. No freaking way. “I’m not going to. You can’t make me.”
Marc’s eyes narrowed at the challenge. He cornered her. Conflicting emotions crashed through her as she inhaled his warm, clean scent. She belatedly started her struggle as he slid his large hands behind her shoulders, prying her body off the wall.
“You can do this.” Warning nipped his soft voice. “You will do this and everything else I throw your way. And do you know why?” he asked above the squeaking of her unyielding shoes. “Because you hate to fail.”
The panic flashed brighter inside her. He knew what made her tick. Her muscles seized with surprise.
“I’m out of here.” She dodged away from him, but Marc anticipated her move. Suddenly she was across the threshold watching the door close in her face.
“Have fun, Amy.” Marc’s voice wafted through the room as the door slammed shut. He stood in front of the door’s window, bracing his feet slightly apart and folding his arms across his chest.
“Amy?” A woman in a sequined top and chiffon skirt was at her side. “Welcome to Bellydancing: Awakening the Goddess Within.” She punctuated the greeting with the clink of finger chimes.
There was no escape, Amy realized as the teacher shook a diaphanous red scarf in her face. A shudder swept through her as the high wailing music pierced the air.
She glared at Marc through the window. He was going to pay dearly for this.
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
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Copyright © 2004 by Nancy Warren
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ISBN: 978-0-7582-9200-1