Dance with Me, My Lovely

by Jaye Roycraft

  So she drove in circles, never feeling so lost in her entire life.

  * * * *

  Cate called Merri at five-thirty the following afternoon, determined to start her life over. She was hoping Merri would be home from work.

  "Hello?"

  She was. It was a good start. “Hey, Merri, it's Cate. Say, I'm feeling kind of restless tonight, and I don't have any appointments. I was wondering if you wanted to go out tonight."

  There was only the briefest moment of shocked silence. “Wow, that's great! I'm so glad to hear you say that. Sure, tonight's fine. There's a new martini bar downtown that I've been dying to try out. No college kids, very upscale, and with live music and dancing. How does that sound?"

  No objections came to mind, except that she didn't like martinis and didn't want to be anywhere near a dance floor. “Great,” she lied.

  "Good. If we go early we can get a table. How about I pick you up at seven?"

  "Fine."

  "Wear your hair a little tousled and wear a button-down blouse, not one of your pullover sweaters."

  "Merri, for God's sake. I know how to dress."

  "Not for men, you don't. Men like looking at buttons. It gives them ideas."

  Cate's face felt warm, and as she thought of Garran unbuttoning her blouse in the park, she couldn't argue with Merri's logic. Neither the cold, the dark, nor the fact that they were in a public place had deterred Garran.

  "I'll see you at seven,” she said and hung up. How long would it take before everyday conversation ceased to remind her of him? Her body ached for his touch even as she reminded herself she'd start making new memories tonight.

  She showered and took Merri's advice, putting on an ivory silk blouse with a plunging V neckline and rhinestone buttons. She matched it with a slim chocolate brown skirt and wide patent leather belt. With her narrow waist and hips she knew the outfit looked good on her.

  Merri picked her up on time, giving an enthusiastic nod of approval to Cate's outfit, and by seven-thirty they arrived at the bar. Martini Joe's was swank, full of neon lights and colors, and crowded, even at the early hour. Instead of tables there were black leather sofas that flanked glass-topped cocktail tables. Merri spotted an empty grouping and led them to it, sitting down on the sofa that faced the bar, not the dance floor. A young woman in a black mini skirt and neon pink blouse took their drink orders, and Cate suddenly felt monochrome in a world of color.

  "Merri, the men are all at the bar. Who's going to pay any attention to us here?"

  "Just relax. It's early. We can check out everyone from here without looking like we're on the prowl. Later when it gets really crowded, we can make our move."

  So Cate leaned back, took a few cashews from a glass bowl on the table, and ran her other hand over the soft leather of the cushions. It was cool and smooth, reminding her of Garran's skin. Stop it! She busied her hands with the cashews, took a deep breath, and surveyed the crowd. The air wasn't charged with rampaging hormones like at the Pony Express, but it simmered with a slow warmth that made her feel hot in her wool skirt. Maybe coming here was a good idea after all.

  Merri leaned over. “See the guy at the end of the bar with the red polo shirt and black pants? Insurance salesman."

  Cate smiled. It was a game Merri loved to play. “What about the guy next to him in the gray suit?"

  "MWC."

  She knew that one. Married with children. “How do you know?"

  "You can see his ring on the hand holding his glass."

  Merri was good. “Okay. What about the good-looking guy with the dark hair?"

  "Mmm. GWS."

  Cate laughed. “I'm stumped on that."

  "Great white shark."

  "Why?"

  Merri cocked her head. “Three-piece suit. Diamond pinkie ring. He's got money, and he likes to show it. He's probably a lawyer. He's got long hair, so he's got a liberal bent. Defense attorney."

  Why was it always the slick alpha types who attracted her?

  The woman who'd taken their orders returned with a tray and set it down on the cocktail table. She poured ingredients into a small shaker, put the top on, shook it, then poured her key lime martini into a neon green martini glass. Merri had ordered a white blizzard chocolate martini, and the woman shook and poured Merri's drink into a bright orange glass.

  They sipped their drinks and continued the game of guessing each man's occupation and marital status. After two drinks, though, Merri added a new element to the game.

  "See the insurance salesman?"

  Cate nodded. The man in the polo shirt was chatting with a woman at the bar.

  "He's probably either bragging about his golf game or the buck he's going to shoot come hunting season. Strictly boring in bed, though. Missionary style, every time."

  Cate giggled. “What about the shark?"

  "He always has to be on top, but he likes it hard and fast. He probably does it doggy style."

  Cate closed her eyes for a minute and wondered how it would feel to have Garran enter her from the rear, and she imagined herself on her hands and knees, begging him to end her torment of desire. Would she come even quicker than she had at his house?

  Stop it, stop it, stop it! She'd never know, so what was the point in dreaming about it? She opened her eyes and scanned the bar.

  Merri did the same. “Oh, my God."

  "What?"

  "Look at that guy in the sweater vest. Fifth over from the end of the bar."

  Cate spotted him. The man in question was middle-aged and thick around the middle. “He's watching us."

  "No, he's perving us."

  "Perving?” As soon as she asked, she got it.

  "Eye-fuck!” they both said in unison, and Cate almost spit the cashew she'd just put in her mouth.

  Merri laughed. “He's eye-fucking us for sure. I don't know about you, but if some guy is going to look at me like that I want him to be better looking than that."

  The man was not only staring at them, but he had a smarmy smile on his face. Shivers ran down her spine. “A lot better looking.” Like Garran. “How do you suppose he likes it?"

  It was Merri's turn to choke on a mouthful of martini. “I don't even want to think about it."

  Cate looked at the man next to the perve. “Hey, what about the tall guy with the shaggy blond hair and rolled-up sleeves?"

  "Hmm. Good choice. Long hair and no suit coat. He's a nonconformist. He likes trying all kinds of different positions, and he even likes the woman on top. He's not quite as DDFMG as the Italian Stallion, but he's not bad. Say, what would you do if Mr. Stallion walked in here? I, for one, would leave a wet spot on this fine leather seat."

  Why did Merri have to ruin the mood just when Cate was feeling good? “He'd be trouble, Merri. He'd lie to you to get in your pants, and he'd have you wishing for things that could never be."

  "What's with you? I thought you liked him."

  Liked him? She'd loved him. She'd loved every inch of his graceful, powerful body, and she'd loved every part of his dark and tortured soul. But that was before. She tried to recount all the “befores,” but she lost track. Before she knew the touching past he'd recounted was a lie. Before she knew the unbelievable sex had a dark purpose. Before she knew he'd tried the same ploy with a woman decades ago. Before she knew he wasn't human, for God's sake. “That kind of man is trouble. Admit it."

  Merri waggled her head back and forth as if she couldn't make up her mind. “Maybe. Arrogant, probably. Unfaithful, very likely. But man, what wouldn't I give just for one night with a man like that. Wouldn't you die for one night, Cate? Even if you knew that was all you could have?"

  She'd had one night. Actually, she'd had two nights with Garran. And she had died. Or at least it felt like she'd died. Her life would never be the same. Knowing then what she knew now, would she do it all again? “I don't know."

  "Sometimes you have to take a chance. Like right now. Come on, let's go up to the bar. Mr. Nonconformity with the
surfer hair looks right up your alley."

  Her alley right now throbbed, but it was the thoughts of Garran that stirred her juices, not the man at the bar. But she couldn't admit the truth to Merri.

  Merri stood, took her by the hand, and tugged. “Come on. He's got to be at least six foot two. Think what it would be like to play rodeo girl with all that underneath you."

  The image sustained her arousal, and she let Merri pull her to her feet, but when she stood, she felt lightheaded. “I don't know, Merri."

  "You can do it. Just squeeze in next to him at the bar and order another drink. Make small talk. Get him to notice you. I'm going to the ladies’ room."

  Merri let go of her hand and fishtailed away through the crowd. She was on her own. You can do this. If Garran wanted you, others will want you. She could do this. If nothing else, Garran had given her confidence. He'd let her know she was beautiful, and he'd shown her that her body was as responsive as any woman's. So with careful, deliberate steps, she wove her way to the bar and wiggled her body into the nonexistent space next to the man on her radar.

  She smiled up at him. “Excuse me. It's crowded in here tonight."

  He looked at her, and his gaze dropped to the top button on her blouse. But the flick of the man's eyes made her feel slimy, not hot. She waited, watching his eyes to see if they would return to hers with interest or glance away with indifference. His eyes met hers. Hazel. But instead of joy that the man's eyes expressed an attraction, all she felt was relief that they weren't blue. She forced her smile up again.

  He returned the smile. “Have you been here before?"

  "First time, actually. I can't wait to hear the band.” She really didn't care about the band, but Merri had suggested small talk. Small talk was hard with nothing on her mind but Garran and sex, and she didn't think Mr. Nonconformity, no matter how open-minded he was, would appreciate being questioned about his sexual preferences. Excuse me, do you prefer being on top or on the bottom? Doing it standing, sitting, or prone? Do you like it hard and fast, or slow and easy? So a banal comment on the band was the only thing she could think to make.

  "They should be starting any minute now. It's just a two-man band, piano and guitar, but they're very good. Do you like smooth jazz?” But his gaze was on her breasts again, and she got the impression he didn't really care what her answer was.

  "Love it,” she lied. She wasn't even sure what smooth jazz was. Now what was she doing? Trying to be someone she wasn't? Garran had her so mixed up she didn't know who she was anymore. But he'd accepted her. And she hadn't needed to pretend with him or make excuses for her shortcomings.

  The man leaned very close. “I'm Ryan, by the way. I'll bet you love to dance, too."

  "Mmm. I do. I'm Cate,” she said. At least she loved to dance when Garran was holding her and making love to her at the same time. But she didn't really have any burning desire to dance with this man. Was this how the dating game was played? With a series of lies?

  The band started, and he cocked his head at the dance floor. She couldn't very well refuse. He led her to an open spot, and the music was indeed smooth. Ryan was even smoother, immediately pulling her close and holding her by the hips. She put her hands on his shoulders, but resisted wrapping them around his neck. He wasn't the dancer Garran was, but she didn't expect him to be. Still, as close as he held her, her body failed to fire up. In the past she would have blamed herself, but Garran had taught her that there was nothing wrong with her body or her sexuality.

  But tonight her response was nonexistent. She looked up at Ryan. There was nothing wrong with him. His eyes and brows were a shade darker than his shoulder-length mane, and his features were regular. But she could have been dancing with the Scarecrow or Tin Man for all the excitement her body felt.

  Maybe it was because Garran's gaze had connected with her on a level no man ever had. On that very first night at the Pony Express they'd somehow recognized each other on a spiritual plane. Was that connection the reason her body had reacted to Garran's the way it had? Because he'd recognized her true self before he ever touched her? If that was the case, no other man would ever have a chance.

  She leaned closer to Ryan, willing her body to react the way she knew it could. She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck. His skin was warm against her palms, but the warmth failed to travel to the lower half of her body. Ryan dropped his hands, holding her rear, and she felt his erection grind against her belly.

  The music stopped, but since nothing was going on anyway, she didn't mind. “That was wonderful, thank you.” When they reached the bar, she spotted Merri, who was grinning from ear to ear. “Hey, I see a friend. I'm going to run over and say hello."

  "Sure."

  When she reached Merri, Cate thought the woman was going to hug her.

  "You danced with him. That's great! So how did it go?"

  If Merri was this excited about her dancing with a man, she wondered how Merri would react if she knew Cate had made love to the Italian Stallion himself. “Well, don't mail the wedding invitations just yet."

  Merri's face fell. “No?"

  "No."

  * * * *

  An hour later Cate was home. Last night she had driven in circles, not knowing where to go or what to do. She'd cried herself to sleep, but had awakened with a plan. Tonight she couldn't sleep at all. All she could do was think about Garran. In a way, she was glad tonight had been a disaster. It proved to her that it hadn't just been Garran's body she'd fallen in love with. There'd been that special connection, and she was sure now that it had only been possible because of what he was. She hated the idea of loving a predator, but at the same time, his preternatural acuity had allowed him to see her as she truly was. How could she hate that part of him?

  She lay in bed and ached for him, and all the nerve endings that had been quiet with Ryan came to life now. Her blood raced, shivers played tag up and down her limbs, and her juices left her ready and waiting for a man who wasn't there.

  She rolled over and stared at the clock. Twelve-thirty in the morning. She wondered where Garran was and what he was doing, and she knew. He'd be at the studio, wondering where she was and what she was doing.

  She jumped out of bed, got dressed, and got into her car. She wouldn't be able to sleep until they resolved this, so now was better than later. She'd learned one thing tonight, but she still needed to learn one more thing. She needed to know if her body could respond to Garran, knowing full well what he was, the same way it had when she thought he was nothing more than a good-looking guy with issues. Would she be afraid of him? Would she shrink away from his touch? Or would she hunger for him more than ever? She wouldn't be able to move on with her life until she knew. Less than a half hour later, she pulled up in front of Moves On Tap.

  It looked closed. The street was empty of parked cars, and the front studio room was as dark as the night. But somehow Cate knew Garran was inside. Like it or not, he was the one person she could talk to, the only one who wouldn't think she was crazy. He understood how she felt. At least she hoped he did.

  She exited the car, hitched her wool collar up in defense of the cold wind, and tried the front door. Locked. She rapped as hard as she could with bare knuckles, fearing he wouldn't hear her if he had music on, then spotted an after-hours bell. She rang it twice. A moment later the door swung outward, and Garran filled the frame, but it was a Garran she'd never seen before.

  He was naked from the waist up, covered only in a sheen of sweat, and his hair looked as wind-whipped as if he had been out in the November night. Strands trapped in the sweat at his temple zigzagged down his face like dark wounds, and his eyes, brighter than the gleam of either his chest or hair, glittered with blue fire. Her heart jumped into her throat, but all the blood in her body seemed to rush south, leaving her lightheaded.

  He said nothing, but stepped back, an invitation for her to enter. She took her leap of faith and crossed the threshold, letting the door close behind her.

 
"We have to talk,” she croaked. But it was a hard thing to do with her heart where her tongue was supposed to be. “I need to know if...” She didn't quite know how to phrase it.

  "Come, Cate. One thing I admire about you is your honesty. Don't beat around the bush now."

  "All right. I need to know if I can make love to a vampire."

  He stretched out an arm to her, palm up. “Come. Dance with me."

  She shook her head. “No. No dancing. You know I can't dance. We need to discuss this whole mess."

  He turned his wrist, and his large hand closed over hers. “If you're ever going to know me, you need to understand dance,” he said softly. He stepped backward, but she didn't move. He stopped only when her arm was fully extended and another step would have meant pulling her forcibly. “Don't fear me, Cate."

  She didn't know which side of him was in control now, the vampire or the man, but he was her destiny. That much was clear, if nothing else was. He took another step backwards, and this time she allowed herself to be led down the hall. A white shirt abandoned on the gleaming hardwood floor of a rear studio told her this is where Garran's dance had been interrupted by her arrival. “Take off your coat and shoes. I promise I won't step on your feet."

  "I can't do this.” But as she said it, she laid her coat carefully on the floor and slipped off her shoes. Another leap of faith?

  He programmed a CD on the wall system, and music filled the room. It was slow, sad, and hypnotizing. “Yes, you can. This is slow waltz. We won't do any steps.” He reached his arm to her as he'd done in the foyer, and this time she took his hand.

  She'd never heard waltz music like this before. When she heard a waltz she usually thought of women in glorious gowns gliding around a grand ballroom, but this music made her think of the moon and stars—beautiful, but out of reach. She shivered.

  "It's called Nocturne,” he whispered, pulling her to him, but it was more of an embrace than a dance position. “Just hold me and feel the music, just like you did the night at my house. When I move, you move."