by Alexis Daria
The next few hours sped by. He waited backstage while the judges and extra dancers completed the opening number, joining Gina to mug for the camera before everyone lined up to be announced by Juan Carlos. He watched the other couples dance from backstage, cheering them on and joking with Alan and Jackson, who both danced well when it was their turns. As time wore on and no one fell on their faces, Stone worried he’d be the one to do it.
When it was his turn to take the stage, a stage manager appeared to usher him to his spot on the dance floor. He stood with Gina in the dark, waiting for the behind-the-scenes package to quit playing on the giant screen hanging over their heads. He closed his eyes, mortification setting in as he listened to their awkward first meeting.
“Don’t listen,” Gina said in a low voice.
“How can I not? It’s fucking embarrassing.”
She chuckled and gave his hand a squeeze. “You’ve already lived it. Breathe now. Be present. All you have to do is dance for thirty seconds.”
He took a deep breath as she instructed, and let it out slowly. “It feels like longer.” On screen, Gina freaked out about the “bear.”
“It’s forever and an instant, all at the same time.” She smiled up at him. “There’s nothing like it.”
He shook his shoulders, stretching his neck muscles as the package switched to him stumbling through the steps of the foxtrot. Around them, the stage ninjas darted back and forth, setting up their props for the dance. “I’m . . . nervous.”
“That’s okay.”
“I don’t want to let you down.”
“Oh, Stone.” She squeezed his hand again. “You won’t. Just do your best, okay? Don’t worry about me.”
Before he could reply—not that he knew what to say—they got the cue and took their places—Gina lounging on top of a piano, Stone sitting at a small table with two other male dancers. He picked up a hand of playing cards and stared at them intently. The music lead-in indicated they were back from commercial.
Juan Carlos’ voice rang out. “Dancing the foxtrot, Stone Nielson and Gina Morales.”
The lights went up. The music started. Three weeks of intense training took over.
No time to think. No time to worry. Stone exploded out of his seat as Gina approached, playing his role as the love—or lust—struck gangster, captivated by the sexy lounge singer. Following her across the dance floor, he played up his character for the camera. What felt silly in rehearsal was done without a second thought on the dance floor.
He mimed whistling, tossed his fedora aside, then took Gina in his arms to lead her around the floor.
One step after the other. Left, right, left again. Lean, step back, spin. Gina counted out the moves but he went through the dance without missing a step. The music guided their feet. The lyrics connected them, wrapping around them and anchoring them in the moment.
Gina had been right, of course. There was nothing to do but dance.
It was over before he knew it. Breathing hard, he held Gina in his arms as the music came to an end. Adrenaline pulsed through him, his body on fire with it and the feel of Gina against him. Half a second later, the studio audience burst into applause and cheers.
“You did it.” Her smile lit up her face and she broke the hold to throw her arms around his neck, surrounding him with her scent. “You did it!”
He straightened, pulling her into a hug that lifted her dance shoes clear off the floor. “We did it.” It had been a rush, more than he’d expected, on par with hunting and cliff diving. To his surprise, he wanted to do it again.
When her feet were back on the floor, Gina pressed her lips together, emotion shining in her big, liquid-dark eyes. “You’re right.” She nodded. “We did.”
Juan Carlos popped up behind them out of nowhere, blurting a cheerful, “Let’s get your scores!”
CHAPTER TWELVE
The next morning, Gina sailed into the rehearsal room, buoyed by a wave of positivity. Stone had killed it in the foxtrot, earning a respectable average score for the first episode. Better yet, the fans were talking about them all over social media. He was a hit.
Jordy awaited her with the camera crew and a few assistants. “Nice work last night.” He handed her a square of cardstock with The Dance Off’s logo. “Here’s your next dance.”
“Thanks.” She flipped it over and groaned. “Really? So soon?”
The door opened behind her and Stone ambled through in black sweatpants and a white tank top. Gina swallowed hard. He’d looked dashing last night, decked out in dark trousers and a white button-down with a thirties-style tie and suspenders, but really, the man made anything look sexy.
“Morning.” He dropped his gym bag next to hers.
She gave him a high five. “You were awesome last night. That was a great score.”
“We only averaged seventy percent,” he pointed out while Jordy’s assistant crowded in to hook up their lavalier mics. “Lauren got eighty-two.”
About time. It had taken firsthand experience of the show’s scope to get his competitive instincts firing. He’d seen how much work went into it, how many people contributed to it, and how seriously the other contestants took the competition. She’d told him Lauren was the one to beat, and now he had his eyes on the prize.
That was good, but she needed him focused on the next dance. They’d take them one at a time and do their best with each. She couldn’t allow herself to get psyched out by Donna’s thread. The Dance Off was a huge stepping stone to the growth of her career, and didn’t want to lose it.
“Don’t think about Lauren or any of the others.” Gina poked a finger into the unyielding muscle of his chest. “It’s just you and me, dancing together.”
He nodded, then gestured to the paper she still held. “What’s that?”
“Our dance for Fiesta Night.” She passed the card to him, snickering when his eyebrows shot up.
“The Argentine tango?” He goggled at her, his eyes about to fall out of his head.
“You’ve heard of it?”
“Yeah, I’ve seen it in movies. It looks . . . difficult.” He flipped the card over a few times, as if there might be another dance hiding on it somewhere. “And close.”
“It is.” No point beating around the bush. “It’s a sexy dance.”
The big jerk rolled his eyes and groaned.
She jabbed him again. “Hey, what’s that reaction about?”
His eyes cut away from hers. “This is going to be so awkward.”
“It will be if you don’t do it right. Come on, let’s start with the basics.”
As she had with the foxtrot, she moved around him, poking and prodding his body into position while explaining the dance.
“In the tango, our hold is the opposite of most ballroom dances. Instead of leaning our chests away, when we’re in close embrace our chests and faces will be touching.”
He sighed. “I knew it. Already awkward.”
Again with the sighing? “Shush.” She kicked at his heels. “You’re not going to be lifting your feet a whole lot in the basic steps. Keep them close to the floor.”
She moved his body, providing instruction and slight corrections as she took him through a few passes around the room.
“Tango relies on improvisation,” she said. “The man leads, directing his partner and making sure they don’t bump into anyone else on the dance floor.”
“Isn’t the man always supposed to lead?”
“Yes, but in this dance, you really have to appear forceful. This is a sharper dance than the foxtrot, and you have to nail the footwork and hold.”
“And we only have a week to learn this one.”
“Slightly less.” She chuckled at his muttered curse. “Argentine tango requires a connection between the partners and the music, which is almost like a third partner. We’re communicating the emotion of the music to each other through our bodies.”
He narrowed his eyes. “So, tango is all about sex?”
It could be said that all dance was about sex, but she didn’t want to go there. “Not in the way you mean—it doesn’t have to be sexy. You could do a wistful tango between star-crossed lovers, a teasing tango with a jewel thief, one that evokes a sense of steady connection between a couple, or even one that’s fun and upbeat. Hell, we could do a dark tango as vampires. It all depends on the music.”
“And we’re using sexy music, I take it.”
“That’s the plan. We’ll see if they can clear the rights for my first song choice. For us, this is a strategic move, and we’re going as sexy as we can on network TV. People are going to want to see this side of you, and we’re going to lay it all out there in week two.” It was a risk, with Donna waiting in the wings to twist their behind-the-scenes clips into something romantic. But they’d fallen into a friendly, playful pattern, which would hopefully show up in their rehearsal footage.
Stone went through the steps again on his own. “You don’t think it’s a little early for that?”
“I’m not pulling punches this season. I’d rather hit them hard early in the game than get eliminated and wish I hadn’t saved the sexy card for later.” And then lose her job. Shit. She had no choice but to make this dance sexy.
He gave a low chuckle. “I think you’re mixing metaphors.”
“I know I am. But you get it. Go big or go home, Stone.” She pressed her hands to her mouth, eyes growing wide. “Ooh. Ooh. I’m getting it. An idea is taking shape.”
She paced in tight circles, muttering to herself and wringing her hands as her brain kicked into high gear. In her mind, she visualized their routine, running through options for the concept, the costumes, the vibe.
She wanted this dance to be panty-melting sexy. Their foxtrot had proved Stone a competent dancer and established them as contenders. The next dance would secure their spot in the audience’s imagination. She wouldn’t fake a showmance, but she’d set Stone up as a fantasy for the viewers. She’d seen it work in the past, before she’d joined the show. Hernando Gomez, an unknown telenovela star, had captured the audience’s hearts and lust with his masculinity and chivalry. Even though he hadn’t been the best dancer that season, he had won Lori the trophy.
“I’ve got it,” Gina said. “We’re telling a story of raw desire. Carnal magnetism.” She demonstrated the moves in front of him as she spoke, leaning in and pressing her palms to his chest. “We want each other, but it isn’t good for us. I walk away from you.” She spun away dramatically, freezing with her head and shoulders thrown back. “You keep pulling me back in, and I want it, so I stay.” She twirled into his arms again. “Finally, I run away, out into the rain.” She ran across the room, leaving him gaping at her.
“Into the rain?”
“They can make it rain on the stage.”
He scratched at his beard. “This is getting complicated.”
“Don’t worry, they can do it. And you’re interrupting my flow.”
“My apologies. Proceed, dance master.”
“I run out in the rain—across the stage—and you don’t follow. You dance halfway into the rain, then stop with your arms open, waiting for me. Before I’m offstage, I turn and run back. Then we do the remainder of the dance in the rain.”
“Won’t it be dangerous to dance on a wet stage?”
“Dangerous, and uncomfortable. But it doesn’t bother us, because when you want someone like that . . .” She sighed a little. “You just want them. Nothing else matters. We’re appealing to the baser instincts of the viewers. Everyone can relate to that kind of desire.”
She sure the hell could. Every time she looked at him, he tempted her to throw caution to the winds and drag him into a private corner somewhere. On second thought . . .
“And at the last moment, right before the song ends, I break hold and run off the stage.”
He shrugged. “Whatever you say, boss.”
Imagining it in her head, that ending destroyed the emotional quality of the dance, but even in character, she needed to keep her distance. Okay. Deep breaths. No more thoughts of Stone in dark corners. “Footwork and hold. Let’s go.”
Three hours later, her frustration levels were through the roof. He was managing the footwork and form, but there was a hesitancy to his movements that was ruining the routine. If their chemistry was going to set the dance floor on fire, she was going to have to demolish the boundaries between them.
Cuidado, her mind warned, in her mother’s voice. Este es peligroso.
Yeah, it was dangerous. But it was the only way.
“Take a break,” she said, after countless trips back and forth across the room. “This isn’t working.”
“What?” His brows creased, and for a second he looked hurt. “I haven’t done a step wrong for the past half hour.”
“I know. You’re doing great with learning the moves. It’s not that.” She uncapped a bottle of water and chugged it.
“Then what is it?” He came closer and stood with his hands on his hips.
She huffed and tossed the bottle back into the cooler. Her next words were bound to end up in the behind-the-scenes footage, but they needed to be said. “You’re not going to break me, Stone.”
“I’m—what?” His voice rose in bewilderment. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She waved at him impatiently. “Get in hold. I’ll show you what I mean, and why the tango is a hard dance for week two.” She stepped into his arms, then gestured at the way he was holding her. “See? It’s this. I’m not made of glass. Tango is a forceful dance. You can’t be afraid to grab me.”
“I don’t—”
“Give me your hands.” When he held them out to her, she grabbed his wrists and yanked his arms around her. Because he trusted her to position him, he didn’t resist. But when she clapped his hands onto her ass, his whole body jerked in surprise.
“Gina, what are you—”
“Squeeze.”
He shook his head and tried to pull his hands away. She tightened her grip on his wrists. “Do it, Stone. Grab my ass.”
He cast a frantic, wide-eyed plea at the cameras. “I don’t see how this—”
“Stop being such a prude.” She barely held back a giggle. It was funny, really. All this time she’d wanted to feel his hands on her, and he was so terrified by the prospect that the experience was anything but sexy. “Stone, if you’re scared to touch me, you’re going to look hesitant in the dance. If you look hesitant, it will look like I’m leading. And if I’m leading, our tango will suck. Now, grab my ass!”
His big hands trembled a second, then clenched, his long fingers clamping around her ass cheeks and palming them perfectly.
Oh god. This was a mistake. A giant fucking mistake. Heat flooded through her, and all her attention centered on the heat of his palms and the strength of his fingers digging lightly into her flesh.
“Good.” Her voice was breathy, and it pissed her off. She had to find the balance between doing a sexy dance, and keeping things cool between them. She cleared her throat. “Now that we’ve got that out of the way . . .” She eased back, setting them up so they were back in proper hold. “Let’s try this again. From the top.”
* * *
Two days later, they had their music and Stone had nailed the choreography, but they had a new problem.
He wouldn’t look her in the eye.
When they danced, he grabbed her and twirled her with such delicious force she was starting to dream about his touch at night. His posture was next to perfect. Their lifts were phenomenal, and he hadn’t dropped her once. His footwork was coming along, aside from a slight tendency to bend his knees at an odd angle. They were working on it, and she was confident he’d have it fixed by showtime. He’d made incredible progress in a short amount of time.
But while he did everything she told him, tightening his hold and whipping her body around in spins and lifts, he wouldn’t look at her while he did any of it.
It was better to let int
imacy with a dance partner build organically, but they were running out of time. Gina had to call him out.
After their lunch break—he was always a bit more amenable after he’d consumed an entire chicken—she sat next to him at the edge of the small stage stretching across one end of their practice room.
The cameras closed in, sensing she was about to give them a show. All of this would be so much easier without the cameras. Even worse, Donna was with them today.
“Stone.” Gina put her hand on his knee and gave it a squeeze. “Why won’t you look at me?”
He cut his eyes to her, but he didn’t seem surprised by her question. So, he knew what he was doing.
“I look at you.”
Goosebumps rose on her arms. Oh, that deep, grumbling voice did lovely things to her.
“I’m looking at you right now.”
“You’re glaring at me from the corner of your eye. There’s a difference.”
He let out an exasperated sigh and leaned back on his elbows. “Gina.”
Just that. Just her name. She’d always thought her name was soft—the smooth “g,” the dominance of the vowels—but she loved the sound of it in his gruff tone.
“Do I make you nervous?” she asked.
This time, he shot her a dark glare from under his brows, and the answer was in full view: Yes.
“There’s no way we’re going to be able to give the audience ‘raw sensuality’ if you won’t even look at me.”
He sighed and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling.
She tugged on his arm to make him sit up. “Face me. We’re going to do something from my yoga teacher training.”
“You’re a yoga teacher?” He raised an eyebrow, but let her move him.
“Being a professional dancer didn’t always pay the bills.” She turned them so they faced each other, and took his hands in hers. “This is called eye-gazing.”
“What is it?” He sounded curious. At least he was looking at her now.
“Just what it sounds like. We look into each other’s eyes.” She fixed her gaze on his, holding herself still.
“Like a staring contest?”
She snickered. “No. Well, kind of? You’re allowed to blink.”