The Romance Dance: Castle Ridge Small Town Romance

by Burton, Allie

  He had to focus on her request and not let his thoughts go deeper into the gutter. Would she be wearing the sexy peach outfit she’d had on the other night? Or maybe he could convince her to wear nothing at all. “What do you need?”

  She pointed at the dresser with the perfume bottles and other womanly paraphernalia. “The sweats in the bottom drawer.”

  He moved to the dresser and opened the drawer to be confronted with tiny, silky concoctions that weren’t sweats and wouldn’t cover much of her body. The pink and red and black slips of fabric teased his groin into a reaction, imagining how she’d look wearing the black thong and only the black thong. He stared into the drawer unable to lift his head, afraid his face would be red. “Um…um…where exactly are the sweats?”

  He didn’t want to paw through her underwear. Well, maybe he did, but wasn’t willing to let her watch him.

  “Toward the back.”

  Shoving his hand back, he dug around with his fingers through the silkiness until he felt plain cotton under the tips. He held the sweatpants up and shoved the drawer shut, hoping his mind would follow.

  He handed her the sweats and realized a problem. Was he going to have to dress her? His hands shook. “Um, do you need help?”

  Her head shot up, and a slow, teasing smile settled on her mouth. She licked her lips. “I’ve got good balance. I think I can handle it.”

  “Okay, then.” He bounced on his feet, nerves causing his entire body to twitch. He wanted to stay, all the time knowing he should leave. “Water?”

  “Yes, thanks.”

  He came back with a filled glass. “Once you’re changed, you should rest. You’ve got my cell phone number. Do you need anything else before I go?”

  She angled her head, considering. “No. Thank you so much for your help.”

  “No worries.” Except he had plenty of worries. How was he going to control this attraction to his tenant, neighbor, and the woman his brother had dated? “Call me for anything.”

  Forcing himself to turn around, he marched across the bedroom floor, and out of her apartment. He closed the door and slumped his back against the wood. He wanted to bang his head. She might think he was knocking. He picked up his feet and trudged to his apartment and entered. Surveying his private space, he noted he didn’t have any decorations and he’d lived there for several years. The apartment resembled a low-end rental unit. He was a guest in his own home.

  Not that he’d be living here much longer. Once he finished the remodel on the Craftsman house he’d bought a couple of blocks over, he’d move in and spend time decorating the house to his specifications.

  He headed to the kitchen and opened a beer.

  His door flew open. “I’ve been so worried about Quinn.” Dax rushed inside with a furrowed brow.

  Reed didn’t buy it. “Why didn’t you stay at the hospital then?”

  “I don’t do very well at hospitals. You know that.” His brother yanked open the fridge and took out a beer for himself. “How is she?”

  “Sprained ankle.” He slouched against the counter and watched Dax.

  “I should go see her.” He nodded several times in between taking sips of beer.

  “She’s probably sleeping.”

  “It’s early.” He blew off any concern.

  “Not for someone on pain medication, party-boy.”

  Dax’s life was carefree and filled with adventure. Until this last girlfriend, he’d bedded one girl after the next, and none of the women minded. Maybe he wasn’t good enough for Quinn. Not now that Reed was getting to know her better, getting to like her, getting to…

  “Got to make up for lost time.” His brother leered—a wolf proving he was only out for a good time.

  With jerky movements, Reed snatched the beer from his brother’s hand. “Is that what Quinn is to you? Someone to have fun with to heal your broken heart?”

  “She’s beautiful and fun, at least when she’s not mad at me.”

  He emptied his beer and started drinking his brother’s. She was more than beautiful and fun. She was extraordinary. With her passion for teaching dance, her love of life, her enthusiasm for everything.

  “I should text her, see if she’s awake.” Dax pulled out his phone. “What should I say?”

  “First, I’d apologize for causing her accident.”

  “Her falling wasn’t my fault. She was doing fine.”

  “You don’t realize all people aren’t naturally athletic.” Like Reed. He’d been an athletic child, as good of a skier as his brother and sister, even though he’d spent hours sitting in front of a piano.

  “Quinn is athletic. She’s a dancer.”

  “A dancer, not a skier.” He gripped the beer bottle tighter. Why couldn’t his brother understand?

  “So, what should I say?” Dax was obtuse. He hadn’t always been this way. Ever since Phoebe, he’d been running from anything serious. He’d always enjoyed himself and partied, but he’d also been considerate of other people’s feelings.

  Running a hand through his hair, Reed couldn’t believe he was helping again. He didn’t want Quinn hating anyone in the family so he’d make his brother apologize. “Say you’re sorry she’s hurt and you called the hospital and found out she’d been released.”

  “Can you say it more poetically?” The charmer used a winsome smile.

  “No.”

  Dax texted. “I told her I was at your place and wanted to see her if she’s awake.”

  “No!”

  He pulled his chin back in surprise. His head tilted in a questioning glance.

  Stunned at his vehemence, Reed didn’t want his brother being with her while she was vulnerable and in bed. “She’s probably tired and doesn’t want company.”

  Dax’s phone buzzed. “She responded so she’s awake. I’m going over.”

  His brother’s huge grin struck Reed, morphing him into a jealous lover. She must not be attracted to Reed, if she welcomed his brother into her apartment.

  Chapter Eight

  Quinn wrangled her crutches to the bathroom, debating taking the sleeping pills the doctor provided. The throbbing in her ankle made it difficult to sleep, and she’d been dozing on and off since Dax left. He’d texted to ask if she was awake, and when she’d said yes, he’d surprised her by knocking on the door. Surprise at his visit had become shock when he’d been extra considerate. Asking her what she needed, if he could massage her neck, and if she was tired.

  Nothing, no, and yes had been her answers.

  When she’d talked about how her grandfather’s old car was a stick shift and she needed to run errands the next day, he’d offered the use of his car. That had been nice. Dax was a nice guy, he just wasn’t the guy for her. He was fun and social, and also immature.

  A tinkling caught her attention. Squinting at the clock, she noted it was past midnight, and yet Reed played the piano. Her restlessness mellowed. She liked someone using the instrument, because it reminded her of happier times with her grandmother.

  During the holidays her grandmother would play, and they’d sing Christmas carols together. Her grandfather pretended to read the paper, except she’d noticed the long glances and his pleased expression. Grandmother would play classical music, too, and Quinn would dance and spin pretending to be a principal ballerina. She smiled with the happy memories.

  She hobbled to the apartment door and opened it. The music grew stronger, and pulled her forward. Resting against the doorframe, she listened. The ethereal melody entered her being, lifting her spirits. The tune played to her emotions. Longing, sad, hopeful.

  The music hit a chord inside her with its depth and passion. She sensed Reed’s agony as he played and she sympathized, wanting to make his sorrow go away. There was so much more to his story than he’d told her. She sensed it. This man who was so passionate and caring and wouldn’t harm anyone on purpose. How could the accident have been his fault?

  She wanted to go downstairs and watch him play. The way his large h
ands danced across the keys, the way his body swayed with the music, the way he closed his eyes partway, as if in the midst of desire.

  Her body hummed, and she forgot about her aches and pains.

  He’d been so helpful and sweet and caring. He’d come to the emergency clinic and waited with her until she’d been released. He’d driven her home and carried her up the stairs. Her skin scalded. She waved a hand in front of her face.

  So strong. So manly. So kind.

  Even though he’d been nice and funny and comforting, he didn’t want to be with her. He wanted her to date his brother. Her lips quirked into a devilish grin. Too bad. She didn’t want his brother, she wanted him.

  Sometimes, he’d look at her in a way sending her pulse spiraling high. He’d touch her arm, or say something sweet or funny, and she’d want to melt into him. She needed to show him the two of them would be great together.

  Placing the crutches on the top step, she swung her legs forward and landed a step down. The clunk of the crutches on wood sounded loud. She froze, hoping Reed wouldn’t hear her approach. She took another step, and another.

  Her ankle throbbed. Her temples pounded. Her body felt weak. She shouldn’t be attempting stairs on her own, yet.

  The music, his music, lured her.

  Just as Reed lured.

  Decision made. Time to go after what she wanted. Just not tonight.

  * * *

  Up early the next day, Reed couldn’t stop the music playing in his head. He’d spent several hours sitting at the piano last night, pouring out his passions. Between Quinn’s apartment door and the back door to the studio, the noise shouldn’t have bothered her. In his past, that was how he always dealt with feelings, striking the keys and creating melodies meshing with his emotions. That’s how his music was born.

  Until his music died with his fiancée.

  He’d been numb for a long time afterward. And when the music didn’t come back, and he’d had to deal with the survivor’s remorse and guilt, he’d pushed himself physically. He’d tripled his physical therapy exercises. He’d gotten a physical job in construction, before starting his own company and working twice as hard.

  Thinking and worrying and fretting about Dax being in Quinn’s apartment had caused Reed to pace back and forth last night. He’d needed more space, and had ended up going downstairs into the dance studio. The piano had been waiting.

  He’d already resisted the temptation of Quinn, he couldn’t resist another. So, he’d played.

  His dashed hopes had emptied into an uplifting melody. Thinking about the way she’d stared, how she’d clung to him as he’d carried her up the stairs, how she’d laughed, had changed the music from sad and sorrowful to optimistic.

  Music was no longer his enemy. Music had given him reason to hope.

  Humming the tune from last night, he went downstairs, glad when Quinn wasn’t working in the studio. With his emotions roiling inside, he couldn’t face her this morning. The thought of writing down the chords and lyrics pressed against him. Another pressure he didn’t need. If he wrote down the notes it might actually be considered composing, and he wasn’t ready to commit. Didn’t know if he’d ever be.

  He’d go out to the garage and gather a few tools before knocking on her door to see if she was awake and needed assistance. That’s what a good neighbor did. It was not because he needed to see her again.

  Heading out the backdoor, he skidded to a halt. Dax’s car was in the driveway.

  The music in his head crashed into a tone cluster. The off-key chords rang and rattled. The tune clattered to a halt and stopped. His brother had spent the night with Quinn.

  His heart, which had been beating in time with the melody in his head, sputtered fast and then slow. Cold air hit his face and scarred hands. He clenched his fists, not feeling the biting wind, only feeling devastation.

  Hope that Quinn might be interested in him had actually begun to bloom. The small spurt of optimism had brought the music back into his mind and soul. But she didn’t see him as a man, she saw him as a helper. The big, friendly giant, or a servant.

  Dumb, dumb, dumb.

  That rhythm would play in his head forever. Unless the music stopped again. An emptiness opened inside him, so vast and so dark he couldn’t fully comprehend. He’d been an idiot believing for one second a woman would be interested in a lame man.

  Jumping in his truck, he revved the engine and sped away. Dax could make her breakfast and help her get dressed as he’d helped her get undressed. The tires squealed against the pavement. The windshield wipers came on and made a scratching noise. Reed needed to get out of here. Away from the sounds, away from the piano he’d poured his emotions into, away from his brother and Quinn sleeping in the same bed.

  He screeched around a corner and headed out of town, higher, farther away. The lane narrowed and curved, climbing the mountain road. Evergreen trees rushed past in a blur. For someone who’d been involved in a major car accident he drove more recklessly than normal.

  Realization battered. Not getting a girl wasn’t a reason to endanger himself. He really never expected to win Quinn’s love. The anger inside him quieted to a dull roar. Slowing down, he pulled over at a scenic outlook. He got out and slammed the door shut. Breathing heavily, he paced to the edge and leaned against the stone wall viewing the dramatic drop.

  The cliff went straight down. Rocks and boulders and plants covered the side. Small piles of snow stood in the shady areas. The slopes of the ski resort gleamed brightly in the sun. The town of Castle Ridge snuggled against the mountain.

  Snuggled like Dax and Quinn were probably doing right now.

  Reed’s blood turned green and charged in his veins. He pounded the stone wall with his fist, not caring about injuring himself, or re-scarring his already grotesque hands. He needed to shut down whatever attraction he felt for Quinn. He needed to control his emotions. He needed to act blasé when he saw Dax and Quinn together.

  “Not thinking about jumping, are you, O’Donnell?”

  The man’s sarcasm pulled him back to the surroundings. He jerked his head around and spotted the person who spoke.

  Luke Logan. A friend from high school who had aged well. Perfectly-styled blond hair, sharp eyes, athletic build. He’d become a famous ski racer and traveled around the world. He hadn’t kept in touch.

  “What’re you doing here?” Reed’s body flared and he rubbed his hands against his old jeans. His old friend had witnessed his anguish. He had to pull himself together and try to be social. “Hadn’t heard you were back in town. It’s been a long time.”

  The two of them shook hands, both dressed similarly in jeans.

  “Not long enough.” Luke’s dark voice edged with anger.

  “You hate Castle Ridge that much?” Reed understood the desire to leave and pursue your dreams. He’d done it. And now he was back. And while he hated the reason for his return, he’d grown to love the small town again.

  “Not the place. The memories.”

  “I saw your ski accident on the sports channel.” The image of his friend being tossed down the side of a steep mountain, his body crumpled and unmoving when he’d finally stopped sliding down the hill, brought a shudder to Reed. “Was it as bad as it looked?”

  “Worse.” The professional skier clamped his mouth shut and narrowed his gaze. “You’ve got an injury of your own.”

  Blowing out a short breath, he glanced away and back. He’d not even tried to hide his limp when he’d gotten out of the car in a hurry. “Yeah. Guess we’re just two lame asses. We should hang out together, Crash.”

  He was only half-joking. He needed a male friend to talk to, someone who wasn’t Dax.

  “I’ll be back on the slopes in no time.” Luke’s defiant-determined tone reminded him of Quinn. “I’m only here for a day to check out a rehab facility.”

  “Good luck to you.” Reed patted his bum leg. Melancholy thoughts made his calf and ankle throb. He hoped physical therapy worked f
or his friend.

  Rehabilitation had helped him to walk again. He’d never get rid of the limp. Never ski. And knowing his brother spent the night with Quinn, he’d never dance again, either.

  * * *

  After taking Dax’s car to the office supply store, Quinn sat at her computer working, with her ankle propped on a chair. She needed the sprain to heal before she started her free classes, and before the grand opening showcase. If she took care of the injury she’d be dancing sooner.

  Reed sidled into the studio, carrying brushes and a can of paint. He wore an old jacket and splattered jeans. Now she had even more empathy for him, imagining his suffering while he healed. Her pain would only last days, a week at the most; his would last forever. He halted when he spotted her behind the counter, his eyes wide as if he’d seen a ghost. His face became an inscrutable mask.

  She jerked back, the expression hitting her like a poorly-performed brisé jump.

  After the first kick of her piano, to experiencing his kindness and nursing skills, to hearing him play piano, she wanted to get to know him better and peel away the layers. And his clothes.

  “Good morning, Reed.” She sat up straighter.

  “Is it?” His snippy voice added to her curiosity.

  Had playing the piano half the night made him grumpy? “You were up late.”

  “Not as late as you, I bet.” The accusation confused her. He set the paint can on the counter with a heavy thud.

  “It was hard to sleep with all the noise.” Hint, hint. She’d heard him play and wanted him to admit it. Wanted him to play for her.

  His eyes widened in shock, and then narrowed. He crinkled his nose and his mouth pursed into a disgusted frown. His knuckles whitened around the paintbrush. He wanted to strangle someone.

  Her?

  What was wrong with him? When he’d left her last night she’d dreamed of him. When she’d heard him play she’d decided to go after what she wanted. Go after him.

  He bent his head to open the paint can. “Don’t complain to me.”

  She grabbed her crutches and slammed them onto the ground, refusing to take his bad attitude. “You were the one playing the piano until past two in the morning.” What did he think she was talking about?