Ballroom Blitz

by Lorelei James

  Yes, if he went by the way her hand trembled when she touched him.

  When her soft fingertip drifted over the crease of his arm, he bit back a growl. Oblivious to his response, she continued the northerly progression, one hand clamped around his wrist, the other hand driving him out of his mind with a mix of innocent curiosity and overt sensuality.

  “Are these marks tribal symbols?” she asked, continually caressing the same section of black swirls and scrolls.

  “I told a buddy of mine who’s an artist I wanted markings with a tribal feel, but more artistic. So they don’t mean anything specific.”

  “So it’s wearable art that’s unique to you.” Her thumb swept across the stylized barbed wire motif on his bicep. “Even if the design was used on another person it wouldn’t look the same. Your skin coloring gives it a different dimension. As does your musculature.” She ran a fingernail on the underside of his arm. “Your biceps and triceps are amazing.”

  “I can’t take credit for that.”

  “I’m pretty sure you weren’t born with all these muscles.” Maggie looked at him, as if startled by what she’d said.

  When she attempted to remove her hand, Jon placed his palm over hers. “Thank you. Most of the time I get grief for the tats. I’m happy to hear a beautiful woman appreciates them.”

  “I do.” She wet her lips and her gaze dropped to his mouth.

  Sweet Jesus. She was killing him. Everything about her embodied soft and sweet—her hands, her mouth, her eyes, her tender touch. Which ironically enough, made him hard as a fucking drumstick.

  “Maggie?” Seth called out.

  They both jerked back.

  “Yes, Seth?” she said a little breathlessly.

  “Can you show Raven a couple of steps?”

  Maggie said, “Sure,” and stood. She faced him. “Truly magnificent, Jon.”

  “Glad you like them.”

  “I wasn’t talking about the tattoos.” Then she spun, leaving him staring after her.

  Whoa. That comment had dripped with sexual sizzle.

  Hmm. Maybe Maggie Buchanan wasn’t as soft and sweet as he first believed.

  Jon sucked at dancing. Like epically sucked.

  The third night of class Seth and Maggie taught a waltz. Part of him feared they’d switched to an easier dance because he’d mangled the jitterbug the first two nights. Not that he could ask either instructor to give it to him straight, since Raven had hot-footed it out of class as soon as it ended. Then in the car the surly teen refused to talk to him and bailed out as soon as he’d pulled up to the curb in front of her house.

  The fourth night was devoted to the rhumba. Jon wasn’t the only one having troubles. Two other guys in his class—the quiet cowboy and the newlywed—suffered from the same feet, eye and hand coordination issues.

  During the break, Jon saw the cowboy leaning against the wall by the drinking fountain. He struck up a conversation. “You look ready to bolt for the door, man.”

  He nodded his black-hatted head. “Takin’ a class together was my wife’s idea, not mine.”

  “I hear ya. My niece roped me into this.”

  “At least you ain’t gonna end up in divorce court if you quit,” he grumbled.

  Jon thrust out his hand. “Jon White Feather.”

  “Quinn McKay.”

  “Is your wife having a good time?”

  “I guess.”

  Jon waited for the cowboy to complain more, but he wasn’t much of a talker. He gulped down another mouthful of water and started to walk back, but the guy’s voice stopped him.

  “Know what I hate the worst?” Quinn said out of the blue.

  “What’s that?”

  “I think I’m embarrassin’ her.”

  “Right there with you.”

  Quinn lifted one dark eyebrow. “You gonna quit?”

  Jon shook his head. “My niece is a teenager. I’d never hear the end of it. Besides, I’m too stubborn.”

  “Me too. I figure I’ll get better. I sure as hell can’t get any worse.”

  Jon laughed.

  “If I wasn’t so busy on the ranch I’d find a way to take private lessons. Then maybe my wife wouldn’t look at me like I’ve got the grace of a damn bear.”

  Seth motioned everyone back to class.

  Jon managed not to tromp all over Raven’s feet for the rest of class. But on the ride back to her parents’ house after his disastrous attempt at the rhumba, Raven mentioned she was considering dropping the class and Jon knew he had to swallow what little pride he had left and ask for help.

  “Maggie?”

  Startled, she whirled around so fast she almost dropped her car keys. “Jon. You scared me. I thought you left.”

  “Sorry. I did. But I came back.”

  “Did you forget something?

  “No.” He jammed his hands in his pockets. As if he was nervous.

  Right. She should be nervous after she’d cyber-stalked him and discovered he wasn’t just some hot guy in a local band, but an internationally known and respected musician in a critically acclaimed band that incorporated traditional Lakota music with hard rock. “What’s up?”

  “I need your help. I’m a hopeless dancer. And while I find the humor in that, Raven doesn’t. She’s ready to quit because of me and I don’t want to embarrass the poor kid any more than I already have. So I thought I’d see if you have time to give me a few private lessons.”

  Maggie hadn’t been expecting that. Jon White Feather didn’t seem like the type of guy who’d ask for help. She found it incredibly…sweet that he was more worried about his niece’s feelings than projecting a macho reputation to the class. The problem was, she didn’t have much free time. She’d gone from worried about having no job to being too busy to take on any extra projects.

  But look at that project—you’d get to put your hands all over every tall, dark and handsome inch of that ripped, sexy body.

  Jon stepped back. “Since you haven’t said anything, I guess that’s no.”

  She put her hand on his arm to stay his retreat. “It’s not that. I’m just mentally dissecting my schedule to find a place where I might be able to squeeze you in.”

  “Any time you can give me would be great. I’m flexible.”

  “Any time? Even five o’clock in the morning?”

  He grimaced. “Yep. Although I’ll need plenty of bathroom breaks since it’ll take at least a pot of coffee to wake me up at that god-awful time of the day.”

  “I was kidding.” Maggie realized she was still touching him and dropped her hand. “You don’t want Raven to know?”

  “That I need remedial dance instruction? No. Only because she’d feel guilty for asking me to take her to these classes in the first place.” Those intense blue eyes studied her. “I definitely don’t want to put you on the spot with Seth, either.”

  Maggie frowned. Why would what Seth thought matter…? Oh. Jon assumed—like many people did—that dance partners were together. “Jon. Seth and I aren’t a couple anywhere besides on the dance floor.”

  Was that relief in his eyes? “That’s good to know. So what do you say? Will you help me fix at least one of my two left feet?”

  “When you put it that way…” She smiled. “Seth and I practice for two to three hours after we’re done teaching class. It’d be best if we scheduled it for directly after that.”

  “Two to three more hours? Damn. You sure you won’t be tired?”

  Probably. “Nah. I’ll be fine.”

  “Okay. That’ll work great. Thanks, Maggie.”

  “Don’t thank me until I tell you how much I charge an hour.”

  “Worth every penny, I’m sure.”

  “I know we don’t have class tomorrow night, but be here after eight and we’ll get started.”

  “So you’re giving Johnny-hottie private lessons?” Seth asked.

  “Yes. Why?”

  He fussed with the beaded sleeves on her dress. “Because I think he
’s faking it.”

  “Faking what? Stop tugging so hard.”

  “Sorry.” Seth studied her hair critically. “With this dress you’ll need an elegant hairdo. Not something cutesy with curls, but sleek and sophisticated.”

  It drove Maggie bat-shit crazy, how Seth expected her to follow three or four different conversations with him simultaneously. She snatched his hand. “Seth. What is Jon faking?”

  “That he’s a bad dancer. ’Cause, honey, ain’t no one that bad. Especially not a drummer. And the man is always eating you up with those magnificent eyes of his, which leads me to believe he’s faking it so he can be alone with you. He set the scene the first night. Now he’s begging you to teach him on the sly? It’s a classic ploy.”

  “Why doesn’t he just ask me out?” Maggie countered. “We’re both adults. Jon doesn’t seem the type to play games.”

  Seth shrugged. “Maybe he’s worried his niece will accuse him only of taking classes with her so he could pick up chicks. Maybe he’s afraid a smoking-hot white girl like you won’t date an Indian guy like him. Maybe he’s so used to groupies throwing themselves at him he doesn’t have a clue how to ask a normal woman out on a date.”

  Her partner’s comments made perfect sense and yet…her logical brain hadn’t considered any of those reasons. “I guess we’ll see, won’t we?”

  “No matter what his motives, I approve.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes. Because if you happen to get naked with that man? Girlfriend, I expect explicit details.” Seth reached into his magic bag of accessories and pulled out a hair clip. “Use this for now. I want to see how it looks with the costume.”

  Maggie bit back a groan as Seth cued up the music.

  Taskmaster Seth didn’t relent on rehearsal until Maggie literally cried “uncle” and broke away to get a drink.

  Her lungs burned. Her feet hurt. She was sweating like crazy. Luckily she’d changed out of the costumes after the first full run-through. She glanced at the clock. Seth had been cracking the whip for two and a half hours.

  “Are you throwing in the towel tonight, Maggie?” Seth asked.

  “The towel that is soaked in sweat? Why, yes I am.”

  Footsteps echoed across the gym floor and they both turned.

  Her heart, already beating madly, sped up at the sight of Jon, looking every inch the bad boy rocker, with his tousled dark hair, skintight black T-shirt, and faded, ripped jeans. And that smile. Good lord that fabulous smile was beyond sexy.

  She drained half the bottle of water before she spoke. “You made it.”

  “I’ve been here for a half hour watching you guys.”

  Seth bowed. “So what did you think?”

  Jon’s focus was entirely on Maggie. “Beautiful. Amazing. Graceful. Sexy.” Then Jon looked at Seth. “And you weren’t too bad either.”

  Maggie got the I told you so look from Seth.

  “As much as I’d love to stay and chat, I still have to drive back to Rapid City tonight.” Seth scooped up the costumes. “You’ll deal with the audio stuff before you leave, Maggie?”

  “Of course.”

  Seth bussed her cheek and whispered, “I slipped condoms in your dance bag.” Then he faced Jon. “Ta, Johnny Feather. Get the moves right tonight for a change, okay?”

  Her face flamed, but Jon just laughed. “Will do.”

  After the door slammed behind Seth, they looked at each other. She fought the urge to run. But she wasn’t sure if it would be toward him, or away from him.

  Jon invaded her space. “You look ready to bolt, Maggie. Have you changed your mind?”

  “No.”

  He handed her a check. “For two lessons. I’ll let you decide if I need more. Truthfully, I’m glad to hand you the reins and let you take the lead in this.”

  Her eyes searched his. “In this?”

  “I’m used to being in charge of everything. Professionally and personally. Intimately.” He flashed his teeth. “So take the lead while you can get it, teach. Because it ain’t gonna last long.”

  There was a glimpse of his cocky side. “Prove it, little drummer boy.”

  Jon laughed—a sultry rumble that sent a delicious curl of heat through her. “How?”

  “Rhumba. No music.”

  “So you do intend to torture me.”

  “Completely.”

  His first five moves were good enough that Maggie wondered if Jon had been exaggerating his bad dancing skills. But then everything fell apart. His body became board stiff. He high-stepped as if he was auditioning for a marching band. When he stomped on her foot for the third time, she retreated and bit back a wince. “Okay. We can’t blame your rhythm issues on the music distracting you, since there is none.”

  “Well that’s reassuring,” he said tersely.

  Maggie had an idea. “All right, let’s see how you do dancing with a wall.” She towed him to the back of the gym.

  “Whoa. Hang on, doll face. You’re joking, right?”

  “Nope. Palms on the wall, about where you’d be holding my hands. Stand straight. Keep your feet shoulder-width apart. Stay just like that.”

  “I’m damn glad no one can see me because I feel ridiculous,” he grumbled.

  She ducked under his arms, pressing her back into the concrete blocks. “Do you trust me?”

  Indecision flickered in his eyes.

  Maggie set her hands on shoulders. “Jon. Do you think I’m purposely trying to make you feel ridiculous?”

  He bit off, “No.”

  “Good. I am trying to help you.”

  “I know.”

  “Do you?” She set her hands on his chest. His rock-hard chest. His body was so warm. And ripped. She wondered if she could feel the cut of his abs through his thin T-shirt. Her fingers inched down…

  “Maggie?”

  What was wrong with her? She’d practically been feeling him up. “I can’t help you if you won’t let me.”

  Jon glanced down at her fingers digging into his pectorals. When his gaze met hers, his eyes held sexual heat. “I like this hands-on approach.”

  Lord, he could stoke the embers inside her to a five-alarm fire in three seconds flat. “Is this helping you?”

  He offered her that slow, sexy smile. “It sure as hell ain’t hurting me.”

  “Don’t move. I’ll start the music.” She slipped away and inhaled several deep breaths, trying to get ahold of her raging libido.

  Jon hadn’t budged an inch.

  She couldn’t help but sneak a look at Jon White Feather’s