Tango & Lace

by Misty Dietz

  “If it makes you happy, I want to be there when you get it,” he said, and she realized this wasn’t the professor talking anymore. This was her perceptive Jack. The boy who’d rode his bike around three neighborhoods to gather enough stargazer lilies—lilium orientalis, according to his field guide—to fill two metal buckets which balanced on either end of his handlebars. She’d been sad, and he’d come to her door bearing a fragrant armload of her favorite flower.

  How she’d missed that sweet, sensitive soul.

  Two hours later, Mya wore a butterfly and Carpe Diem inked behind her ear. Jack had held her hand the whole time. I’m here in this moment with you, his gaze had told her, and she loved him more than ever. This time would be different. They’d both grown. They wanted each other and would overcome whatever obstacles stood in their way.

  And they would kick ass at the competition tomorrow.

  They wandered the busy streets, simply enjoying the humanity around them, appreciating being together because they knew now what it felt like to be without each other. They had no more secrets. Jack had told her he’d been in touch with the police this week, but there were no new developments. So now, this precious time together felt like a reprieve. Tomorrow night after their competition they’d head back to reality.

  For one more night it would be just the two of them.

  Mya squeezed his hand. “Take me back to the hotel.”

  He paused on the sidewalk, their bodies parting the stream of people who continued to flow around them. Seeing the look in her eyes, he hailed a cab and pulled her on his lap on the way to their hotel. They nearly made love in the elevator. He opened their room door, and they crashed into the wall, all open mouths and fingers grasping, pulling, insistent. He guided them to the bed, and she let go, ready to sink onto the mattress, but he yanked her back. She shook off her stupor when his attention shifted around them.

  She blinked when he released her and turned on the light.

  Their room was completely ransacked.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Jack rubbed his hands together, then ran them down his black dress slacks, visualizing the intricate dance steps he and Mya would perform in twenty minutes. He hadn’t been this nervous when presenting his doctoral thesis, speaking at various United Nations events, or even standing before the greatest minds in his field at the Global Summit on Geosciences.

  But this was about his woman’s dream. He couldn’t let her down.

  He paced back and forth in front of the dressing room where Mya was putting the finishing touches on her outfit. If she wasn’t out in five minutes, he was going in after her. Especially after what had happened last night.

  Their hotel room had been destroyed, but nothing taken. Responding law enforcement said it looked like a revenge crime instead of a robbery. Their sociopathic stalker had found them in San Francisco. Which was discomfiting to say the least, but Mya had been surprisingly calm. Two years ago, he’d never have imagined how composed she could be, asking all sorts of reasonable questions of the officers. She had matured in many ways.

  Afterwards, they’d transferred their belongings to another hotel and tried to get some sleep. He hadn’t drifted off until the California sun began to peek under the heavy drapery of the room, but he’d held Mya all though the night, listening for subtle, unfamiliar noises that might mean trouble and running through a possible list of who might be behind these attacks.

  Everyone in Mya’s circle knew where this year’s tango championship was being held. And anyone in his circle could easily find out. But who was it, and why?

  Clapping and cheering boomed from the auditorium. Jack put his phone back in his bag and shoved it in one of the lockers. A man with slick-backed, blond hair pulled along a woman in a dress that dropped blue feathers as they sped by for their turn under the lights.

  “Whiteside-Castillo, line up in ten, or you’ll be passed over!” a woman with frizzy gray hair and a well-tailored, ivory pantsuit yelled his direction.

  He gave her a thumbs up and turned back to the dressing room door. Thirty more seconds, Mya—

  When the door swung open, his gaze fastened to her red-painted lips first, the bow of her upper lip so much more pronounced with its scarlet outline. Her dark hair was pulled back into a low bun adorned with fresh red roses. Black chandelier earrings cascaded extravagantly to her shoulders.

  Bare shoulders. Beautiful, structural, soft.

  He swallowed hard as his gaze tracked slowly across the line of black lace that formed the top border of her dress and hugged her upper biceps. Falling below the three-inch band of black lace, her mid-thigh dress bled into red. The contours of the dress hugged her body, caressing every line—slim as it rode across the plane of her belly, flaring slightly at her narrow hips, then curling in across her ass with a fall of black lace bustled behind her that would look amazing as she moved. Black, sparkling beads encircled her wrist, her fingernails a fire-engine red, while her legs—poetry in motion—were bare to her strappy, ebony heels.

  He felt slightly drunk as his eyes took their time on the way back up. “You are a vision.”

  “Thank you for the flowers,” she turned to the side to give him a better view of the roses in her hair.

  “I would have brought you lilium orientalis, but the hue wouldn’t have worked with your dress.” His heart stuttered when her eyes grew misty.

  “The roses are lovely, Jack. They will bring us good luck.”

  “We don’t need luck. We’ll simply do the best we can. And hope it’s enough to get us in the top three.”

  She nodded, then extended her hand. “I have something for you as well.”

  He narrowed his eyes on the small gift box in her hand which he hadn’t noticed on his earlier inspection. “When did you have time to get something? You’d better not have been out on your own.”

  Her eyes crinkled with a small smile. “I picked it up last week at home.” She pushed the small package into his hands. He removed the red bow and unwrapped the plain white paper. A jewelry box. It made his heart start to thrum. He glanced up at her when she folded her hands in front of her body. “You should be saving for your studio.”

  She twisted her hands. “It’s not much. Just open it.”

  “Whiteside-Castillo, two minutes or you might as well board a plane back home right now!” the stagehand barked.

  “Coming!” Mya called back. “Andale, Jack!”

  His heart was in his throat when he eased the jewelry box open. Two square, gold cufflinks sat upon white velvet, a textured globe etched in each square. The earth’s continental detail was meticulous. He looked up at her. “I’ve never seen such a thing.”

  “You like them?” Her big hazel eyes were so hopeful.

  “They’re perfect.” He plucked them from their velvet nest. “Put them on me.”

  “Whiteside-Castillo…twenty seconds, nineteen…”

  Mya laughed and hauled him toward the line of other dancers waiting their turn. There were only two couples in front of them now. She took the cufflinks from his hands and threaded them through his shirt cuffs. Then she straightened his red suspenders and black bow tie and brushed some lint off his black suit coat. “There, you look positively dashing. If we had all women judges, we’d win for certain.”

  Those sassy dimples melted him every damn time. “Thank you, Mya.” He leaned down to hug her, but she pushed him away with a nervous grin.

  “You’ll ruin the lipstick!” She winked at him, then put her hands up, indicating their opening stance. As they pseudo-moved through their first sequence, he watched the play of drama on her face.

  “Mya, we need to talk…”

  Her concentration faltered, her eyes carefully avoiding his. “Don’t do this right now. Please, Jack. Keep your head in the game. That’s the only way I can do it, too. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  And suddenly it was their turn.

  His heart pounded as they walked onto the stage. Mya’s pulse f
lickered like butterfly wings against his palm when they held hands. He squeezed her fingers, running his gaze over the two levels of overflowing balconies that would be watching their every move. The five judges were stationed on a raised platform on the western side of the dance floor. Three men and two women. Jack squeezed Mya’s hand once more before they separated, got into position and looked down at the floor, waiting for their song to begin.

  The space was unbelievably silent for such a large, packed venue. Jack could hear his own breathing. He inhaled deep and then exhaled as quietly as possible. The opening strains of the music drifted through the room, pushing against the bodies assembled, watching, judging, expert eyes ready to find every flaw in their performance.

  Don’t. Fail.

  Salida. Enter the dance. He moved, slow, slow—keep it slow—fought the rush of his blood, his nerves. Slow and flow toward her. Caminar.

  Then she was in his arms. They locked eyes. He looked, looked, searched as they moved into the first full sequence. Barrida y arrastre. A sweep and drag. Her feet sliding across the wood, her body following the slightest pressure of his fingers and heel of his palm against her lower back as he moved her into a twisting enrosque of a turn which she followed up with a perfectly executed boleo, her right leg whipping back.

  He could hear applause, could feel the hundreds of eyes upon them, but all that mattered was Mya. Her face keenly translating the emotion of the song that they’d chosen together. The music, so complex, reflective of all the layers they brought to their relationship. The depths and the heights.

  A freno and a gancho, her hook so flawless as it moved into multiple ochos. Back and forth, back and forth. Strong. Passionate.

  So completely Mya. The tango could have been made for her.

  She felt good—so good—in his arms. He could dance like this with her forever. Their feet sandwiched. Mordida. Their eyes held as the song paused. An expectation. A waiting, trembling on the edge of something too big for words.

  The music shifted into the bridge, and they broke into la corrida, rhythmically walking double time across the floor’s expanse. Almost to the finish.

  The song segued back into the melody. They performed some of the flashier moves again. The crowd cheered loudly. Mya didn’t seem to notice, so caught up in the story of the song. He guided her into la cruzada, the cross, then picked her up and held her immobile against his chest, her legs split, a gazelle caught midstride.

  He turned her in his hold, noses, lips, chins on point, close, so close, an ache, a massive temptation not given into. The audience felt the temptation, holding their collective breath as Mya slid inch by tortuous inch down, down, down the front of his body until her feet were once again planted on the ground. Her heart slugged against his chest, insistent, and he couldn’t hold it in any longer.

  “I love you,” he whispered, then pushed her out into the beginning of the final sequence. Her eyes widened, painted lips falling open as she faltered. Her sacada more than a displacement. He pulled her back into the embrace, using the pressure of his hands more strongly than usual until she found her groove again. And not a moment too soon. He pushed her out, waited for her eyes on him signaling she was ready, then they went in for the lift. She slid across his left shoulder, he pulled her around to his right, then set her back on her feet so she could draw a circle on the floor with her foot. A perfectly executed lapiz. He drew her up roughly, their hands scraping up each others cheeks into their hair…

  And the dance ended.

  They remained in that position for long seconds, their chests rising and falling rapidly with the physicality of the dance. The drama of the story played out in the song, and between them.

  She pulled away first with a show-stopping smile. They faced the cheering crowd and bowed once, then twice as the audience continued its raucous applause. Then they linked hands and moved off stage. He looked at her, wishing, praying she’d look at him. Hoping against hope that his moment of weakness on the floor just now—his words from the heart—would have the desired effect. But the vibe was wrong somehow.

  When they made it backstage, she broke away from him, running for the dressing room, and his heart bottomed out.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Mya bolted for the bathroom, too overcome with all these big feelings to trust herself to turn around and tell Jack she. Had. To. Go. Now. Hopefully he remembered that nerves always hit her worse after-the-fact. She’d always been like this. Like her psyche refused to acknowledge how important something was until it was over.

  Inside the stall, she whipped her dress up, sat down, and chewed on her fingernails, her fingers quaking, her heart racing even faster than when they’d initially stepped on the dance floor. A giddy smile was starting to make her cheeks ache.

  It was over and out of their hands now. It was up to the judges.

  We killed it.

  And Jack loves me.

  She clapped her hands, pumped a fist in the air, and giggled like a naughty kindergartner who’d pulled one over on her babysitter. The two women who’d been deep in conversation by the sanitary napkin station stopped talking suddenly. “Don’t mind me in here. Sorry, just nervy, I guess,” she called. Then she flushed the toilet and put herself back together as someone pounded on the stall door.

  “Mya. You okay in there? Talk to me.”

  “Jack?” She exited the stall, unable to restrain a toothy smile when he blushed and offered a very staid apology to the two glaring women who called him a pervert as they stormed out of the ladies’ room.

  Mya pushed by him, grasping the edges of the door, every Spanish word that issued from her mouth releasing a little more of her tension. “You’re just jealous you don’t have anyone willing to brave the ladies’ bathroom for you!” She turned back to find Jack looking adorably perplexed. “There, I feel so much better. Confrontation is so cathartic!” She flew at him, and—as she knew he would—he caught her.

  “Mya, what the actual fuck?”

  She leaned back in his arms and rained kisses all over his face. “Don’t you remember how touchy my belly gets after big stuff?”

  “Ah.” His face and shoulders relaxed. “You scared me. I thought…”

  She silenced him with a kiss. She knew what he was thinking. That he’d told her he loved her, and she was rejecting him. She poured herself into the kiss to make him feel the depth of her love for him. Her passion, her hope for their future. Her fingers combed through the silk of his hair, holding him as tightly as he held her. Their breaths became shorter, harder, their fingers more daring. He walked with her in his arms until her back braced against the far wall, then leaned his body so firmly against her he didn’t need to use his hands to support her.

  Which left them free for other pleasurable pursuits. He drove his hips into the cradle of her pelvis. She broke contact with his mouth to release the pent up tension in a deep moan that reverberated the entire length of her throat.

  “Oh, I like that sound, Mya.” Again with his strong hips.

  She was coiling, ready to spring but a loud gasp over Jack’s shoulder shook her from her stupor.

  “I’m calling security!” a woman with large round sunglasses and a beret wailed.

  Jack set Mya down, placing his body in front of her, but Mya grabbed his hand and pulled him along as she raced, laughing, from the room while he dropped apologies as they fled. Everyone stared, but she didn’t stop running until they’d exited the auditorium to stand in the balmy California sunshine.

  On the sidewalk outside the venue, Mya leaned over, hands on her knees to catch her breath. “This day keeps getting better and better,” she said. “Maybe we should stay a little longer than we planned. We’ve never taken a vacation together, do you realize that?”

  He rubbed her back, then her shoulders as she stood. The warmth and amusement in his eyes made her body go lax and shivery all over again.

  “I do realize. Something I hope we can remedy very soon, but first, we need to get in
side. They should be announcing the winners soon.”

  “Right. Okay,” she exhaled, her belly turning over again. The last three weeks had been a whirlwind, but some of the best days of her life. All because of Jack.

  He loves me.

  She took his hand, squeezing, and they walked inside.

  Now if they could just place in the top three, all her dreams would be on their way to coming true.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The energy in the ballroom cranked higher when the emcee stepped into the spotlight. Jack raised his eyes to the two stories of balconies overlooking the dance floor. People crammed together, jockeying for the best spot to watch the next couple be crowned Argentine Tango USA champions. His fingers laced with Mya’s as she did one her appealing little nervous dances. He squeezed her hand and she looked up, her eyes wide, happy, and full of promise. A lump settled in his throat. “I hope I was good enough to get you a placement.”

  She took his hand in both of hers. “Are you kidding? You were amazing. Thank you for saying yes on such short notice. I know I’m not easy to be around all the time.” When he raised an eyebrow, she nudged him with a mock-glare before continuing, “but I know you’re too much of a gentleman to agree with me. So, anyway, even if we don’t place, I’ll always be grateful that you tried to help.”

  He leaned down to kiss her, his eyes closing on contact with her lips. And like always, his body recognized her. He turned toward her, ready to deepen this connection, and everyone else be damned, but she smiled against his lips and pulled back. “They’re announcing third place,” she whispered.

  The couple named as the third place winners emerged from the back of the shadows into the spotlight to claim their trophy. Jack’s pulse stroked his neck. Two chances left for Mya’s sponsor to back her…