Experience, and his mamá’s advice, reminded him that he’d catch more flies with leche quemada than vinegar. Something she’d often said as she spread the sweet caramel confection on his morning toast.
“Maria and Mrs. Buckley have been trying to teach me at home, but I’ve been told you’re the expert.”
Yazmine arched a brow. Probably letting him know she wouldn’t buy his compliment so easily. Strangely, he found that appealing.
“I appreciate the thought,” she said. “My students make my job easy though. They work hard both in and out of class.”
“Well, I’ve got a mean salsa. I can handle a merengue, or a Mexican polka, but ballet . . . ?” He shook his head with a grimace. “Not really one of my strong suits.”
“I can probably help with that.” The edges of her generous mouth curved up, smoothing the censure from her voice.
Aha! A crack in her prima donna shell.
“Sí, Papá can’t really get the grapevine.” Maria’s dark brown curls bounced as she crisscrossed her feet to demonstrate the step. “But I said you could help him. ’Cuz you helped me. You’re the bestest dancer in the whole world.”
Yazmine knelt down to Maria’s eye level, flashing her a genuine smile brimming with warmth. An uncomfortable pang rippled through him as he wondered what it would be like to have Yazmine smile at him in the same welcoming way.
He cut the thought off before it went any further, his sense of self-preservation sharpened in the years since his divorce.
“Thanks for your vote of confidence,” Ms. Yazmine told Maria. “Even better, I love seeing you so excited about dancing.” She tapped Maria’s nose gently, eliciting a giggle Tomás hadn’t heard often enough in the two months since he’d moved them out of Chicago and into the more family-friendly suburbs forty-five minutes northwest of the city.
Right now, he didn’t quite know what to make of Yazmine Fernandez. Her engaging smile and lithe body captivated him. Her subtle reprimand rankled. But he’d kiss the ground she walked on if she helped his daughter shake off her recently acquired reticence. He missed Maria’s spunkiness.
Nothing he’d tried, not an impromptu trip to the zoo or an afternoon picnic in Grant Park, had helped. She’d been outgoing and talkative in her old kindergarten class. Here in Oakton, she’d withdrawn and still wasn’t quite comfortable with others.
“I’m gonna be a famous dancer just like you.” Maria’s brown eyes lit up like Christmas morning.
“Sounds like a good plan. Why don’t you go grab a quick drink from the fountain while I chat with your papá?”
“Okay!” Maria skipped off and Yazmine rose with a grace she’d undoubtedly acquired from a million or so dance classes.
“You’re great with her,” Tomás said.
“She’s a pleasure to have in class. All my students are.”
Alluring and comfortable with kids.
Stepping closer to the desk, Yazmine picked up a white binder. “Actually, I’ve found that any problems I encounter teaching are few and far between.” She flicked a quick glance his way. “And rarely involve the children themselves.”
There it was again, the hint of admonition from her. It pricked his conscience, making him feel like a front-runner for Worst Father of the Year.
Damn. He tightened his jaw, uncertain whom he was annoyed with more. Her for making the assumption or himself for having to admit that she might have a point.
“I take it you see me as one of those problems.”
“I don’t mean it to sound that way.” Yazmine’s chest rose and fell on a sigh. “Maria really wants to perform this routine in the Christmas show. Honestly, I’d love for the two of you to share that experience. But if you check the attendance sheet, I’m not sure it’s going to be possible.”
Yazmine leaned toward him so he could peer at the open binder with her. The scent of violets wafted in the air, tickling his nose. Unable to resist, he dragged in a deep breath, filling his lungs with her tantalizing perfume.
“Even though this is a special performance, the Hanson Academy of Dance attendance policy still applies. If a dancer had this many absences in a class for another number, we’d pull him from the show.” Yazmine tapped the page in front of them.
He followed her pink-tipped finger from his neatly printed name across the row of spaces that should have been checked off to indicate his attendance. The blank spaces were glaring proof of his parental short-comings.
The violets enveloping him withered, choked by the remorse settling around him like a toxic mushroom cloud.
“I’m doing my best.” The words were more of a muttered curse, pushed through his gritted teeth.
“Please, you don’t have to defend yourself to me.” Yazmine pressed the open binder to her chest, concern blanketing her face. “Maria’s the one who needs to know that this is important to you.”
He gave her a curt nod, not trusting his voice to betray his growing frustration. Maybe he wasn’t doing such a class-act job at parenting, but with his nanny’s help he’d learn. Get better. He and Maria would be fine. Failure was not an option.
“Look, I shouldn’t have—” Yazmine broke off. Her lips pulled down with resignation. “I simply want you to be aware of the situation. That’s all.”
Tomás was tempted to walk away, but he kept his feet firmly planted. He hadn’t run from anything in his entire life. Now was not the time to start. No way would a simple father-daughter dance or an appealing yet prickly instructor get the best of him. Maria depended on him.
“Why don’t we see how it goes today, and then we’ll take it from there,” Yazmine offered as the students returned.
Maria skip-hopped into the room. With a sweet grin that instantly relaxed his shoulders, she waved him over to join her in the back line of dancers. The breath-stealing tightness in his chest instantly eased. At the same time, his resolve to do his best for her hardened like quick-drying cement.
“Deal.”
Yazmine blinked at his brusque tone.
“Don’t worry. I can do this,” he assured her, softening his words with a smile. “I won’t let my daughter, or you, down.” He made a silly face at Maria and she giggled and, that easily, wrapped him around her finger a little tighter.
From the moment he’d held her tiny squirming body in his arms, he’d vowed to do whatever it took to make his baby girl happy. Nothing would change that.
Tomás slipped off his suit jacket and tossed it over the barre. Then he pocketed his cufflinks and deftly rolled up the sleeves of his white dress shirt as he moved next to Maria. The opening strains of “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus” filled the studio once more.
“Here we go, everyone! Five, six, seven, eight.” Yazmine clapped as she counted out the beats.
Beside him, Maria counted aloud as well, the same way they’d practiced at home. He tried following along, but with his thoughts lingering on the intriguing instructor, he fumbled the opening steps.
“Ay, Papá, the other way.” Maria nudged him with her elbow when he nearly collided with the dad next to them.
“Yeah, I know,” he grumbled.
Great. It probably looked like he’d never practiced at home at all. Maybe Ms. Yazmine hadn’t noticed.
He peeked up at her to check.
Her lips quirked with the hint of a teasing smirk he should have found annoying rather than enticing, she exaggerated her steps for him to catch on.
Before long, Tomás understood why Maria was so enamored with her teacher. Why Maria brimmed with excitement when she spoke of her dance class.
Yazmine Fernandez was great at what she did, full of a vibrant, intoxicating energy. Whether calling out the next move with encouragement, or waving her left hand at a dad reaching out to twist his daughter toward him with the wrong arm, she showed absolutely no sign of impatience. Her pride and delight in her job were palpable forces.
He could relate to that.
In spite of the negative tone of their earlie
r conversation, her charisma and charm beckoned him like a front porch light welcoming a weary traveler too long on the road. Too long on his own.
His mind lost in the idea of Yazmine waiting at home for him, Tomás bumped into Maria, knocking her off balance.
“Oof ! Not that foot, Papá.”
“¡Perdón! Sorry, I got it.” Damn, between his minimal practice and his mind’s unwelcome meanderings, he was doing a spot-on impersonation of someone with two left feet.
Halfway through the dance his frustration level rose again when he and Maria were forced to stand off to the side because he didn’t know the rest of the steps.
“You’ll learn it, Papá,” Maria assured him. “We’ll keep practicing together.”
Together.
The word spread warmth through him as if he’d taken a sip of prime Mexican tequila. It had been Maria and him, the two of them together, since the day Kristine had chosen an overseas promotion over their marriage and child. It hadn’t been easy, but he would figure things out. Even if it meant learning ballet to make Maria happy.
The strains of the song drew to a close and the rest of the dancers applauded everyone’s efforts.
“That’s it for this week.” Yazmine glided over to pause the music.
Sighs of relief along with a muttered, “Thank goodness” rippled through the crowd of fathers.
“You’re all doing a great job.” Sincerity colored Yazmine’s words, shone in the reassuring expression she shared with her students. “Remember to practice over the Thanksgiving holiday next week. We’ll see you the following Wednesday. Same time, same place, same go-get-’em attitudes from everyone. Right?”
Across the room she sent Tomás a telling glance. Message received. No more absences. No tardiness.
She didn’t think too highly of him. While normally he’d shrug that off as none of his concern, for some inexplicable reason it really bugged him.
He should smooth things over—for Maria’s sake. Ms. Yazmine was her favorite dance teacher after all.
While everyone else headed for the coatrack by the school’s front door, Yazmine stayed near the desk, thumbing through her iPod display screen. She didn’t appear to be in a hurry to leave. Perfect.
“Hey, m’ija,” Tomás told Maria, “grab your coat and I’ll be right there.”
“Okay.” Curls bouncing, Maria danced out of the studio.
Relief at seeing her acting more like her old self tempered his unease over the potentially uncomfortable conversation in store for him.
Yazmine gathered her belongings as he approached her, steeling himself to play nicely with the sexy taskmaster. She glanced up, her brow furrowing when she saw him. “Is there something you needed?”
Loaded question.
Somehow in the course of half a dance lesson this woman had his mind considering ideas he hadn’t allowed himself in years.
“We didn’t really start off on the right foot tonight. I wanted to apolo—”
“No, don’t.” She held up a hand, her mouth set in a firm, no-arguing-with-me line.
“Excuse me?”
“I’m the one who should apologize. It’s not—” She broke off, rubbing a hand across the worry lines marking her forehead, then smoothing it over her already slick bun before releasing a heavy sigh. “I’ve had a lot going on today. I probably came on a little too strong with you earlier.”
Sincere words, but spoken with a mouth quirked in the opposite direction of a smile. The kind of apology his mamá would have made him try again.
For some bizarre reason Yazmine’s half-baked apology charmed him. Made him want to change the negative vibe arcing between them, without looking too closely at why he felt compelled to do so.
“Apology accepted. And appreciated.” He flashed her a reassuring smile. The one he used to sweet-talk his staunchest opponents in the boardroom.
Her frown deepened. Man, she was a tough cookie.
He didn’t move, didn’t change his expression. Allowed his smile to work its magic.
Then, like a soldier reporting for duty, she straightened her shoulders and gave him the barest hint of a nod. “Okay, then. You held your own fairly well today in class, up to a point. I can get you ready in time for the Christmas recital, if you don’t ditch any more of our practices.”
There it was again, the hint of a challenge. As if she still questioned his ability to hold up his end of the bargain.
Crossing his arms, Tomás gave Yazmine the once-over, intrigued, if slightly exasperated, by her conflicting signals.
Stern disciplinarian ruling her studio.
Affable teacher who charmed his daughter.
Sexy siren luring him with a single glance.
Megawatt smile on a mouth that didn’t mince words.
Why should it matter whether or not she liked him? He was long past caring what others thought. Long past high school where, as the “wetback” from the wrong side of town on scholarship at Deburg Prep, he’d felt desperate for acceptance.
Maria’s sing-song voice carried in from the lobby.
That’s why he was still here trying to charm Yazmine Fernandez. Maria’s happiness made this matter.
“Look, we don’t have to be friends. Hell, we can settle for acquaintances.”
“Mr. Garcia, I think we—”
“I’m not finished.”
Yazmine blinked at his interruption.
“Maria’s the most important person in my life. From the way you handled the class tonight, I can see why she admires you. I’m doing the best I can right now. Yeah, I’m aggravated when it’s not good enough. But I’ll do anything for my daughter, even get up on a stage and make a fool of myself. As long as she’s happy. That’s what counts. I’m pretty certain that’s one thing you and I can both agree on. Right?”
His words hung in the air, an olive branch if she chose to accept it.
After several tension-filled moments, he watched as Yazmine’s shoulders visibly relaxed. The worry lines marring her beautiful face smoothed and the tightness around her mouth eased.
Tomás waited, uncertain whether he’d get another swipe of her sharp tongue or one of her infectious smiles, calling himself all kinds of crazy for wanting the latter.
* * *
Ay Dios mío. Yazmine’s heart skipped. Tomás Garcia in protective Papa Bear mode, his impassioned words gruff with sincerity, presented quite a persuasive package.
Arms crossed, she eyed him, trying to gauge how much of what he said was true. How much was a good spin from a man who made his living convincing people to buy what he was selling.
She’d played the workaholic game before, gotten hurt and hurt others. It was a dangerous pastime.
“Honestly, it’s nice to hear how much you care about your daughter,” she said.
“I’m glad you approve.”
She narrowed her gaze at him, not sure whether he was teasing or patronizing her. “Look, I enjoy having Maria in my class, and I do my best to be a good teacher.”
“Like I said, based on today I’d say you’re quite successful. My daughter certainly thinks you can do no wrong.” Tomás hitched a broad shoulder in a half shrug. “How about we try this again. I can make a better first impression.”
“There’s no need. It’s fine. I respect someone who’s dedicated to his work.”
Hands on his hips, Tomás’s eyes flashed with skepticism. “I sense a ‘but’ you’re leaving out.”
Ay, the man was the epitome of hardheaded. When it came down to it, she could be too. “You really want to know?”
“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.”
“Fine. But,” she stressed the word, “you should make sure it doesn’t leave your loved ones feeling second-rate.”
His jaw muscles tightened and Yaz swallowed back a curse. Great, she’d crossed the line. Yeah, he’d pushed, but he was also a student’s parent. She should have remembered that and thought twice before challenging him.
“Maria’s a won
derful addition to my class,” Yaz continued, a pale attempt at making amends, but she had to try. “Granted, she’s usually a lot more reserved than today, but she’s coming along fine.”
“She hasn’t dealt with our move here as well as I’d hoped.” Tomás turned to glance back toward the lobby. Yazmine followed the direction of his gaze and saw Maria sitting with another student on one of the sofas. “I’m beginning to wonder if the move was a mistake.”
Tomás Garcia as the confident ad-man she could easily deal with. His concerned-father side strummed a softer chord within her. A chord she struggled to silence. “It’s only been a few months since you arrived in Oakton. Change can be hard on a kid, no matter her age or the situation. Give it time.”
“You speaking from experience?”
She shrugged off the question. No need to spill her guts to him. To anyone.
Tomás dipped his head in a slight nod. “Time. That’s what Mrs. B keeps telling me.”
“Listen to her. Your nanny’s a wise woman.”
His mouth curved up and his dimple made another sexy appearance. A spark of awareness sizzled low in her belly.
Dios mío, she should have walked away after she’d pissed him off. She had no business feeling any sort of attraction to him. She had no room for distractions.
Scooping up her binder, Yaz eased around Tomás, heading for the door. He fell into step alongside her, brushing up against her. The hair on his forearm tickled her skin, sending pinpoints of awareness peppering up her arm.
Yaz took a deep, steadying breath only to find herself appreciating his musky scent. Basta, she chided herself. Enough already.
“So you think it’s too soon for me to worry about her?” Tomás asked.
“Uh, yeah.” Yaz tried to focus on his question rather than her unpredictable hormones. “I’ll admit at first I figured Maria was simply a shy child. But every once in a while I’d see a flash of her spunk. Then, when I mentioned the Christmas show, her hand shot up to volunteer. It actually took me by surprise.”
Island Affair Page 32
