Dancing With Dalton (Fatherhood)

by Laura Marie Altom

  She smiled, and the force of it took him back to when he’d been a kid, schlepping his way through college. Free to explore all of life’s delicious flavors. Back then, as now, Rose would’ve been at the top of his most requested list of forbidden fruits.

  “Special, huh?” She’d headed for the door of studio three, and he trailed after her, enjoying the view. Her low-cut, black leotard clung to her and showed off all her curves. “I like the sound of that much better than dance challenged.”

  “Hey,” Rose said, “don’t sell yourself short. You did a great job at our last session.” Almost as good as the job I’m doing of pretending I’m not thrilled you’re here. The knowledge that Dalton stood only a few feet behind her made it difficult to breathe.

  Pushing open the studio door, she welcomed the room’s air-conditioned chill washing over her flushed chest and cheeks. Only when she stood in the center of the brightly lit space, when the cool air had cleared her mind and heart and she once again felt like a highly qualified dance instructor instead of a giddy teen, did she say, “Here’s what I think we ought to do.”

  Her thoughts had been clear, but then he removed his jacket, flooding her with the rich scents of leather and him. He wore black jeans and a formfitting black T-shirt that hugged powerful biceps she knew from their last lesson were rock hard to the touch.

  She licked her lips and tucked her hair behind her ears.

  Think, Rose. You’ve taught dozens of students how to tango. Dalton’s just a man. The sooner you teach him this dance, the sooner he’ll be out of your life.

  But then maybe that was her biggest problem. She didn’t want him out of her life, but ever deeper in it.

  “Rose?” he asked. “Everything okay?”

  “Of course.” In fact, on the verge of stepping into his arms, her once-brittle life felt alarmingly okay. Which, judging by her thundering pulse, could be a problem. Enough. She had to focus. “Music would probably be a good place for us to start,” she said, already on her way to the stereo. “Then I want to try something new. At your previous lessons, I’m afraid I put too much emphasis on learning the rules rather than absorbing the true essence of the dance. If you don’t feel it, it will be impossible for you to learn the embellishments that will make your version of the tango truly stand out among the rest. Make no mistake, you’ve come a long way since our first session, but I want to be certain you’ve internalized the beat.” Slipping one of her favorite CDs, Yo soy el Tango, into the stereo, she pressed Play. “Does that make sense?”

  “Of course.” Liar. Dalton dragged in air. Right about now, the only thing that would make sense was to not walk but run from this situation as fast as his legs would carry him. “You’re making perfect sense.”

  “Wonderful. Let’s start off by having you take the lead, walking backward to the music.” She stepped toward him. “Remember, you place your fingers here…” Encircling his wrist, she slipped his hand behind her, settling it on the small of her back. “Then I’m going to put my hand here…On your upper arm. Remember this position?”

  Lord, yes. He nodded.

  “Good. Now, let’s join hands, remembering to balance each other. Imagine that I’m pushing against you, and you’re pulling me. Be gentle but firm.” When she settled her warm palm against his, he fought the urge to close his eyes. Never had such a seemingly benign thing as simply touching a woman hit with a more erotic jolt.

  Music throbbed all around them, inside him, and when she urged her hips forward, indicating that it was time for them to begin, the feeling was tantamount to him laying her on a sofa and drawing her into a kiss. Each step brought her breasts against his chest.

  She was so tempting.

  He was so damn hungry.

  Since meeting her, he had done nothing but replay their hours together. He would be in the middle of an important meeting and swear he’d heard her laugh or caught a whiff of her exotic perfume. Had she cast a spell on him? Bankers weren’t supposed to long for passionate, artistic women.

  “You’re doing much better,” Rose said, her breath hot against the base of his throat. “I’m glad you haven’t forgotten.”

  Forgotten, hell. Round about last Tuesday, he’d started a secret collection of tango’s greatest hits. He listened to them in the car, in the shower, even at his office when there was no one else around. If he was dancing better tonight, then it was because he’d done as she’d initially asked and let the music inside of him.

  When the song ended, Rose pulled away. “Wonderful. That was great.” The next song began, but she walked to the stereo to press Pause. “Someone did his homework.”

  “It shows?”

  “Definitely. I told you absorbing the music would help you get a better feel for the dance and look, already, your inborn sense of rhythm has improved, which means…”

  We’re finished? I no longer have to pretend I don’t want to pull you into my arms and kiss you like there’s no tomorrow?

  “…we can start learning individual steps.”

  “Swell.”

  And so Dalton spent the better part of two hours pretending he was at the Hot Pepper Dance Academy solely to dance. He pretended not to be mesmerized by Rose’s perfume or the way she laughed at his pathetic jokes or lifted her hair and fanned the nape of her neck when she’d grown too warm. If there was one thing all his years in business had taught him, it was how to keep a poker face.

  A few minutes past nine, she said, “That’ll do for tonight.”

  “Good. I felt like I was beginning to get sloppy.” The effort of keeping up the charade that this is just a dance and you’re just a woman is getting old.

  “No,” she reassured. “You’re only tired. Which is understandable. I’m amazed by how much you’ve improved. Not just your footwork, but your concentration.” Washing her fingertips over his forehead and cheeks caused a wave of emotion to swell in his belly. “You seemed so focused.”

  “That a bad thing?”

  Knowing if she touched him even a fraction of a second longer, he’d lose the few remnants of his control, he backed away.

  “Not at all. In fact, it’s quite good. That is, assuming you’re not focusing so hard on your lessons in the hopes of getting them over with.”

  There she went again, reading his mind.

  “Because if that is the case, you need to rethink your strategy.”

  “But if my dancing’s better, what does it matter how it got that way?”

  A frown marred her mouth’s usually serene lines. “Because, you big lug, haven’t you heard a word I’ve been saying? To truly learn tango, you’ve got to learn to listen to your own body. Yes, I can teach you the steps, but the rhythm, the mood, the feeling, that all has to come from here…” She placed her open hand over his stumbling heart, then smiled. “Ahhh, good. There’s something going on in there.”

  This was insanity.

  Being here with Rose, talking about such nonsense as his beating heart. He couldn’t do it. The truth was, it hurt too bad. Created longings in him he’d thought were long buried. Longings for a different sort of life.

  “Look,” he said, “I don’t mean to be blunt, but I’m paying for a few simple lessons, and that’s all I want.” When he spun away, her hand naturally fell, and his heart beat once again. Cold, but sure and steady, just the way it was supposed to.

  “Dalton?” she asked, voice floating as if through a dream.

  “Yes?” he said without looking back.

  “It’s happening, isn’t it?”

  “What?” His hand was on the door. All he had to do to escape was twist the knob and push.

  “The dance. It’s changing you. Working its magic.”

  Open the door, man. Set yourself free. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Want to come upstairs for a snack while I explain?”

  Yes. “No. Maybe some other time.”

  His hand was on the door.

  He was almost home free.
<
br />   So why did he feel more like he was stepping into a self-imposed prison than freedom? Why did he feel as if all of the choice had drained from his life until only duty and obligation remained? And truthfully Carly had damn near destroyed him, and he never wanted to hurt that way again.

  “Goodbye, Dalton. Will you call to set up your next lesson?”

  “Sure.”

  “Good. Drive safely.”

  Watching Dalton walk out the door was harder than Rose had imagined. She wanted to run after him, apologize for spouting all that emotional stuff. Had her babble been what chased him away?

  She didn’t want to get attached, but if letting go was the right thing, how come seeing him actually leave felt so bad?

  Rose rested her forehead against the cool glass of the door Dalton had just strode through, wishing with everything in her that she could find some small piece of the professionalism she’d once clung to so confidently.

  “NEXT ON THE AGENDA,” Alice Craigmoore said in Duffy’s back room, “is the Miss Hot Pepper Pageant. Mona, are you ready with your report?”

  As was his habit at this portion of the meeting, Dalton took this as a cue to zone out. Legs outstretched under the table, he arched his head back and closed his eyes.

  Mona cleared her throat. “Not so fast, lover boy. You might want to stay awake for the next few minutes.”

  “Why’s that?” he asked, cracking one eye open, ignoring what he assumed was a not-so-subtle reference to the amount of time he’d been spending with Rose.

  She took a manila folder from her red satchel, then scooted it across the table, nearly dumping his Coke.

  “What is it?” he asked, eyeing it as if it were the bill for their meals.

  “Alice mentioned seeing you with your new dance instructor, Rose, at the park.”

  “And?” He straightened, already reaching into his suit pocket for a chewable antacid. This couldn’t be good.

  “And…” Alice said, leaning forward on the table, “I think she’s adorable. My best friend, Gail, from needle-point club sends her granddaughter to the dance academy for jazz and tap. Well, that got me to thinking, why not jazz up our usual show by adding another number? Since you’ve been working so hard we’ll, of course, keep your solo, but once I asked around town as to the matter of Rose’s credentials and discovered that—”

  “Hey,” Mona complained. “I thought I was in charge of this issue?”

  “Oh, you are, dear. But naturally, as the current chamber president, what with Ms. Vasquez’s impressive background, I would think she’d be most comfortable working with someone of my stature.”

  “Your stature?” Mona leaped to her feet. Hands on her hips, face blotchy and red, she said, “How dare you act all high and mighty like this with me, Alice Craigmoore. Which of us was homecoming queen and who wasn’t even in my royal court? Whose two daughters were crowned Miss Hot Pepper?”

  Not to be outdone, Alice was on her feet, as well. “While we’re strolling memory lane, Mona, whose father donated the Caddie convertible that the homecoming queen and her court rode in? Everyone knows that’s the only reason you won.”

  “That’s it.” Mona snatched up her folder, shoving it into her satchel. “I’ve put up with your condescending attitude for decades, Alice Craigmoore, but never again. As of this moment, I resign.”

  “You can’t resign,” Alice said. “You’re the only one who’s familiar with the pageant.”

  “What’s that?” Mona asked, free hand to her ear. “Did someone actually admit I know a little something?”

  “Ladies, ladies,” Frank said, “both of you should calm down. How about we order a nice round of cobbler à la mode—my treat—and talk this out like the civilized business leaders we are?”

  “Hush!” both women said in unison to Frank.

  “I’m out of here.” Dalton pushed back his chair. “If any of you need me, you know where I’ll be.”

  “Wait just a doggone minute,” Frank said. “I’m not stayin’ here on my own with these two.”

  “Looks like the matter’s already been taken out of your hands.” Dalton nodded toward their fellow committee members, who’d just flown the coop.

  Mona left, too.

  Then Alice.

  “Now what?” Frank asked.

  “Beats me,” Dalton said.

  “Well, clearly, we can’t let the pageant be canceled.”

  Sounds like an excellent plan to me. “Frank, come on, be reasonable. We’re just two guys here, what could we possibly know about planning a pageant?”

  “Together? Nothing. But I’ve got a wife, and word has it you and this dance teacher of yours are sweet on each other. Think she might want to help?”

  Dalton groaned.

  “MOMMY?”

  “Yes, ma’am?” In the utility room, Rose glanced her daughter’s way. They were doing laundry and, as Anna wore more of the still-warm-from-the-dryer navy towels than she’d folded, she clearly needed more lessons on dryer duty.

  “Do I make a pretty, deep-sea princess?”

  “You’re gorgeous, baby.” Rose blew her daughter a kiss.

  “I’m not a baby.”

  “Oh—right. Sorry, I forgot how much you’ve grown in the past week.”

  “Yep, and Mrs. Clayton says that—”

  Ding-dong.

  “Hold that thought,” Rose said with a tweak to the little girl’s nose. “I’ll be right back.”

  Jogging to the loft’s back-porch entrance, she peeked past lacy curtains, then willed her pulse to slow.

  I am not excited to see him.

  I am not excited to see him.

  Yeah, right. Rose tossed open the door. “Dalton. Hi.”

  “Hey. Sorry to just drop in like this, but—”

  “Hi, Mr. Dalton!” Anna rushed his way. “Mommy and me are playing sea princess. Wanna come watch?”

  “Love to,” he said, sharing a grin with Rose.

  “Come on,” Anna said, taking his hand. “We’ve got lots of towels. I’ll make you a cape!”

  Thirty minutes later, Rose was still smiling while poor, sweet Dalton had been made sea king with a tinfoil crown. Finally, Anna tired of being a princess and moved on to her Barbies.

  “Thanks,” Rose said. “John used to hang out with her all the time. She misses him a lot.”

  “It was my pleasure.” He smiled. “She’s a doll.”

  “You’re one, too,” Rose claimed, kissing his cheek. “Stay for dinner?”

  “Thought you’d never ask.”

  “I have a sort of favor to ask,” he said while she took pork chops from the freezer, “that’s the reason I’m here.”

  “Name it.” She popped the meat into the microwave to thaw.

  “Love to.” He scratched his head. “Trouble is, I’m not even sure what I need you to do.” He explained about Alice and Mona’s feud, and how everyone else had walked out, too, leaving him and Frank in charge.

  “I’ve judged tons of pageants. A small-scale one like this shouldn’t be too much trouble, especially since Mona has probably already done most of the legwork.”

  “That’s a relief.”

  “Green beans or broccoli?”

  “Broccoli. You know how to make cheese sauce?”

  “Colby jack or cheddar?”

  “Woman—” clutching his chest, his lips curved into a dead-sexy grin “—I’m not sure what I did to warrant you coming into my life, but whatever it was, I need to keep it up.”

  “Er, thanks. I think.”

  “Make no mistake, you’re a very good thing.” Before she had time to process that, he asked, “What can I do to help?”

  Chapter Seven

  “I want another one!” Anna demanded after Rose had finished her first bedtime story.

  “Nope. You’ve got school in the morning, and it’s already fifteen minutes past your bedtime.”

  “Mmmph…” Pouting, she crossed her arms beneath her pink comforter. “Daddy would’ve
let me stay up.”

  Even from where Dalton stood in the shadowy corner at Anna’s request, so he, too, could hear her story, he saw the pain in Rose’s eyes.

  “He probably would have let you stay up,” Rose said, voice remarkably calm, “but he’s not here, and I am, and I say go to sleep.”

  When Anna pulled the cover over her head, Rose just kissed her head—or at least what she must have thought was her daughter’s head—through the downy blanket. “Good night. I love you.”

  “Mmmph…”

  Rose gestured for him to precede her out of the room.

  “Night, kiddo,” Dalton called over his shoulder.

  Out popped a fuzzy-haired head. “Good night, Mr. Dalton.”

  Sighing, Rose pulled Anna’s bedroom door shut. “The joys of being a single mom.”

  “Do you get grief like this often?”

  “Not all that much,” she said, aiming for the kitchen. “Mostly just when she doesn’t get her way. She has her father’s iron will.”

  “That a good or bad thing?” Dalton asked, taking a seat on an orange-cushioned bar stool.

  “Depends on what kind of day I’ve had.” She took a chilled bottle of red wine from the fridge, giving it an enticing wag. “Want some?”

  “Absolutely. That scene has me worried about the time when I finally have my own kids.”

  “Oh, stop.” She poured wine into two tall-stemmed glasses. “I wouldn’t trade her for anything. Yes, she’s occasionally a handful, but for the most part, she’s also my best friend. I adore her.”

  “That’s plain to see. And aside from the sass, the way she emulated you while we were cooking, it’s also obvious she adores you.”

  “I hope so,” she said, taking a sip of wine. “Lots of times I wonder if I’ll be enough for her.”

  “You could remarry. Give her a stepdad.”

  “That a proposal?” she asked with a wink.

  While he laughed on the outside, inside, Dalton’s heart lurched at the notion that living out the rest of his life with a vibrant woman like Rose and her firecracker of a daughter would be amazing. Too bad he’d already determined she wasn’t the right type of woman for him.