by Kate Hardy
He released a button on his jacket and let it swing open to reveal rather a lot of pale blue, very fine shirt.
Looking utterly relaxed, he said, ‘My sister appealed to me to donate money to the Children’s Hospital. Her husband’s a doctor and she’s a physiotherapist and it’s a cause dear to their hearts.’
A donation to a hospital? Sally couldn’t imagine where this conversation was heading.
Logan continued. ‘Carissa, my sister, can be extraordinarily persuasive. She spent a few minutes talking to me about very sick children and I found myself writing a cheque with too many zeroes. But, as it turns out, I was actually buying tickets in a raffle.’
‘Oh, dear.’ Sally smiled and leaned forward, intrigued. ‘So what did you end up with?’
‘Tickets to the Hospital Ball and the honour of making a fool of myself on the dance floor with Diana Devenish.’
A ball…a dance floor… Sally’s heart took off like a startled possum. Get over it, girl, get a grip. You’re not going to be there.
She swallowed. ‘Isn’t Diana Devenish a television breakfast show personality?’
‘The one and only.’
More calmly, she said, ‘I remember reading that she won a celebrity dancing competition on television.’
‘That’s right.’
‘And they expect you to dance with her?’
‘Exactly.’
‘But you can’t dance. You told me last week that you’re absolutely hopeless.’
The waiter chose that exact moment to arrive with their wine and Sally blushed when she realised that he must have overheard her comment. When will I ever learn to watch what I say?
Logan, however, looked more amused than angry and the very discreet waiter showed no sign that he’d heard her.
When they were alone again, Logan smiled and raised his glass. ‘Here’s to team-building.’
‘To team-building.’ Sally’s faint response betrayed her confusion. She took a small sip of the wine, which was very dark and full-bodied and smooth. She was sure it had cost a small fortune. ‘Lovely,’ she said.
‘It’s not a bad drop.’
She still had no idea where this conversation was heading, so she set the glass down. She had to keep her wits about her.
Logan said, ‘As you so rightly remembered, I’m absolutely clueless about dancing.’ With a rueful smile, he took another sip of his wine.
‘I don’t suppose you can wriggle out of this?’
‘Not without upsetting a lot of people, including my brother-in-law on the Hospital Board.’
‘Well, the Children’s Hospital is a very good cause,’ Sally said, thinking of little Oliver and his problem with asthma. ‘And I’m sure you’ll be fine. No one will expect you to perform like Fred Astaire.’
Logan laughed. ‘There’s absolutely no chance of that.’
Sally smiled. But then she made the mistake of picturing Logan Black on a dance floor, and then, more foolishly, she imagined herself in his arms. And suddenly the bad memories were back—Kyle Francis holding her down, the smell and the taste of earth and male sweat. His hands hurting her. She felt a rush of panic and struggled to breathe as fear gripped her throat.
Fortunately, Logan didn’t appear to notice her distress. ‘Even without the burden of great expectations,’ he said smoothly, ‘I’d rather not trample all over Diana Devenish’s expert toes.’
Sally nodded stiffly.
Logan’s long fingers twisted the stem of his wineglass. ‘I don’t cherish the idea of making a complete and utter fool of myself in front of Sydney’s finest.’
‘You could have lessons,’ Sally suggested, feeling more nervous by the second. She felt uncomfortably confused too. She still had no idea why her boss was taking her into his confidence.
Watching her, he said, ‘I’ll certainly need lessons. That’s where you come in, Sally.’
‘Me?’
‘I was hoping to call on your expertise.’
‘I—I don’t understand.’ A pulse in her throat began to beat like the wings of a trapped bird.
‘When we were talking the other day, you told me that you were barely out of the cradle before you started dancing at Outback balls with all your brothers.’
‘Oh—w-well, yes, that’s true.’
‘So I assume you’re a very good ballroom dancer?’
Sally’s eyes widened with shock. ‘I—I’m not bad.’
‘I was hoping you could teach me.’
Whack.
The impact of his words exploded inside her, shooting sparks like a firework.
‘I’ve shocked you,’ Logan said, watching her carefully.
Sally reached for her wine. ‘You’ve certainly surprised me.’ Surprised? She was fighting panic. To teach her boss to dance would be stressful enough without the horrible memories that haunted her.
‘It’s for a good cause,’ Logan said. ‘You’d be helping sick children like your nephew. The one with asthma. And many others who are much worse off. I can’t imagine what it would be like to have your childhood blighted by severe illness.’
It was a very good cause. Sally couldn’t deny that, but she couldn’t let go of her fear at the thought of dancing. With Logan. Her heart was racing. Her skin was bathed with perspiration and her throat had closed over.
Logan said, with a smiling shrug, ‘I’d be willing to pay you, of course.’
At the mention of money, Sally blinked. He should hire a professional. There had to be hundreds of professional dance teachers in Sydney and Logan could hire any one of them. They would provide him with the expert coaching he needed and the added bonus of complete anonymity. And she would be spared the ordeal.
But Logan’s sister might have suggested professional classes already. And, even if she hadn’t, Sally knew that Logan’s request was a perfect opportunity to conquer her fear once and for all.
When she was eleven she’d fallen from a horse. She’d been winded and hurt and, even now, when she thought about it, she could still remember the pain of bruised ribs and the taste of the red dust in her mouth. But, despite her skinned knees and bruises, her father had insisted that she must get straight back in the saddle.
She’d sensed then, at that tender age, that if she hadn’t followed her father’s advice, she might have developed a fear of horses that could have turned into a debilitating phobia.
It’s the same now. I have to get back on the dance floor.
It would be silly to spend the rest of her life avoiding something she loved as much as she loved dancing. And, after all, she’d come to Sydney to prove she’d recovered from that experience.
She could almost hear her dad urging her in that gentle, insistent way of his. Come on, kiddo. When you come a cropper, you just have to pick yourself up and ride the bruises out of your system.
Now I need to dance the bruises out of my system.
And, of course, there was the rather astonishing fact that Logan had asked her.
‘What are you thinking?’ He looked endearingly worried.
Sally let out her breath slowly. ‘I—I’m thinking that we’d need to find a suitable venue. Somewhere with space to move about.’
Relief spread over his face like a sunrise and Sally was suddenly very glad she hadn’t turned him down.
‘I’ve been giving the venue some thought,’ he said. ‘I wondered if the meeting room at Blackcorp would be suitable. We could push the tables and chairs against the walls.’
‘I—I guess.’
‘But we’d need to do this outside working hours, of course. There’s no need to advertise the lessons to the staff.’ He shot her a sharp questioning glance.
‘I won’t breathe a word,’ she promised.
‘I hoped an evening might be suitable. Or some time at the weekend.’
Sally nodded. ‘Either time would be OK for me. I’m not especially busy.’
‘How about Thursday evening, then? At about half past seven?’
Li
fting her glass in a salute, Sally said, ‘It’s a date. I—I mean a deal. Make sure you bring your dancing shoes.’
He grinned. ‘Thanks for the reminder. I might have turned up in joggers.’
‘And we’ll need music.’
‘I’ll look after that. I have a portable player. And I’ll pick you up on Thursday.’
It was on the tip of Sally’s tongue to tell him there was no need. She lived very close to the Glebe train station. But this man was her boss. Surely she could trust him? Besides, he drove a very sleek and expensive black car.
As she drank some more of her wine, she finally began to relax. If she stayed calm, this could actually be fun.
She said, ‘You’ll have to decide what styles of dance you’d like to learn. How long have we got? I doubt I could manage to teach them all.’
‘Oh, no. There’s no need for that. The ball’s in less than a fortnight, but Diana Devenish is such an expert she can dance any style, so I just have to nominate which I’d prefer.’
‘That certainly takes the pressure off. Which dance would you like to learn?’
He shrugged. ‘What’s the easiest?’
‘It depends on your personality and your body type.’ With her head to one side, Sally pretended to study her tall, dark, handsome and slightly arrogant boss. ‘I don’t think there’s any question, actually. You should definitely choose the waltz.’
Logan’s sister rang him that evening. ‘I know you’re going to tell me I’m a nosy sister, but I’ve made enquiries about ballroom dancing classes.’
‘You’re an exceedingly nosy sister,’ he told her, without malice. ‘And your efforts are appreciated, but entirely unnecessary. I’ve made my own arrangements.’
‘For dancing classes?’
‘There’s no need to sound so shocked.’
‘I must say I’m surprised, Logan. Very surprised. I know how you feel about dancing and I was sure you’d keep putting off classes. Who’s the teacher?’
‘Er—’ Logan missed a beat ‘—a woman in Glebe.’
‘Did she come highly recommended?’
He sidestepped that question. ‘Relax, Carissa. I’m confident she’ll be more than satisfactory.’
‘Well…’ Carissa was obviously struggling to take this in. ‘That’s…that’s fantastic, little brother. Good for you.’
Logan wished, as he hung up, that he felt as certain as he’d sounded.
Now that he’d jumped in and propositioned Sally Finch he was beginning to wonder if he’d lost his grip on reality. Why, in the first place, had he confided in his newest employee about a limitation that had embarrassed him since he was a teenager? And why had he then gone one step further and asked her to help him overcome that handicap?
The rushed trip to Western Australia must have taken its toll and left him with weakened defences. What other explanation could there be? He’d walked through Blackcorp’s doors this morning, had taken one look at Sally and his common sense had melted like cheap plastic in a microwave.
Then again, he argued a moment later, why not hire Sally’s expertise? His knowledge of dance teachers was severely limited, but he was sure she had the necessary credentials—a slim build, energy and grace. Good communication skills.
Logan’s alternative was a professional teacher and he didn’t fancy being bossed around by an indifferent stranger who dealt with an endless stream of enthusiastic pupils.
Sally was a sensitive, feeling type—Janet Keaton had said so—and she would understand how uneasy he felt about dancing. Better still, she was an employee, so he’d still have the upper hand. Of course, he would pay her well for her trouble.
Everything would be fine as long as he made sure that the lessons didn’t upset their boss-employee dynamics.
That settled, Logan’s conscience was clear. Once this waltzing distraction had been discreetly and efficiently dealt with, he would be able to get straight back to his far more important responsibilities and focus one hundred per cent on his business.
Sally floated in a muddled daze through the next few days. At work she was grateful for the many distractions and at home she gave herself a thousand lectures. It was vitally important that she didn’t read too much into the boss’s request for dancing lessons. It was simply a logical extension of their conversation at the team-building workshop.
She was sure that the boss of Blackcorp had no hidden romantic agenda and she had to stop magnifying the significance of their rendezvous in the wine bar, had to stop reliving the utterly divine experience of sitting beside him in his luxurious car as he’d driven her home. And she mustn’t dwell on how charmingly he’d chatted, offering fascinating insights into places of interest around Sydney.
There was no way the lessons would lead to anything romantic. It was out of the question. Just imagine, an affair between the boss and his most lowly employee. What a joke. She was a girl from the bush and she didn’t fit into his city scene at all.
And the last thing she wanted was to join the long list of women who’d received his weekly offering of roses. Actually, Sally couldn’t help wondering, why hadn’t Logan asked one of them to teach him to dance? Was it beneath these high-flyers’ dignity? Or was it simply that Logan wanted to keep this one little inadequacy a secret from the rest of the world?
Whatever her boss’s reason for seeking her out, one thing was certain: when the dance class started, their roles would be reversed. She would be the one with the expertise. She would be the teacher and Logan Black would be the pupil.
In charge of the boss. It was a mind-twisting thought.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THURSDAY evening began with Logan’s arrival on Sally’s doorstep, which was an event in itself. He was wearing battered jeans and a faded blue T-shirt, thin from much washing, and when Sally opened her door she forgot that it was rude to stare.
He looked so different! So casual and relaxed and—gulp—even more drop-dead divine than usual.
‘Is something wrong?’ he asked.
‘No, nothing’s wrong,’ Sally squeaked. ‘Nothing at all.’
He pointed to his feet. ‘I remembered the shoes.’
Dragging her gaze reluctantly downwards, she saw that he was indeed wearing his leather lace-ups. ‘Well done.’
For most of the short journey through the dark city streets, she tried to put into practice what she’d learned at yoga classes about keeping calm and balanced. It’s all in the breathing. Keep your breaths even and steady. In, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. Out, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.
Fortunately, Logan was happy to concentrate on the traffic and he didn’t try to distract her with scintillating conversation. There was no way Sally could calm down and scintillate at the same time.
They reached the underground car park beneath Blackcorp’s offices and parked in the space assigned to BMC’s Managing Director. The lighting was minimal and their footsteps echoed eerily in the empty subterranean chamber as they made their way to the lift.
Sally’s heartbeat raced and she felt wings of panic, but soon they were inside the main building and the security guy bustled up to them importantly as Logan was unlocking Blackcorp’s door.
‘Everything all right, Mr Black?’ His eyes bulged with curiosity when he saw Sally.
‘Of course, Reg. Perfectly fine.’ If Logan was embarrassed to be caught after hours, sneaking back into the office with the front desk girl, he hid the fact behind a ferocious frown. ‘Miss Finch and I are working on a special project.’
‘Oh, right then, sir. I’ll leave you to it.’
Sally was relieved to know that the guard was close by as she and Logan went through both sets of doors, then along the hall to the meeting room. They became very efficient as they pushed tables and chairs to the sides to make a space in the centre. Logan set up his portable player and switched it on and the bright notes of a Strauss waltz filled the room.
‘Will this music be OK?’ he asked.
&
nbsp; Sally wrinkled her nose. ‘It might be a bit old-fashioned for a modern ball, but it’s the real thing!’
‘Everything’s ready, then.’ He stood to attention and took a deep breath. ‘Now, what do I have to do?’
Looking at him as he stood there, his expression so tense and serious, Sally’s nervousness evaporated. Logan Black wasn’t the rat who’d been so vile at the country dance. Right now, he was barely recognisable as her arrogant and distant boss.
He was a vulnerable man who would be mortified if his inadequacies were exposed, and yet, conscientious to a fault, he was determined to do the right thing by his sister.
He genuinely needed her help.
Smiling her warmest smile, Sally walked towards him, reached for his hands and took them lightly in hers. The tentative contact was enough to launch her into orbit, but she schooled herself to ignore the sizzle and to concentrate on helping him to waltz.
She was determined to do her absolute best.
This was a bad idea. A very bad idea.
The instant Sally’s warm hands clasped his, Logan knew he was in trouble.
To start with, Sally was wearing a sleeveless yellow dress made from some kind of T-shirt material. With a low-backed top that hugged her lithe body like a leotard and a full skirt that rippled about her legs whenever she moved, the outfit was no doubt very suitable for dancing. But it totally threatened the boss-employee dynamics he’d been determined to maintain.
And now she was standing close and touching him. Her bright hair framed her intent face, her eyes signalled intelligence and sensitivity, and all he wanted to do was haul her closer and kiss her and—
‘The waltz is all about poise, grace and elegance,’ she told him. ‘If you listen carefully to the music, you can hear how light and smooth and airy it is.’
Obediently, Logan censored his thoughts and concentrated on Strauss’s Blue Danube. ‘The beat’s important, isn’t it?’
‘Absolutely. Counting the music is most important. That’s what will get you through this waltz. Can you count to three, Mr Black?’
He favoured her with a lopsided smile.
