Dancing on the Sand

by Marilyn Baxter

  Amara stood in the doorway until his car disappeared from sight. The kiss had definitely been good. Very good. Beyond her wildest imagination good. But letting her emotions carry her away wasn’t good at all. She had to stay focused on the competition. Once that was over, she could give in to them – if he was still interested and she wasn’t simply the girl-of-the-moment for him.

  Chapter Twelve

  Elliott Becker’s villa at Casa Blanca Resort & Spa was breathtakingly beautiful. Amara had never seen such luxury, and she was grateful to the Beckers for offering the use of it prior to the contest. At three thousand square feet, Bay Laurel was over four times as large as her one-bedroom studio apartment on the island.

  As one of the Bucks’ owners, and thereby Ryan’s boss, Elliott had arranged not only for Amara and Ryan to have a place to wait out of the heat, but also arranged for Jasper and Libby to stay in a villa as well. Glynnis was at the Rossi compound on the grounds with her partner, Nino Rossi, the family patriarch.

  By luck of the draw, Ryan and Amara would dance last in the contest. The other two Allegro couples would dance immediately before them. The wait would be bad, especially for Ryan’s nerves. The good part was they weren’t dancing first so that everyone else could up their game to defeat them.

  “Did you remember to double knot your shoes?” she asked, pacing nervously in the villa’s living room. “You don’t want one to come untied and trip either of us.”

  “Double knotted as ordered. I had the tailor shop move the buttons on my shirt cuffs so they’re not too tight. And I’ve checked my fly. See?”

  Amara opened her mouth to reply, then saw his wink and the grin curling the corners of his mouth. “I’ll take your word for it.” She calmly uncapped a bottle of water and offered it to him. “Drink up. You need to stay hydrated.”

  “You’ll take my word, huh? Are you sure you can trust me?”

  Unlike a month ago, now she did trust him. Since their conversation on the way to the tango club she had seen a noticeable difference in Ryan. The wise cracks had stopped - for the most part anyway. He had been early to every practice and had never fussed about staying late if they needed to work longer on a particular element of their routine.

  As a result, they danced better than ever, and their dress rehearsal the previous day had been nearly flawless. Jasper had observed and given them his stamp of approval.

  “Damn if I don’t think you could beat Libby and me,” he’d told her. “I had my reservations about you, Kidd, but you were amazing just now. If you want to pursue ballroom dancing any further, I’m sure Amara could work you into her schedule.”

  She was sure her face and neck flushed bright crimson though neither of the men said anything. Jasper was the consummate romantic, and this was another of his efforts to pair her with someone beyond the dance floor. After the Saturday night kiss at her door, Amara had been having second thoughts about her policy against dating Allegro clients.

  Though after tonight he wouldn’t be a client any longer – unless he took Jasper’s comment about lessons to heart. Damn Jasper’s big mouth. Given how good Ryan looked tonight, she found it difficult not to think about him. His dark Italian cut suit showed off his physique. The crisp white shirt contrasted with his dark tan. His necktie, loose against the open shirt collar, closely matched her dress and tied their costumes together.

  At some time since the previous day, he’d visited a barber and had his shaggy hair trimmed and tamed, though a few strands spiked here and there. And Amara’s first thought upon seeing him after his arrival at the resort had not been a professional one. Not at all.

  She took a long drink from her own bottle of water and reined her thoughts back to the contest.

  “How about one last run-through of the program?” she asked. “Then we can go out and watch Jasper and Glynnis dance.”

  A run-through was probably a good idea and would get his mind out of the gutter where it had been since laying eyes on Amara. Her dark hair was styled simply with the short strands tucked behind her ears. Her makeup was more dramatic than usual and made her already expressive dark eyes sparkle.

  But what really commanded his attention was her costume. Made of some sort of shiny fabric, it was slit high up her right thigh and had a cut-out at the waist, precisely where his hand would be. She wore no jewelry except for diamond studs that sparkled in her earlobes.

  “Yeah, sure. I have the music on my phone.” He cued the song and set the phone on the bar. He pushed a massive coffee table out of the way to make room. The first strains of the music began and he shed his suit jacket, tossed it aside with a dramatic flair, then pulled Amara into position and took the lead.

  Slow, slow, quick, quick, slow. And then muscle memory kicked in. They sailed through the opening, then the middle section, and as they approached the corté he sent up a silent prayer to execute it as well as in the previous night’s dress rehearsal.

  He stepped back, Amara leaned in and…she stumbled and fell against him. He put both arms around her to correct for the misstep and pulled her close.

  “Whoa. Sorry. I must’ve taken too long of a—”

  “No, it was me. I wasn’t—”

  “Are you positive? I’m always the one who—”

  “It was me, dammit,” she swore.

  Ryan released her and stepped back. Unlike him, Amara never cursed even when he’d been at his worst. And he liked this out-of-control Amara with eyes flashing and nostrils slightly flared. Just as he imagined she’d look in the middle of…

  He shook his head to clear that thought from his brain. He certainly didn’t need to have a hard-on right now. As much as he wanted to kiss away her anger and hope a kiss led to more, this was neither the time nor place.

  “It was me,” she said, more in control this time. “You know, we should probably go on to the venue now to watch the others. It’s getting close to that time.”

  Ryan glanced at the large Moroccan-style wall clock, knowing full well it was still early, but he would do whatever she wanted. His nerves were on edge, and if her outburst was any indicator, hers were, too. He ushered her to the door and made sure the lock was set.

  “Wait.” Amara pushed against the door. “I need to get my purse.”

  “Just leave it here. I’ll lock up and it’ll be safe.”

  “No, I need it. You know, a girl’s gotta have her lipstick and compact. Jasper will hold it for me while we dance.”

  He shrugged and waited while she fetched a silvery purse from somewhere inside the villa.

  Ten minutes later they stood in the contestants’ waiting area as Jasper and Libby made last-minute wardrobe adjustments before being announced. Ryan looked out at the beach area, which had been set up with a portable stage flanked by rows of chairs. Soft lights illuminated the audience area and spotlights shone on the dance floor. A gentle breeze carried the scent of salt water and jasmine.

  “Merde,” Jasper told them, kissing Amara on both cheeks and vigorously shaking Ryan’s hand.

  “What?” Ryan wrinkled his brow in confusion.

  “It’s what dancers say to wish each other good luck,” explained Amara.

  “Back at ya,” Ryan replied, holding up a thumb.

  “And now,” the emcee began, “dancing the samba, are Mimosa Key’s own Libby Monroe and her dance partner, Jasper Vonderleith of the Allegro Dance Studio.”

  “Here we go,” Jasper whispered in their direction as he ushered Libby to the dance floor.

  “Is that announcer’s name really Ace Spade?” Amara asked in a low tone.

  Ryan chuckled. “I doubt it, but I don’t know for sure. I heard a rumor his real name is Percival, and he thought it didn’t much sound like an announcer. He used to be with one of the big teams and retired here. Oh, they’re starting.”

  Lively music played over the state-of-the-art sound system, and the pair moved around the floor to the party rhythm. Fringe shimmied and sequins sparkled until the last note sounded, and
the crowd burst into applause.

  Ryan’s heart sank. “Well, damn. That was awesome. I can’t—”

  Amara placed her finger over his lips. “No comparisons. Remember?”

  He had difficulty remembering her lecture about not comparing himself to anyone else because her finger just felt too damn good against his mouth. And if her finger felt that good, what might—? He shook off that train of thought before it derailed his entire performance. “Yeah, yeah.”

  Comparison was inevitable for him. All during his short pitching career he had been compared to the greats – The Goose, Bob Gibson, his namesake, Nolan Ryan. And he had fallen short, his career over before he had the chance to reach his full potential.

  Jasper and Libby rushed off the stage, and Amara congratulated them on their performance. Ryan did too, worried that he couldn’t dance to their level, but appreciative of the expertise he had just witnessed.

  “And now,” Ace’s voice sounded again, “dancing the paso doble are Nino Rossi and Glynnis Chappell Wells, who also represents the Allegro Studio.”

  The audience roared as Nino and Glynnis entered from the opposite side of the stage. Glynnis wore a modest black dress with flowing sleeves. Beads and sequins covered the upper part of the dress and danced in the spotlights. Nino’s floor-length hooded red robe was tied snugly around his waist and his last name was emblazoned on the back in large letters. The familiar opening notes of the Rocky theme song played, and the two moved into their routine. Uncle Nino hopped around and punched into the air before throwing off the robe to reveal a tuxedo with a bow tie that matched the color of his discarded robe. The dancers sparred around the dance floor to combined cheers and laughter, and the elder Rossi took every opportunity to play to the enthusiastic crowd.

  As the song ended, Nino raised his hands, assumed a victor’s stance, and the audience came to its feet.

  Ryan groaned aloud. “How the hell can we compete with that schmaltzy routine?”

  Amara shot him a dark look that put him on notice. “With flawless dancing, that’s how. We’re up next. Are you ready?”

  He nodded. “And I promise not to throw up all over you,” he said in reference to his earlier confession.

  Amara cocked her head and lifted one brow. “Good to see you haven’t lost your sense of humor.”

  Then Ace’s voice boomed. “Our last dancers of the evening, dancing the tango, are Ryan Kidd from the Barefoot Bay Bucks organization and his partner, the lovely Amara Perez, Allegro’s third dancer in this competition.” Ace’s bias was clearly evident in his introduction of the pair, and Ryan clearly didn’t care. He welcomed anything that gave them a leg up.

  Amara grabbed his hand. “Ready?” she asked again. “Just relax and let your mind and body take over. You know the routine backwards and forwards. You’re going to be great.”

  She gave his hand a little squeeze, and they moved to center stage. Ryan pulled her into position, his right hand grazing her flesh at the cut out spot in her costume. He heard her breath hitch, and then the music began.

  Slow, slow, quick, quick, slow. They moved effortlessly across the floor. His nerves settled down, and the past four weeks of rehearsal and training took over. And before he knew it, they had finished without missing a single step.

  As the music died away, he held Amara in his arms and her eyes grew as dark as the night sky above. The contest was over for all intents and purposes. He wasn’t her student any longer. And to hell with his stupid no-island-girls rule. He wanted this woman. His breathing began to calm but his heart still raced.

  She looked away first and twirled out to his side. Their hands were still clasped as they took their bows. From the expression on her face he knew they’d performed well. But had they danced well enough to win?

  She twirled to his opposite side and bowed again, then faced him and squeezed both his hands.

  “You were terrific,” she whispered. A smile lit her face. “You didn’t miss a step.”

  Ryan leaned in and bussed her cheek. “I had a good teacher. The best actually.”

  Amara took two steps back, his hands still clasped in hers, and without a word of warning she collapsed to the floor in front of him.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ryan reached for her, but he was too slow, and Amara sank to the wooden dance floor with a thud. The crowd released a collective gasp, which was joined by Ryan’s own cry for help. A cliché proved to be true as everything around him appeared to be in slow motion.

  Jasper rushed toward him from off-stage, Amara’s silver purse in his hand. He held it out toward Ryan.

  “Her glucose is in here. You have to give it to her,” he commanded.

  Ryan stared blankly at the purse. Glucose? Give her glucose?

  Jasper wrenched the purse open and extracted a red, hard plastic case about six inches long. “Here,” he said, thrusting the case into Ryan’s hands. “You have to give her the shot.”

  Ryan stared at the object in his hand, turned it over, then fumbled with it before getting the catch to release. Inside he saw a small vial, a syringe and a piece of folded paper, which he could only presume was a set of instructions.

  He unfolded the paper, hoping against hope it contained photo directions. Instead, he was faced with rows and rows of tiny print.

  “Go ahead,” Jasper screeched. “Give it to her. Give her the shot.”

  “I…you…” Ryan stammered, holding the kit out toward Jasper.

  In the haze of panic and confusion, Ace’s voice boomed over the PA system. Ryan recognized who it was, but the words were a jumble. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, praying that when he opened them he could miraculously read the words on the paper.

  But before he could open his eyes and see if his prayers had been answered, he sensed someone by his side.

  “Thank goodness,” Jasper said. Relief was evident in his tone.

  A woman wearing a spangled costume knelt beside Ryan. He recognized her as one of the dance contestants. She had competed right before Jasper and Libby.

  “I’m Dr. Austin. Since you’re holding a glucose pen, I imagine her blood sugar is too low. Let me have that.”

  She took the case from Ryan and with swift efficiency, prepared the syringe and stabbed it into Amara’s thigh. Ryan heard Ace’s voice again, assuring the crowd that all was under control and Miss Perez would be fine.

  Ryan hoped that was true since the secret he had worked so hard to conceal had delayed treatment.

  ***

  Amara opened her eyes, then closed them again. The overhead light hurt her eyes. Voices sounded from nearby. Jasper, an unknown female, Ryan.

  The contest. She sat straight up and saw she was in a small room with sparse furnishings.

  “Whoa there. Take it easy,” the woman said, moving to Amara’s side.

  “The contest,” Amara began, trying to swing her legs over the side of the table. “What about the contest? We need to do our routine. I have to dance.”

  “You finished your dance and then collapsed. I’m Dr. Melinda Austin, one of the other contestants. I gave you the glucose injection from your purse, and Mr. Kidd carried you here.”

  “Where’s here?” She glanced further around the room and spotted a wall with cabinets, a row of bottles and jars on a counter and scenes of nature adorning the walls.

  “The spa. The owner was kind enough to open up for us to bring you here. How do you feel?”

  Weak. Wrung out. Like she’d been hit by a speeding car.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Oh, honey, you are so not fine.” Jasper stood in the doorway, his face as white as the sheet beneath her. “You scared me to pieces. Thank goodness this doctor was in the house. Here, drink this.” He moved to her side and held a cup of juice to her lips. She sipped carefully before lying back down.

  “Who won the contest?” she asked no one in particular. Surely not her, though, since a full-out faint was no way to impress the judges.

  “We don�
�t know yet.” Ryan’s voice came from behind her. “They made the decision to postpone announcing the winners when the good doctor here said you should be able to go back to the beach if you take it easy.”

  “And I don’t want to rush you in any way, sweetie, but the resort is serving free drinks during this little intermission.” Jasper made quotation marks with his fingers when he said the last word. “I do not want it said that Allegro helped bankrupt Casa Blanca Resort & Spa.”

  Dr. Austin let out a snort. “It’ll take a lot more than drinks for two hundred people to bankrupt this place.”

  “Two hundred?” Ryan said. “I was paying attention to my feet and then to my fainting partner, but it sounded more like two thousand.”

  “It’s a small, but well-heeled crowd,” the doctor continued. “And every one of them paid a thousand dollars to watch the contest. That, and the sponsorship from the resort and the Ritz in Naples is how they can give away such generous prize money and donate to Dr. Bradbury’s clinic.”

  Ten thousand dollars, and Amara still hoped to claim half of it.

  Thirty minutes later, Ryan and Jasper escorted Amara back to the beach and to a ringside seat right beside the Beckers, Ivorys and Nicholases. She saw Ryan nod to the couples and then remembered they were the joint owners of the Barefoot Bay Bucks. Of course he would acknowledge them.

  “And our tango team has returned,” Ace announced to the crowd. “Let’s give the lovely lady a round of applause, folks.”

  A wave of heat rushed up Amara’s face, and she hoped the dim light hid it from view. She waved to show her appreciation for their concern.

  The lights dimmed further, save for one spotlight on the center of the dance floor.

  “Before I announce the dance winner, here are the results for the Twitter campaign. Thanks to the efforts of all contestants, the Dancing on the Sand hashtag exceeded expectations and was retweeted around the country.

  “Our winner, who received more than double the number of votes of the next competitor, staged a well thought out campaign with steady activity, not that the other contestants didn’t make an effort, some with uh…interesting methods.