One Last Dance

by Angela Stephens

  His hot breath was in her hair as he stepped forward. “I will pay you ten times your normal hourly rate. One dance, that’s all I’m asking for.”

  She looked up and saw his expression. If eyes could be on fire, his dark eyes were blazing. For her. “You don’t even know my rate,” she said quietly.

  He smiled. “Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter.” His hand came up for her in perfect form, just as Darren’s had earlier.

  One more check of her knee. It felt good. What the hell, she thought. It was worth one dance: the money—she would have to make up her private rate—and to know if this handsome man she had just met could connect with her in a way no one had in a long time. “One dance,” she said.

  She lay her hand in his grip, a shock of arousal flashing through her as their palms touched. His broad hand curled around her fingers, dwarfing the slender digits in his warm clasp, and drew her closer. The music started. “Thank you,” he whispered into her ear. His breath sent a pleasant shock through her system.

  Sophie’s hand slid instinctively up his arm and came to a rest on his shoulder. His right arm slipped around her back, his long fingers brushing tantalizingly against her left side. He pulled her even closer, twining her hand in his. She was achingly aware of the press of her breasts against his broad, hard chest through the thin cotton of her t-shirt.

  He moved fluidly backward, drawing her with him into the basic steps of the tango. Though he stuck to the simple configuration for the first several revolutions, it was clear he didn’t need lessons. Sophie blinked up at him, startled by the graceful glide of his movements. His eyes were a much darker shade of brown than hers, nearly black. She was suddenly caught in them, unable to look away, as if the shiny pupil of his eye was really the tar it appeared to be and she was stuck fast.

  She drew in a quick breath, heart whirling, as he began to lead her in some more complex combinations. He sandwiched her, pushing her foot to spin her into a set of backward ochos. Sophie’s heart began to beat in time with the music as he pulled her back into him, his hard thigh pressing between her legs.

  The contact sent a ripple of excitement into her belly. If she’d been wearing one of her competition dresses, he would not have been so fully against her inner thigh, but in the soft, stretchy yoga pants she wore to teach class, she could feel the heat of his skin as if nothing separated them.

  She brought her left leg up in a thigh stroke and saw a flare of fire in those inky irises. The look in his eyes wasn’t focus, it was absorbtion. It had been a long time since she’d been in a man’s arms like this. She danced a few steps here or there with Darren to illustrate proper form or execution, but that was as similar as acting in a play was to living life. Clasped against his hard, warm body, Sophie shivered. She needed to say something before she completely melted in this stranger’s embrace.

  “I’m Sophie, by the way,” she breathed, biting at her lower lip at how inane the words sounded to her own ears. She gritted her teeth slightly, trying to bite back any more conversation and just concentrate on the music. It was an impossible task. The feel of his hand on her back, thumb softly stroking her side, was too distracting. As was the glide of his legs between and around hers. His powerful body moved nimbly to the beat of the music. He said nothing.

  Arms around his neck for a complicated drag she hadn’t attempted in ages, Sophie felt the puff of his exhalation against her mouth. She blinked rapidly, scenting peppermint on his breath. When she managed to pull her eyes away from his, they dropped to the full, sensual curve of his lower lip. She watched the corners tick up slightly, only really becoming aware that he’d tilted her into a volcado when she realized she’d used her left leg for a series of rapid embellishments she hadn’t done since her competition days.

  The music came to an end as he tipped her back up onto her feet and drew her in close once again. Sophie’s hand was pressed between his shoulder blades. The very edges of his fingertips just barely brushed the curve of her breast. She shuddered, once more raising her eyes to his.

  His head was bent slightly, a lock of dark hair that had come loose during their dance hanging over his forehead. His lips were mere inches from hers. She felt his cool breath against her mouth and trembled, her lashes fluttering. He was bending his lips slowly closer...

  “Hey Soph, I forgot to—” she heard Darren say. She spun around to find him at the entrance, green eyes wide. He shook his head. “Forgot to say goodnight. Goodnight!” He scurried out of the room and was gone before either of them could say anything.

  She had been that close to kissing a stranger after one dance. That was a definite no-no. What had gotten into her? This guy was probably used to asking for a dance and ending up doing the horizontal variety. Not exactly a gentleman. It was time to nip this in the bud. He was obviously expecting her to be a different kind of girl. She took a step back. “Did you just try and kiss me?”

  Henry stepped toward the door and picked up her business card from the table beside the entrance before looking at her. For the millionth time since she had seen him, Sophie admired the sculpted features of his face. “I’d like to dance with you again, but I know I’ve given you a lot to think about. Sleep on it and let me know what you decide when I call tomorrow. One hour, once a week, my place. I’ll pay anything you want.”

  “Henry—”

  “Sleep on it. I’ll call tomorrow for your answer. And thank you.” He stepped toward her. Instead of shaking her hand, he clasped her fingers briefly and bowed low over their intertwined hands before striding out toward reception. In another moment he was gone.

  Sophie sighed. She couldn’t deny that she had enjoyed dancing more, with him, than she had since before her injury. At the same time, nice men didn’t dance like that. Not with women they had just met. The last thing she needed was a man whose interest in her hinged on dancing. She stared at the empty classroom a moment longer, flipped off the lights, and locked the front door. Better not miss the bus.

  Chapter Three

  Her usual seat up front was taken. Sophie made her way slowly to the back, turning to keep her bag from striking anyone’s shoulder. She folded herself into the very last seat and slid against the window, enjoying the view of the city outside. She had fallen in love with New York City while she was a student, and still touring and it was still her favorite place.

  She’d been too far away places while on tour, or for competitions, full of interesting people, foreign food, and strange music. The city seemed to capture some of that exotic energy from all over the world and encapsulate it in microcosm. Sophie smiled at her reflection in the glass. When she missed those wild days of travel, all she had to do was take a bus to Little Tokyo, Brighton Beach, or the Argentinian enclave that was Forest Hills. The thought of Argentina brought to mind tonight’s tango. Not that it had ever completely left.

  And the man. The olive skinned, dark eyed Henry would fit in just fine among the residents of the upscale Queens neighborhood. It was the feel of his hand stroking her side, the strong support of his arms, the heart-pounding rhythm of the dance. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so swept up.

  But that was a lie. She could remember quite well. She just didn’t want to think about Christian. Not today, not ever again. She felt a twinge of pain in her knee and glanced down, surprised to find herself gripping her own thigh with tight fingers. Thoughts of her ex-partner had that effect. She sighed, smoothing the yoga pants down.

  She and Christian had met as part of a company years ago. They had been so young. The tall, sable haired young man with piercing blue eyes had drawn the attention of every woman in the troupe. He’d taken advantage of the attention too. Sophie hadn’t been interested at first. He was a player and she wasn’t the kind to get played. But when she’d left the group to begin competing, Christian was her partner. They had danced together and been lovers for two years before her injury. When it became clear that her knee was never going to recover, he’d left.

 
And now Henry. The strong, sensual stranger had strode into the studio and quite literally swept her off her feet. She hadn’t danced a tango that passionately in longer than she cared to remember. His embrace had been warm, strong, and utterly receptive. They could definitely dance together. But someone who could move like that with a stranger was obviously receptive to many bodies. He was a man who knew what he wanted. “Private lessons” at his place? Any price? There was nothing wrong with a man who knew his desires, but she just wasn’t interested in that kind of arrangement. His forwardness made it easier to say no. By the time the bus reached her stop, she knew what her answer would be when he called the next day.

  ***

  Thirty minutes later she was unlocking her apartment door. She shot a resentful look at the Degas print in the foyer. The Dance Class, of course. A gift from her parents when she opened the studio. They meant well, but she would have rather had L’Absinthe instead.

  She pushed the door shut with her foot, and set her bags on the kitchen counter. The kitchen was her least favorite room in the apartment. It was small and the counters were bright white. Sophie wasn’t sure whether she spent so little time in the kitchen because it was so bare, or if it was so bare because she spent so little time in it. Either way, she much preferred the living room, with its orange-red walls and vintage Parisian ads.

  She stuck the sushi she’d picked up on the walk home in the fridge, kicked off her shoes and headed into the bathroom. There, too, the tile was bright and white. Yet she liked it there, the white offset by her sage and lavender colored towels. What was sterile in the kitchen felt calming here. Sophie turned on the water in the shower and peeled out of her sweaty clothes. She kept her eyes away from the mirror, not wanting to see her disheveled blonde ponytail or the dark circles that were no doubt under her eyes.

  Her body always felt like a run-down machine these days. Best not to look too hard. Well. Not always. She remembered the look on Darren’s face when he’d walked in on her and Henry dancing and wondered how she’d looked to him then. Her cheeks had been hot, no doubt bright with blood. She’d licked her lips, leaving them wet with saliva. And she’d been panting, slightly out of breath from the proximity of the man and the intensity of the dance.

  A woman ravished, or about to be, was how she imagined herself to have looked in that moment. Her body had felt anything but run-down then. More thrumming, aroused, alive. She shivered, recalling the way Henry’s thumb had lightly caressed the very edge of her breast. They felt suddenly heavier now as her nipples tightened to hard points. For all his forwardness, god, he was attractive.

  She stepped beneath the warm spray with her thoughts still humming, tilting her head back and letting the water run down her face and neck. It did nothing to release the tension coiling in her belly. Sophie pushed her wet hair back from her face, sliding her hands down to her neck and rubbing the tense muscles there. Her body wash was orange scented and lovely as she lathered her shoulders and arms.

  Citrus scented suds slid down her torso, coasting on currents of heated water. They clung to her sensitive nipples, and slipped, tickling, across the flat plane of her belly before catching up in the dark brown curls between her legs. Eyes closed, Sophie let her fingers follow the bubbles’ languid path.

  Finally, she allowed her mind to drift back to the dance. The cool tile of the shower became the floor to ceiling window of her studio. Henry pressed her hard against it, mouth and tongue demanding against hers as he kissed her. His left hand snaked beneath her shirt, strong fingers pushing her bra up to release her breast into his palm. He massaged it firmly, rolling her nipple between thumb and forefinger, pinching lightly.

  Sophie gasped at the arrow of pleasure this sent flying straight to her pussy. Her clitoris throbbed in time with his touch. She whimpered at the loud clank of his belt buckle and the rasp of his zipper lowering. Outside, it was dark. Cars whizzed by and it didn’t matter.

  “Hook your leg around me,” he murmured against her lips, urging her thigh up to his hip. She did as he said, hitching her calf around his waist, letting him and the window take her weight. She wrapped her arms around his neck, clinging tightly as he drew out the hard length of his cock and rubbed the satiny head between her slick lips.

  Sophie arched her hips, pressing against him, trying to draw him into her. Henry nipped at her lower lip, teasing her with just the tip, sliding his rigid shaft up and down her slit.

  “Henry, please,” she cried into his mouth, desperate for him to fill her.

  He smiled and she felt his teeth against her lips. “That’s it,” he growled, “beg me.”

  She tugged at his hair, bringing his mouth back to hers, twining her tongue with his. She pressed her breast into his rough palm and rocked her hips, gliding her pussy along the heated expanse of his erection. She begged him with her body.

  He pulled his hand from between them, tangling it in her hair and crashing his mouth hard onto hers as he thrust forward, burying every inch of his rigid flesh deep inside her quivering sex. Henry sucked at her lips and tongue as he moved in and out of her, slowly, powerfully. He twisted his hips on every downstroke, rubbing over her clit and shooting sparks of pleasure into her belly.

  His movements were graceful and fierce, like his dance moves had been. Primal and muscular and sensual.

  Sophie bit her lip, rolling her head to press her cheek against the shower’s cool tile. She kept her eyes squeezed shut, picturing the sexy stranger’s high cheekbones flushed with passion, his dark eyes heavy-lidded as he looked into hers and plunged rhythmically into her. He muttered low, dark words in her ear.

  She swirled her fingers around her clit, spreading her slick moisture over her inflamed sex. She pushed three fingers inside of herself, rubbing the base of her palm in wide circles, pretending it was Henry touching her, Henry inside her. And when he whispered “That’s it, come for me,” she shattered, clenching around her own invading digits.

  Sophie shuddered, every inch of her skin trembling in a tingling wave of orgasm more powerful than anything she’d experienced in a long time. Even the warm, soft fall of the water on her skin seemed to heighten every sensation, shivering through her in pulses of pleasure.

  She collapsed against the shower wall, panting and gasping, unable to do anything but feel the water crash down on her skin for a long moment. When the last sweet aftershocks had subsided, Sophie finished her shower quickly and bundled herself into her robe. Her fantasy about the charming, sexy stranger still lingered as she hurriedly ate her sushi and climbed into bed. When she pulled the covers up, she found she was already hot again. This tall, dark and handsome situation might be more difficult than she thought.

  Chapter Four

  Darren made it until nearly 4 o’clock before asking her about Henry. But his speculative looks had followed her all morning. Sophie’s shoulders ached with tension. Waiting for him to say something was worse than him actually saying something.

  “So,” he began as they warmed up for the afternoon beginner class. “Tall, dark, and gorgeous from last night.” He leaned his thin frame toward his toes and wiggled his eyebrows in curiosity.

  Sophie stretched, groaning slightly at the pull of the tight muscles between her shoulder blades. “Don’t give me that look; he’s just a potential student.”

  “Really? Because it looked like there was potential for some lip locking when I walked in on you guys.”

  She instantly found herself thinking of Henry’s lips opening over hers, of him sucking her tongue and scraping his teeth lightly across its surface. She shook herself free of the image, blinking at Darren and trying to ignore her suddenly hard nipples. “It’s a passionate dance, that’s all.”

  Darren flopped onto the floor, long legs splayed in front of him. “Maybe if you danced like that with me we could get a few more customers in here.”

  “That’s not a bad idea, just start imagining me as that hot boyfriend of yours and we’ll be booked solid for months,” she tease
d before turning to the bar and stretching her back.

  “That hot boyfriend of mine can barely do a two-step, your mystery man could definitely teach him a few things,” he said as he widened his eyes at her in the mirror, awaiting more details. She couldn’t deny that her boiling attraction to Henry had been on her mind since she woke up. From a dream. About Henry.

  She knew he was going to call today. He didn’t seem like a man who would make promises lightly. He’d told her to sleep on his proposal, and she certainly had. Heat flooded her cheeks and her stomach knotted as she considered her options. On the one hand, she desperately wanted to see him again. Her body hadn’t felt this supple and alive in years, and the tingle of sexual awareness was nice.

  On the other hand, being so aware of her body made her think of her knee and what it had cost her; she didn’t want to risk exposing herself again.

  She changed her mind about the sensual Henry and his strange request every second. Private lessons weren’t uncommon, but the usual customers were partners training for a competition or beginners who needed extra help advancing to the next level—and the lessons were always at the studio, never in the student’s home. But Sophie couldn’t exactly justify saying no to the extra income; her business was doing well but, between rent and utilities for both the studio and her apartment, she rarely had spending money lying around.

  Darren’s hand touched hers as he joined her at the bar. She twitched in surprise, jerking her attention back to her friend.

  “Okay, so I know he was drop dead gorgeous in a Latin lover kind of way and all fierce and commanding with the ‘That’s fine, I’ll wait’ business. What else? Spill.” His grin was wide and mischievous.

  She sighed, knowing her friend would keep badgering her until she gave him something. “His name is Henry. He likes to dance.” That’s all she knew, aside from the feel of his hands on her hips and the subtle movement of the muscles in his back as he danced. The press of his hard thigh against the throbbing space between her legs had been a particular highlight. Her mouth went dry and she swallowed hard, turning her face away from Darren.