One Last Dance

by Angela Stephens

  She blinked in surprise at his sudden shift of topic. Her eyes flitted to the dance floor, where Nicole still draped over Henry like a scarf. A scarf with bad rhythm. Then her gaze slid to Carl, unsure. This hadn’t been part of her plan.

  He gave her a little nod of encouragement and reached for her wineglass. “Go on,” he murmured under his breath. “Let him see you in someone else’s arms.” He winked.

  “I thought you were his friend,” she whispered back with a little smile. Carl pressed her gently toward Phillip.

  “I am. Which is why I’m doing this.”

  Sophie turned to Phillip and extended her hand to his. “I’d love to.”

  He drew her out onto the dance floor with a sure step, but Sophie still began cautiously, feeling him out. She almost sighed in relief as he moved with grace and precision. He wasn’t competition good, but he was very good.

  Phillip rested his right hand politely on her shoulder blade as they moved to the music. She flicked a microscopic look at Henry from the corner of her eye. He’d definitely noticed her. His dark brows were angled down toward his nose. Nicole’s eyes were narrowed to razor slits. Sophie turned her attention back to Army and smiled. He chuckled.

  “Henry doesn’t look very pleased to see you dancing with me.”

  Another flush stole into her cheeks. “He might not be pleased to see me, period. We had a bit of a disagreement yesterday.”

  “Ahh.” It was just the one word, and yet, from it Sophie got the impression that Phillip White understood her situation. Or at least the basics of it. The twinkle in his eyes was understanding now. “And you came tonight to try and smooth things over?”

  “No. Yes. Or... well, not exactly.” She’d come here to prove something to herself. And to Nicole. And to give herself and Henry the chance to possibly fix things.

  Phillip executed a rather dramatic turn, spinning her with him, making her skirt flare around her thighs. “I see. Taking a risk, aren’t you?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “He’s watching us pretty intently.” Phillip swept her around again so she could see for herself.

  Sure enough, Henry was watching them, brow furrowed. Sophie saw his gaze drift to Carl, obviously guessing who she’d come with. Carl toasted his friend. Henry’s scowl deepened. The music ended with a sweet flourish. Nicole tugged on his arm, trying to draw him off the dance floor, back to Jorge’s side.

  Phillip released his hold on her, stepping back. “It was a pleasure, Miss Becker. Best of luck with Henry.”

  “Thank you, Phillip.” She touched his wrist gently in thanks. He was a nice guy. He gave her that cheeky grin again.

  Sophie forced herself not to hurry to Henry’s side. Instead, she strode purposefully toward the orchestra as they shifted between songs. A word in the ear of the band leader and he nodded with a smile.

  Now it was time to face Henry. Her heart performed an extended batterie as she moved across the floor to him. Despite Nicole’s tugging and hissed words—Sophie could see the other woman speaking with clenched teeth, though she couldn’t hear what she was saying—Henry was still standing on the dance floor, watching Sophie approach him.

  “Henry.” Sophie’s stomach joined the internal dance recital with a rapid flip, but she deserved straight tens for how calm her voice was. It didn’t even shake, though it was slightly breathy with her nerves.

  “Sophie.” The word held so many different shades of emotion that she couldn’t identify any of them. Was he happy to see her? Angry? Sad? His eyes were dark and unreadable. But his lips curved upward the tiniest bit. That made Sophie’s mouth respond in kind.

  Very deliberately, Sophie extend her hand, palm up. “Dance with me.” Her words echoed his, that first day he’d walked into her studio and told her he’d been compelled to ask her to dance. Would he remember?

  “We were just...” Nicole began, eyes spitting sparks, but her venomous voice trailed off as Henry slipped his big hand into Sophie’s.

  The timing couldn’t have been any more perfect. The first notes of the music swelled as she stepped backward, drawing Henry toward her. The rhythm was slow, but she recognized the song. It wouldn’t stay that way long. She bit her lip to keep from gasping as his arm slid around her waist.

  A shock of awareness ran through Sophie’s blood at the feel of his hand on the small of her back. Even through her dress, her body seemed to understand instinctively the importance of the return of his touch.

  She couldn’t resist the urge to slide her hand up to the nape of his neck and brush the hair there. A muscle in Henry’s square jaw jumped. His hand pressed her a little tighter against him. Her breath caught in her throat.

  Then they began to move. It was the way it always was with Henry. She lost herself in his eyes, in the feeling of being pressed to his muscled body, in the throb of the music around them.

  Yet, this was different. This time was so much more important. This was about more than just the dance, more even than sex. For Sophie, this was about showing Henry how she felt. Words were one thing, and she would give them to him if he gave her the chance. But she could tell him this way, even if he didn’t allow her to talk.

  The music’s tempo began to build. She was glad she’d warmed up a bit with Phillip. Her body moved easily and fluidly into the more complicated steps of the tango. And, of course, Henry knew just how to lead her.

  Her hips twisted through ochos, swinging the fabric of her skirt, the tulle brushing her legs sensuously. She kicked her left leg up high, caressing Henry’s thigh with hers. His nostrils flared slightly and Sophie couldn’t help but grin wider. It was nice to know her touch still affected him too. Whatever their tangled feelings were, their bodies knew what they wanted.

  Henry’s thigh was hard between hers as his feet slid over the polished wood of the dance floor with a soft shushing sound. Sophie pushed everything but Henry out of her mind. It wasn’t hard. This close to him, it was hard to think of anything else.

  His thumb traced small circles on the small of her back. Was he doing that on purpose? It felt as if he was striking matches against her skin, pleasure flaring with each stroke.

  The song grew faster and their movements echoed its rhythm, speeding up. He tilted her suddenly off axis, away from him, but Sophie’s body didn’t jerk or tense. He wasn’t going to let her fall. Her heart never even quavered.

  She wasn’t disappointed. He swept around her and then righted her, moving through the simple basic eight formation for a few steps before once again tilting her, forward this time. Sophie kept her body straight but supple as Henry dragged her against him. The sweet tension in Sophie’s body translated perfectly to the dance.

  Chin up, breath coming raggedly as they whirled and twisted, Sophie licked her lips. She put everything she had into the tap of her toe, the tautness of her frame, the swing of her leg. She spoke to Henry with each step.

  Amagues, caricias, pasada, lustrada, toque.

  I’m sorry, I should have listened, I know you didn’t tell Nicole about my accident.

  His body seemed to be speaking to her as well, but Sophie was unsure of what he was trying to convey. Or rather, she was afraid the passion she was sensing, the joy at having her back in his arms, the eagerness to try again, was just her reading him wrong. She was afraid her hope that that’s how he would feel was coloring her perception.

  Whether or not she was receiving his non-verbal signals correctly, they still moved together beautifully. They always did. Whatever tension was between them, whatever mistakes and misunderstandings, they were never off here on the dance floor.

  Their heads and hearts might stumble, but their bodies never seemed to. They glided over the smooth floor like water, rippling and swirling. Sophie’s heart thundered in her chest. She could feel it beating in every vein, every artery, every capillary. Her body throbbed with the music, with Henry’s nearness.

  It had never been like this. Not with anyone. Not even with Christian. Every particle
of her being was focused on Henry, the music flowing through him into her. This was what she’d always loved about dance, this feeling. She’d never experienced it with another person as intensely as this.

  Looking into Henry’s eyes, she thought he could feel it too. His dark gaze blazed into hers, leaping like black flame. Sophie could swear she felt his heart beating against her chest, just as frantic as hers.

  It took her more than a full minute to realize that the music had faded and the thunderous thump ringing in her ears were cheers and applause. It had been years since she’d heard it. She blinked, readjusting her focus from the press of Henry’s body along the length of hers, the inky fire in his eyes, and the pulse of the music, to the room around them.

  Carl was whistling, long fingers pressed against his lower lip. Army McCullough’s small, pudgy hands were clapping resoundingly, his palms a pink blur. Sophie grinned, only just realizing that everyone had cleared off the dance floor, leaving her and Henry alone on the smooth, wood surface. When had that happened?

  Nicole and Jorge, of course, were both scowling as if Sophie had had the poor taste to strip in the middle of the cocktail party. She slid her gaze back to Henry’s face, her fingers squeezed his shoulder. His lashes swept down, that muscle in his jaw jumping again. His voice was slightly strangled.

  “Sophie, what you said the other day—”

  She pressed her fingers to his lips. “No. Not here. I just... I wanted to ask you to dance for once, to give to you what you gave back to me.”

  His lips parted beneath her fingers. She resisted the urge to stroke them just barely. She shook her head. “I want to talk. You know where to find me.”

  Sophie lifted her hand, touched his jaw briefly, and strode away. She smiled, dipping her head in acknowledgement of the applause, making her way toward the door. Carl caught her eye and winked. He gave her a thumbs up.

  She hoped his optimism wasn’t unfounded. She’d taken the first step. Now she had to wait and see how Henry reacted.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  The classroom called to her. Sophie had been planning to wait and see if Henry followed, to be calm and cool and collected when he arrived, sitting at her small desk and smiling.

  But there was too much energy pumping through her body. She rummaged through the office, glad to find a spare pair of the soft, stretchy black pants she wore to teach class and a worn yellow T-shirt from the last Tango World Cup she’d gone to. Sophie struggled out of the gorgeous red dress and laid it reverently aside to return to Carl.

  She wasn’t entirely sure how the comic had gotten his hands on a designer dress on such short notice, but clearly Carl Barrett was a good man to know.

  “Let’s just hope he knows what he’s talking about when it comes to his best friend.” Her voice was loud in the quiet studio, despite her murmur. Henry’s reaction was... puzzling, to say the least. She’d expected anger—she had said some hurtful things the last time they spoke, and falsely accused him of betraying her confidences—or maybe happiness to see her again. What had he meant when he said “You don’t know how much those words hurt me” over the phone? Did that have anything to do with it?

  Aside from his initial surprise at seeing her, and the silent communication of his body that Sophie was unwilling to trust just yet, he’d been remarkably quiet. That wasn’t like Henry. He’d been reserved in the past, but never to the point of near silence.

  Sophie wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or a bad one, and she was too anxious to sit quietly and wait. Her body was still warm and thrumming from their dance, her mind whirling with possibilities.

  Feet bare, she padded into the large from classroom and flipped on some of the lights. Not all of them, but just enough to shed a dim glow in the center of the long, rectangular room. Though laid out differently, it was not all that unlike the big classroom at Miss Clara’s, Sophie realized.

  Echoes of her past, even here.

  Just like she’d done in the abandoned building, Sophie began to dance. This time she moved to the rhythm of the tango with a shadow partner, the darkness swirling around her bending and swaying form. She recalled every turn and step of her dance with Henry vividly.

  Even if he didn’t come... even if she’d burned that bridge too badly with her harsh indictments and refusal to listen... she would never forget that dance. That feeling had been why she’d fallen in love with dance to begin with, and she vowed never to let it get away from her again.

  Whatever else Henry had or hadn’t done, he’d given that back to her. She would be forever grateful. She smiled at her invisible dance partner, picturing Henry’s strong jawed face, so handsome and stern with the daring glimmer in his dark eyes.

  A sharp pain seized her heart. It had been more than half an hour since she’d left Carl and Henry at the gallery, and he still wasn’t here. Perhaps her violent rejection of his words on the phone had driven him into Nicole’s arms after all. Maybe he wasn’t willing to take another chance. Could she really blame him?

  It had been little more than a day since she’d told him to leave her alone, and then she showed up at one of his fancy functions, danced with him as if he were the only man on Earth, and left. The plan had seemed like a good one in her head.

  Words were one thing, but actions were another. She’d wanted to show Henry—and Nicole, too—that she wasn’t just going to go away. She wasn’t just going to react anymore. She’d been doing that for too long. Now, Sophie was acting. She couldn’t control Nicole’s actions, or Henry’s. Only hers.

  Still, he couldn’t read her mind. Perhaps he hadn’t understood what she’d been trying to say.

  Well, if he wanted to know, he would have come. She’d done what she’d come back to the city to do. That, at least, would be one less regret for her to carry around.

  From the bench of the piano, her cell phone rang. She’d been surprised to see the small upright. Darren must have wheeled it out for one of the classes while she was away. Sophie couldn’t play, but he did.

  “Hello?” She swiped a trickle of sweat from her neck, surprised by how hard she’d been pushing.

  “You’re answering the phone, so things didn’t go as well as you’d hoped.” Darren’s tone was droll. She could hear the curved brow in it.

  Sophie sat on the piano bench with a sigh and touched soft fingers to the keys. “Too little, too late, I’m afraid. I don’t know what I expected.” She heard Wayne murmuring in the background but couldn’t catch his words. Darren’s response was soft and sympathetic.

  “Did he say anything?”

  “I didn’t give him much of a chance. Maybe this was all a terrible idea. I just thought—”

  The soft thunk of the door closing cut off Sophie’s words. She looked up from the piano keys and directly into Henry’s shadowed face. He wasn’t smiling. But he was here. He stood in the doorway, his tuxedo coat open, his bow tie loose at his throat, his hands in his pockets. The dark wave of his hair looked black as ink above his broad forehead.

  “I have to go, Dar.” She hung up without hearing if he responded and set the phone on top of the piano.

  Sophie got slowly to her feet, her gaze intent on Henry’s face. His eyes didn’t waver from her either, though he was too far away for her to read the expression in them.

  “I wasn’t sure you would come.” She took a few steps toward him. Henry’s lips twitched slightly. A smile? A grimace? Sophie couldn’t say.

  “I wasn’t sure I was coming either, to be honest. Things are... complicated, Sophie.”

  A cold finger touched her heart, but Sophie squared her shoulders. “Then why did you? Why are you here, if you’re not sure you want to be?”

  Now his lips did curve upward, though this close Sophie could see that the smile didn’t quite touch his eyes. He inclined his head.

  “I saw you through the window, and I felt compelled.”

  The first time he’d come into her studio, he’d said much the same thing. Sophie’s breath caught
. Hope flared in her chest. Did this mean he was willing to start over? That’s what she wanted, the chance to begin again, without the scandal looming over their heads, forcing their hands. She wanted to get to know Henry, see if what they had was as potent with potential as she’d felt that day before Nicole’s words had torn down all her carefully built sandcastles of hope.

  Sophie took the final step to close the distance between them, lifting her hands to his lapels. “Henry —”

  “Sophie, wait.” His hands came up to cover hers, gentle and warm. He cleared his throat, a pained expression tightening the skin around his eyes. “I need to say... I need to say I’m sorry.”

  “No, you don’t! I know it wasn’t you who told Nicole about my accident. And that stuff in the tabloids... It’s just nonsense. Isn’t it?” She bit her lip. She believed Carl, and yet she wanted to hear it from Henry’s own lips.

  His head dipped in a short nod. “Of course it is. Even if I was inclined to get back together with Nicole, which I am not, I would never do it that way. I...” He swallowed audibly, dropping her hands and turned to stalk the length of the classroom. He shoved on hand through his thick hair. “I care about you, Sophie.”

  “Henry,” Sophie began, a smile warming her lips. But the flat, taut expression on his face as he lifted his gaze to hers stopped it from spreading.

  “Let me finish, Sophie. I,” he cleared his throat. “I care about you too much to keep seeing you. This... thing between us, all it does it bring you pain. I can’t seem to help but hurt people... hurt you. And I can’t keep doing it. It would be best for everyone, I think, if this is the last time we speak.”

  His lips were turned down into a rictus, dark eyes flat and bleak. Sophie shook her head. Ice flowed through Sophie’s veins at his words. She’d known, deep down, that there was a possibility she wouldn’t be seeing Henry again after this night. So much had happened between them in such a short time, there was always the chance that whatever they had was beyond salvage.