If he hadn’t just refused a tip I would have thought he was playing me. “You think so?” I whisper back.
He nods and gives me a wink. “By the way, your feet are cute.”
I glance down at my feet and then back at him, still not convinced that he isn’t making fun of me.
“Good luck. I’m pulling for you.”
“Thanks,” I tell him with a smile and close the door. Heidi Klum? I look over at myself in the mirror and see . . . me, bed-head and sleep-rumpled. Still, I feel flattered. I’m smiling until I pull the shoes out of the box. “I’m supposed to dance in these?” I dangle them from my fingertips and look at the cream-colored, high-heeled shoes in horror. “I won’t even be able to walk, much less dance!” There must be some mistake, but then I remember the shoes the dark-haired dancer wore in the video with Rio and I realize that these are indeed dancing shoes.
I examine them for a moment. They’re lightweight and supple—I can see how they might be good for dancing. The heels are fairly high but sturdy and there is an ankle strap as well. Turning them over I run my fingers over the soft leather that’s sort of fuzzy instead of slick. “Makes sense. Maybe I can pull this off.” It’s just that because of my height I’ve always avoided high-heeled shoes, so I’m worried about falling over or twisting an ankle. “Well, if Rio says I have to wear them I might as well break them in.” I slip them on and buckle the ankle strap. Sitting on the bed I stretch my legs out and admire the prettiness of them before taking a deep breath and then standing up.
“Not so bad,” I whisper and decide to parade around the room. Of course I wobble, not to mention that I feel like the Jolly Green Giant! The heels are a good three inches, putting me over six feet tall. I walk in circles, barely getting my balance, when the hotel phone rings, making me just about jump out of my skin. I teeter over to the nightstand. “Hello?”
“Abby, it’s Rio. Did you get the shoes?” The low, sexy sound of his voice makes me feel all fluttery. “Abby?”
“Oh . . . yes, I got them.”
“Do they fit?”
“Like a glove.”
“Good. Wear them to practice but nowhere else, okay? They’re strictly for dancing.”
“Gotcha.” Lord, like I’d wear these things anywhere else.
“Oh, and wear shorts or a skirt instead of those bulky pants you wore this morning. They’ll be easier to move in.”
“Okay. Anything else?”
“No, I’ll see you in thirty minutes.”
Thirty minutes! I glance over at my pile of stuff in horror. “Okay, if I were shorts just where would I be?” Of course the last duffel bag that I look into is where I find a couple of pairs. I didn’t really think to pack summer clothes since it’s February, so a pair of cutoff jeans is the best I can do.
So off I go in my Daisy Dukes, white T-shirt, and dancing shoes. What a redneck picture I’m painting, I think as I try to hurry down the hallway. It’s not until I’m in the doorway of the rehearsal room that I remember that I shouldn’t be wearing the danged shoes. I spot Rio at the other end of the room sorting through CDs and I’m thinking that I can slip the shoes off before getting caught, but of course he looks up and sees me. I give him a weak little wave of my fingers and try not to look guilty. As luck would have it, bad luck, that is, the first thing he does is look down at my feet.
“You’re wearing the shoes. I told you that they’re strictly for dancing.”
Think fast. “Well, I danced all the way here . . . the cha-cha, of course. I even did the Cuban hip thing.”
He looks at me to see if I’m kidding or serious and I try to keep a deadpan expression so he can’t figure it out. I’m good at deadpan . . . learned how in high school so that no one knew when my feelings were hurt. I wore a deadpan expression a lot.
“Interesting that you didn’t even break a sweat dancing all the way from the other end of the lodge.”
“I’m in pretty good shape.”
His telltale eyebrow goes up and he doesn’t even try to stop it. “Really? We’ll see about that.”
I look at him closely to see if he’s teasing. Nope, I think not. “I’m up for the challenge,” I bravely boast with a lift of my chin but then wobble a bit, ruining the effect.
“Very well,” Rio says while he walks into the center of the room. He motions for me to join him. “So, show me this hip motion you’re so proud of.”
“I didn’t exactly say I was proud of it . . .” I warn him.
Folding his hands across his chest, he says, “Show me.”
I give my hips a tentative little wiggle.
“Surely, you jest.”
I’m pretty sure that jest means joke. “All righty, then.” I do another Cuban hip motion and this time I put some serious sway in it. He has the nerve to snicker. I narrow my eyes and—
“Stop!”
“Excuse me?”
“You look ridiculous.”
“These were the only shorts I could find.”
“Not that. I can deal with the shorts. It’s your hip motion that . . .”
“Sucks?”
“I was going to say needs work.” His lips twitch and for a moment I think he might actually smile but then he catches himself and gives me his scowl that somehow manages to be sexy. Everything the man does is sexy.
I purse my lips. “Well then, show me, Mr. Fancy Pants.” I put my hands on my hips and tap one foot. Oh . . . I suppose I should drop the attitude. What is it about this guy that brings out the bitch in me?
“Ah, good.” He takes me completely off guard with a grin.
“What?”
“You’re giving me some spunk, some emotion. That’s what we need for this dance. Cheeky is good, Abby.”
“Cheeky?” I twist my head and look down at my tush. Nope, my cheeks are covered . . . barely, but they are covered. “Right,” I say with a little head bop like I knew what I was doing all along.
He smiles like he’s on to me.
“Okay, I give. What is cheeky, exactly?”
“Mischievous, flirty. A bit of an attitude.”
“Oh, sure, good. That’s what I was goin’ for. Cheeky.”
“Excellent. You’ve done your homework. Keep it up. Let’s get some music going.” Rio heads over to a boom box and turns on some Latin music that has the distinct cha-cha-cha rhythm. He comes back to stand very close to me . . . so close that I catch a whiff of his cologne, and as always my heart does a little pitter-patter. “Okay, Abby. Move your feet apart and settle into your hips.”
I don’t really know what this means but I move my hips a bit like I’m settling or whatever.
“Now bend your right knee and then straighten up.”
I do this and he nods. “Okay, do the other hip but more like this.”
After he demonstrates I try to imitate his sultry movements but I teeter in the danged shoes.
“Again. Relax a bit. You’re much too stiff.”
“Okay.” I bend and straighten but he shakes his head.
“Let me help. ” With a sigh Rio places his hands on either side of my hips. “Step right,” he tells me and guides my movements with his hands. I’m trying to concentrate, really, but he’s so close! His fingers are curved around to my ass and his hips are moving in a very suggestive way with me getting me, well, all fired up and flustered.
“Abby, concentrate!”
“I’m tryin’!”
“Just do what I’m doing. It’s simple.”
“Easy for you to say,” I grumble but he ignores me.
“Step, rock. Feel the music. Come, close your eyes and let your hips sway.” His accent is getting thicker, so I know that I’m frustrating him. Well, he’s frustrating me too . . . just in a very different way. “Are you feeling it?”
“Oh . . . yeah,” I admit and I’m a bit embarrassed when my voice is breathless.
“Step, rock,” he says close to my ear, making a tingle go all the way to my dancing shoes. “Other foot, step, rock. That’s it. Good
. Yes, much better.”
“Really?” I open my eyes but then ruin the moment when I wobble and lose my balance. He catches me firmly around the waist and keeps me from twisting an ankle. “Sorry, it’s the shoes.”
He gives me a deadpan yeah, right look but says, “You’ll get used to them. Now close your eyes again, Abby, and just let your body move with the music. Feel the rhythm.”
I try to forget that a handsome, sexy male is standing so very close and force myself to concentrate on the music. It’s difficult but after a few minutes my dancing becomes more in sync with the beat and I begin to feel more at ease. My body relaxes and my movements become more fluid. I’m not sure how long we do this, but it feels good and I like it.
“Okay, much, much better, Abby!”
I give him a shy smile. “Really?” Until now I hadn’t realized how much I wanted to please him.
“Yes, now let’s get into the closed position and put the hip motion with the basic steps that we learned earlier.”
“Can I open my eyes, Obi-Wan Kenobi?”
He chuckles so I guess he gets the joke, or then again maybe he just thinks I’m a little off center. “Yes. Now let me count into the beat. Okay . . . step, rock, cha, cha, cha. Just follow my lead and let the music take over.”
I stumble at first and groan. “Sorry, Rio. I’m such a klutz.”
“After a few days of doing the same steps and the same sequence over and over you will have what we call muscle memory. It will be almost impossible to mess up.”
“Oh, then you don’t know me that well.”
“No, not yet.” He chuckles, low and oh so sexy, in my ear and of course I miss a beat.
“Time for a break,” he abruptly announces and it might be my imagination but I think I hear a bit of huskiness in his voice as well. Is my nearness affecting him just a tiny bit?
I dance my way over to the water bottles as a joke but when I turn around to see if Rio’s entertained, my heart kicks it up a notch. I do think that he was checking out my jean-clad ass.
“You have legs meant for dancing.”
“I—I do?” I swallow hard.
He nods and gives my legs a once-over, but I’m disappointed when I suddenly feel like less of a woman in his eyes and more of a dancing machine. I realize that his interest is purely from a teacher’s point of view and not male appreciation.
“What?” He frowns at me. “You’re looking at me as if I’ve insulted you.”
“Oh, no . . . not at all,” I fib with a wave of my hand. I’m good at lying about my feelings. “I’m just surprised. Of course these long legs excited the high school basketball coach, but he was sorely disappointed in my performance and cut me.”
“I have more faith in you than that.”
“Well, as it is you’re stuck with me.”
He smiles and my heart turns over. “Not such a bad thing, Abby Harper. Give yourself some credit.”
My throat closes up with unexpected emotion and I turn away and take a swig of water to hide it.
“Did I say something wrong?” He comes up close behind me and I turn around, hoping that I’ll maintain my composure. Not trusting my voice, I simply shake my head. “Tell me, Abby.”
I inhale a shaky breath and set my water bottle down. “What am I doin’ here, Rio? I’m just a small-town waitress . . .” I’m mortified when a tear slides from the corner of my eye and down my cheek.
With a shake of his head as if to clear it he mutters, “El bebé no llora.”
I don’t know what he said but it sure sounded nice even though he might have just said shut the hell up. Why are foreign languages so much sexier than English? I’m touched when he wipes the tear away with his thumb. Then to my utter surprise Rio lowers his head and brushes his mouth across mine. He pulls back slightly and I think he means to end the brief contact, but with a low groan he suddenly captures my mouth in a head-swimming kiss.
8
The Rut Is Officially Over
The touch of Rio’s tongue to mine sends liquid fire through my veins and I wrap my arms around his neck to steady my trembling legs. He pushes me back against the cool wall and kisses me with a wild, hot hunger that has me melting. I thread my fingers through his hair and press my body to his, crushing my breasts against his chest. In my heels we are almost the same height, making his hard body mold to mine in all the right places. I move sensually against him, making desire flare and begin to build. Rio moans and kisses me even more deeply.
I’ve never been kissed like this . . . with so much heat and passion. When he tugs on my bottom lip with his teeth a warm ripple spreads out to my fingertips and down to my toes. Then his moist lips, hot mouth, discover the sensitive side of my neck and with a soft sigh I angle my head to give him better access.
Needing to feel his bare skin, I tug his silky shirt from his pants and then slide my hands up his back, loving the supple ripple of muscle beneath my palms. “My God, Rio . . .” My voice doesn’t even sound like my own and I’m wondering how I suddenly became this sultry, sex kitten. It occurs to me that I’ve really blown my being in a rut all to hell in very short order. I chuckle at the thought and even that sounds low, sexy, and inviting . . . Wow, who knew that this could be so easy?
But then Rio suddenly goes very still and I’m thinking that maybe my laughter must have been a mood killer. “Rio . . .” I begin but he shakes his head and then takes a giant step back.
“¿Mi Dios, qué hago yo?” he mutters as he threads his long fingers through his hair.
I don’t know what that meant but it didn’t sound good. I’m really gonna have to invest in a Spanish dictionary. He looks confused and I’m thinking vulnerable. “Rio?” With my hand outstretched I start to close the distance between us but he stops me in my tracks when that damned eyebrow shoots up.
“Well,” he begins in a smooth and emotionless tone that is void of all the earlier heat. “That was a plus.”
“What?” Color me confused.
“There’s a bit of a spark.”
A bit? More like an inferno. I know I’m blinking at him in total confusion but I can’t help it.
“We’ll need that passion in our routine. Now that I know you can pull it off we’ll use it to our advantage.”
My heart plummets to my toes like a fast-moving elevator making my stomach lurch. “So, that was a little . . . test?”
He avoids looking at me but says, “Yes, and you passed with flying colors. Good for you. Now let’s put some of that heat into the cha-cha. What do you say?”
I open my mouth to say just what I’m thinking of him and his little test but I’m so pissed that all that comes out my mouth is a feeble sputter. I want to put some of that heat into a slap right across his handsome face. Okay, I’ve never even come close to slapping a guy before . . . not even in the diner when Cooter Buckthorn pinched my butt, but boy oh boy, I’m thinking that a loud smack would be mighty satisfying right about now.
This isn’t the first time that I’ve been made a fool of by a guy, but for some reason this one really has me seeing red. While I’m thinking maybe a swift punch in the nose might be an excellent follow-up to the slap Rio points a small remote at the boom box, turning on the music. “Do you remember the basic steps from this morning?” he asks smoothly as he takes me into the closed position. Maybe he wouldn’t be so calm if he knew he was about to get his butt kicked. One, two, slap, slap, punch.
“Of course,” I tell him in a clipped tone while racking my brain to recall the first sequence. Slide basic, cross over, walk around, underarm turn . . . or was it the open break? And do I go right or left in the solo turn?
“Now remember that the dance is a sexual pantomime. I’m seducing you and you’re pushing me away.”
“No problem,” I tell him through gritted teeth but if he notices my sarcasm he chooses to ignore it. In fact, I’m so ticked off that I dance to the music while following his lead without even thinking about the steps because I’m so busy fumin
g. I guess there’s something to the muscle memory theory. My anger makes my steps short and crisp, but despite my anger I still have to try my damnedest not to be affected by his nearness, the heat of his body, and the possessive feel of his hand on my back. When he cha-cha-cha-chases me I retreat with a haughty lift of my chin and fire in my eyes. I wouldn’t be surprised if smoke was curling out of my ears.
Take that, Rio Martin. Ha.
“Abby, stop.” He ceases dancing and mutes the music with the remote that was in his front pocket.
Oh, so that’s what that was. I was wondering. “What?”
“This isn’t the tango.”
“I know that.” This means nothing to me but I nod. “Your point?”
“You need to be bubbly . . . flirt with me. Tease.”
I look down at my fancy shoes that are beginning to hurt and shrug my shoulders. Just when I was feeling proud of my dancing he has to go and ruin my moment. Hanging my head I say rather glumly, “I’m not very good at flirting.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
I snap my head up at his tone. “Why do you say that?”
“Look at you,” he says with a wave of his hand. “Surely you have to fight guys off with a stick. Those legs alone are enough to—”
When he suddenly ceases my heart begins to pound. “To what?”
“Oh, come on, Abby.” He sounds a little irritated. “What game are we playing? You must know your appeal.”
I laugh without humor. “My appeal? Rio, my whole life I’ve been a gangly, clumsy geek. I’ve never even had a steady boyfriend. And I don’t know how to play games unless you count poker, which I’m pretty good at, but I don’t think that’s what you mean.”
Rio frowns at me for a second. “Are you serious?”
“As a heart attack.”
“Come on. You look like you should have been . . . what do they call it? . . . prom queen or whatever.”
“Didn’t even get asked to go.” I chew on the inside of my lip and then blink away the moisture burning behind my eyes. “Doesn’t matter anymore but it still hurts to be played like a fool.”
“Abby, I wasn’t playing you for a fool. About before—”
Dancing Shoes and Honky-Tonk Blues Page 8
