by Alexis Daria
Gina’s producer cupped his hands around his mouth and called out, “Tell her why you’re joining the show.”
Oh, right. What the hell was he supposed to say again? They’d told him not to mention the money, but it was the only reason he’d agreed to this dance business. If his mother didn’t owe an exorbitant amount in medical bills, he would have turned it down. His parents made a good amount from Living Wild, but they’d already been in debt before his mother’s procedure, and he’d feel better all around if he could help them reach financial stability.
“I’m joining The Dance Off for my mom.” Stone cleared his throat and recited the lines his producers had crafted. “She had a hip replacement last year. It was scary for all of us, and it would make her happy to see me dancing and having an experience totally different from everything we know.”
He winced. The lines sounded unnatural. He just wasn’t any good at these canned responses.
Gina pressed a hand to his arm. “I’m so sorry. Is she better now?”
Her concerned expression seemed genuine, but it was impossible to know for certain in the world of reality TV. Stone nodded, not sure how else to answer.
“That was great,” Gina’s producer shouted. “Keep going.”
God, this was weird. After four years, he should have been used to having normal human interactions dictated by committee, but he wasn’t. It was still bizarre. And he’d been out of the game so long, hiding away in this little corner of Alaska, he barely knew how to make small talk with a woman.
On the porch, Gina unzipped her coat and shrugged it off, revealing jeans and a heavy gray sweater that accentuated her shape. She was curvier than he expected, with a strong, solid build. Maybe he wouldn’t break her after all.
The thought took his mind down another path that had nothing to do with dancing. Stone cut it off at the pass. She was his dance partner—nothing else. A Hollywood girl from the land of smog, traffic, and fake people. They were from different worlds, and he had no business thinking about her as anything other than a means to an end. They would dance, he’d collect his paycheck, and then he’d return home to Alaska. End of story.
Gina shivered as she draped the coat over the porch railing. Maybe it would be easier for her to dance without it, but she didn’t look like the kind of woman who liked to be uncomfortable. “Aren’t you going to be cold?”
She rubbed her bare hands together to warm them. “I’ll manage.”
He hooked his thumbs through the loops on his jeans. If she’d put on the coat, he could stop worrying about her well-being. “It’s a bit colder here than in Los Angeles.”
“True, but I’m from New York, which has four seasons.” When she turned around, she gave his bare chest a once-over. “You’re one to talk. Aren’t you cold?”
He shrugged. He was, but he’d survive.
“So.” She braced her hands on her hips. “Have you ever danced before?”
“Not really.” His brothers Reed and Wolf were the party animals, the boisterous ones. Stone was the strong one. The quiet one. The serious one. It even said so on the Living Wild website, under his photo: “Stone is strong, quiet, and serious.” Still, in a family of seven kids, birth order mattered. They’d been locked into their roles long before the show aired on TV. Maybe if his older brother Reed hadn’t turned out to be such a screw-up, Stone could have loosened up a little. But once again, he was putting family first. Right now, that involved embarrassing himself in front of a gorgeous woman. “Um, but I can learn,” he added.
“Don’t worry, I’m a good teacher.” Gina flashed him that grin again, the wide, toothy one that almost made him forget about the cameras. Almost. “Besides, everyone has danced in some form or another.”
“Only if you count clapping and stomping while my brother Winter plays the fiddle.”
“The fiddle?” Gina snorted, covering her mouth with one hand.
At least she was laughing about the fiddle and not Winter’s name, like most people did. And she hadn’t batted an eyelash when he’d told her his name was Stone, so that was a point in her favor.
Gina recovered without any further comments about the fiddle. “Yes, clapping and stomping do count, because they require a connection to the music.”
“Don’t we need music now?” When he crossed his arms over his chest, her gaze followed the movement. It took everything he had not to say, Hey, lady, my eyes are up here. The producers would love it, which was all the reason he needed to hold back. Besides, teasing suggested intimacy, and they were still strangers.
“Not yet. I’m going to give you some pointers on frame and hold.” She moved closer, invading his personal space without a Do you mind? He didn’t mind, though. She smelled nice. Sweet and earthy.
This was already over his head and they’d barely begun. “What does that mean?”
“In ballroom dance, the man leads. He creates a frame with his body for the woman to dance within.”
She poked and prodded at his shoulders, spine, and jaw, positioning him like a mannequin. It reminded him of the few photo shoots he’d done and every time the PAs prepped him for filming. There was no way to make it in show business if you minded being touched by strangers. But it was different with Gina. Her touch was strong and sure, and her cool fingers left a trail of fire and goosebumps in their wake.
She lifted his elbow, then pressed down on his shoulder when he raised it too high. As she circled him, the camera operators—hers and his—swarmed in the corners of the porch. This footage would wind up on both TV shows.
“If you’re the pro,” he said, doing his best to hold the position she put him in, “how am I supposed to lead you?”
She ducked her head under his arm, embarrassingly close to his armpit, and peered up at him with an impish smile. “I’ll teach you.” Her palm rested on his lower back, his skin growing warmer where they touched. Better to focus on the potential for embarrassment, not her closeness, her scent, or the way her shiny hair slipped over her shoulder. And definitely not her hands on him or how much more touching they’d have to do.
“And we’re expected to have our first dance ready in three weeks?” Even to his own ears, his tone was skeptical.
“We’ll be ready.”
“Assuming I don’t break your toes first.”
She stifled a laugh. “You won’t.”
“And after the premiere we only have one week for each rehearsal.”
“Uh-huh.”
Now he didn’t need to distract himself. Panic threatened, and he let out a slow breath. This was a fool’s errand. He should stay in Alaska and call the whole thing off. But no, that wasn’t an option. The contracts had been signed. Barring an injury, he was locked in.
Easing back, Gina looked him up and down, then nodded. “You’ll do.” Before he could prepare himself, she stepped into his arms.
She was right. Even though she was a foot shorter than he was, when she rested her left arm on his and took his other hand, she fit perfectly into the frame he created.
In hold, her shoulders dropped, her neck elongated, and she tilted her head at a precise angle. For the first time since she’d entered the clearing, it was obvious she was a dancer.
Stone’s heart pounded. Suddenly, he didn’t feel so cold anymore. From the rise and fall of her chest, she was breathing fast, too.
“This is the hold we use for the waltz.” Despite the elegance of her pose, her direct, authoritative tone didn’t change. “Do you know anything about the waltz?”
He hadn’t expected a pop quiz. “Um, it’s old?”
She grinned. “Well, yeah. It’s the oldest of the current ballroom dances. It’s a romantic dance, slower and more emotional than, say, a samba, which is a fast Latin dance.”
Dread skittered along his spine at the thought. “Are we going to have to do that one, too?”
“Not for the first week.”
His muscles locked, afraid to ruin the hold, afraid she would make him move in some
way. His mind supplied the image of him falling, crushing her, and both of them tumbling down the steps.
He swallowed hard. Why had he agreed to this? Wasn’t one reality show enough?
Oh, right. The money.
“Relax.” She gave his shoulder a brisk pat. “You’ve already nailed the hold. All you have to do is step and turn.” She nudged him in a way that jostled him into motion. Counting the steps, she led him in a circle, then stopped.
He waited for her to do something else. She didn’t. “Was that it?”
“That was it.” She smiled. “Good work.”
He narrowed his eyes. “It can’t be that easy.”
“It’s not. But that was the basic step. The Viennese waltz is a series of rotations, interspersed with change steps and a few others.”
“If it’s so simple, how do we make our waltz look different from everyone else’s?”
Gina threw her head back and laughed full out. Underneath all the makeup and perfect hair, the sparkle in her eye and exuberance in her laugh struck him like a kick to the gut. Despite the cold, sweat tickled the back of his neck.
When she caught her breath, she gave his hand a squeeze. “You leave that to me, mountain man. Come on, let’s do one more, the other way this time.”
The camera operators scrambled out of the way as she led him through another turn. The boom mic bobbed over their heads.
“The waltz marked a big turning point in dance.” She stopped their turn and leaned back with one leg extended, booted toes pointed. “Pun intended.”
“How so?” Getting the hang of it, Stone led her in a rotation to the other end of the porch.
She gave him an approving nod. “In Europe, before the waltz, people at parties danced in groups and didn’t touch each other a whole lot. They also faced outward during part of the dance.”
“Seems strange now.” They spun again, eyes locked.
“Right? People thought it was either scandalous—bodies touching—or boring, because they only faced their partners.”
When they came to a stop, Gina stepped away. Cold air rushed in to fill the space where she’d been. Stone dropped his arms before he did something stupid, like pull her back.
It was his turn to say something. “Uh, you know a lot about the waltz.”
“I know a lot about dance, period.” She leaned against the porch railing. “This will be my fifth season on the show, and I’ve been dancing since I was three.” She gestured out at the wilderness around them. “I’m sure you’re an expert out here.”
“You learn a thing or two when your survival depends on it.”
“I wouldn’t know where to begin.”
Miguel, his producer, gave the signal. It was the perfect lead in. Ignoring his uneasiness, Stone asked, “Hey, you want to try chopping wood?”
* * *
Gina hesitated. It would be rude to turn down the offer, but she’d been clear with her agent and The Dance Off’s producers about her feelings on showmances. As much as she wanted Stone to feel comfortable working with her and for them to have an easy rapport, providing fodder for the editors to cut and splice into a faux romance was not on her agenda. Her career was her number one priority, and she wouldn’t jeopardize it by getting a reputation for sleeping with her coworkers.
Stone was still waiting. Politeness won, tempered by a determination to keep her distance.
“Um, sure.” She followed him down the porch steps. The cameras on the ground spread out and the ones on the porch slipped quietly down the stairs behind them.
At the stump, Stone wrenched the axe free and held it flat in both hands. “You’ve seen an axe before?”
“Yeah, of course. On TV. This is the part you hit the wood with.” She pointed to the blade.
He let out a sound that was part laugh and part sigh. “Fair enough. The axe has a particular design, and the names of its parts are easy to remember because a lot of them correspond with body parts.”
Body parts? Great. “Uh-huh.”
His big hand skimmed the handle of the axe as he talked, drawing her attention to the scars and dirt marring his skin. His hands were those of a man who worked hard and pushed his body and strength to the limit, yet he’d held her with care and respect on the porch. In her second season, her celebrity partner had hit on her at their first meeting—on camera.
Stone adjusted his grip on the tool and pointed to the metal part. “This part of the head is called the bit.” He tapped the sharp edge. “Or as you called it, ‘the part you hit the wood with.’”
“Ha!” She snapped her fingers. “I knew it. See, we city folk know something about country living.”
For the first time since they’d met, he laughed. His lips stretched in a smile, showing straight white teeth, and his blue eyes crinkled at the corners.
Damn, he was handsome.
“City girl, this is way beyond country living,” he drawled. “This is living wild.”
It was such a line, said to slip the name of his show into the conversation. She knew that. And still. The words, uttered in that deep, growly voice, reminded her that she was so far outside her comfort zone she might as well kiss it goodbye forever. A curl of desire rippled and thrummed inside her. Breathing became difficult, the air filled with the scent of freshly cut wood and sexy man.
She cleared her throat. “You were saying?”
He described the different parts of the axe, and he hadn’t been kidding about body parts. Hearing him talk about toe and heel, or cheek and face, was fine. But then he mentioned shoulder, beard, and butt, and he might as well have been talking about himself because his body was all she could concentrate on.
“Are you ready to try giving it a swing?”
Blinking, she stared at the axe. She’d spaced out while he was demonstrating, sneaking glances at his naked torso. “Oh, um . . .”
Crash.
Heart in her throat, Gina whipped her head around toward the trees. “What was that?”
Stone’s broad chest swelled as he sucked in a breath. “Don’t move. I think I see something.” The urgency in his voice cut through the haze of arousal. He swung the axe into the stump with a thud and tried to herd her behind him.
The crashing continued. Branches snapped and cracked, and leaves swished, like something big was moving through the forest.
“What?” Alarm squeezed the word into a squeak. Her gaze skimmed the trees at the edges of the clearing, searching for the threat. Since Stone wasn’t wearing a shirt, she grabbed on to the waistband of his jeans like it was a lifeline. “What do you see?”
“Stay behind me.” His voice, deep and commanding, was also steady. This was his world. He knew what to do. She pressed closer to him as a growing sense of horror raised goosebumps over her back. Stone jerked his chin toward the line of trees at the opposite end of the clearing and spoke in a low voice. “Gina, I don’t want to alarm you, but there’s a bear in the woods over there.”
“A bear?” Terror streaked through her. She knew it. She fucking knew it. This was what happened to people who went into forests. They got eaten by bears.
Holy shit. A bear. “What do we do?” She gasped the words out. “Make a run for it? Aren’t they fast?”
“I’ll protect you.” He reached around the corner of the woodpile and brought out a gun. A fucking gun. She let out as a strangled squeal, then clapped her hands over her mouth.
She couldn’t take her eyes off it. She’d only ever seen guns in the hands of police officers and soldiers, and she didn’t know jack about makes and models. This was some kind of shotgun, with a strap and a long barrel. He held it comfortably, more comfortably than he’d held her during their hug. It fit in his big, scarred hands, fit with his long hair and wild man looks. He was like an action movie star ready to save the day against some villain.
But they were filming a reality TV show, not an action movie.
“You’re going to shoot it?” Holy fuck. She didn’t want to get attacked by a b
ear, but she didn’t want to watch an animal get killed, either.
If it came down to a choice, though, the bear could go.
Stone pumped the shotgun, the ca-click loud in the silence around them, and she flinched. “No, I’m just going to scare it away. But I need you to cover your ears.”
Gina clapped her hands tight over her ears as she hunched behind Stone’s broad back. As she squeezed her eyes shut, the image of him raising the barrel of the gun toward the sky burned into her memory. The blast of the shotgun echoed through the crisp Alaskan air, impossibly loud even through her hands. She jumped. Even after the echo of the shot died away, she stood with her chin tucked into her chest, hands over her ears and eyes closed, until Stone’s big, warm hands curled over her shoulders.
“Gina. Gina, it’s okay.” His voice was close to her ear, close enough to feel his breath on her cheek and catch the fresh, piney scent that emanated from his skin. “You’re safe. It’s gone. I scared it away. Please, open your eyes.”
“It’s gone? You’re sure?” She opened them and stared right into his, a few inches in front of her own face and as clear and blue as the sky above.
“I’m positive.”
She didn’t say anything when he took her in his arms and held her.
It was only then she realized she was shaking.
CHAPTER THREE
“I’m sorry.” Stone wrapped one of his arms around Gina. “You’re okay now. It’s safe.” She sagged against him, curling into his chest, body shivering. The scent of tropical flowers invaded his senses.
“Gina? Are you all right? Talk to us.” Her producer at least had the decency to appear worried, although he kept the cameras rolling, the dick. Stone wanted to punch the guy. And his own producers, who’d come up with this stupid scheme.
When Gina continued to tremble and stare at the trees with naked fear in her eyes, Stone scooped her up and carried her to the main house. If he’d thought waltzing with her was intimate, it had nothing on holding her in his arms while she pressed her face to his bare chest.
