by Alexis Daria
Instead of a laugh, he pressed his lips together and looked away, brows knit together like he was angry.
Gina put a hand on his arm. The camera operators closed in around them.
“Stone? Everything okay?”
“Are you okay?” he shot back, startling her.
“Sure.” The butterflies picked up the pace, dancing a salsa. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
His fingers tapped a nervous rhythm against his thigh. “The last time I saw you . . .”
Gina rubbed her hands over her face. “Yeah, about that. Look, I’m sorry for the way I overreacted. First the seaplane, then the wilderness, then the bear . . . It was a shock, to say the least, and not at all what I was expecting.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “What were you expecting? Not a bear, I’m guessing. Or me.”
Should she answer? She didn’t want him to think she was disappointed to have him as a partner. “I don’t know, a ski lodge, or something.”
The corners of his eyes crinkled like he was amused. “You think all people in Alaska do is ski?”
“How should I know? I’m not what you would call ‘outdoorsy.’”
Stone’s gaze darted to the cameras before he leaned closer and lowered his voice to a deep rumble. “I’m sorry I scared you, Gina. I don’t want you to be afraid of me.”
Oh, sweet man. All this time, she’d feared she’d ruined her credibility as a teacher, while he worried about what she thought of him. If he’d been any other partner, if it had been any time other than their first rehearsal, she would have given him a hug. He seemed to need the reassurance and she believed in giving affection freely.
Except the cameras were too close. Jordy’s eye held a gleam of anticipation. No matter what she did—a hug, a pat on the shoulder, a squeeze of his hand—it would be twisted to create a story where there wasn’t one.
Gina nudged his arm with her shoulder and whispered, “I wasn’t scared of you.” It would have to be enough. She turned him to face the wall of mirrors.
“We should really get right into learning the dance, but first let’s talk strategy.” She lined him up so his reflection was in profile. Big and strong he might be, but he went where she led him. It was a good trait, since she might have to drag him around the dance floor while making it look like he was the one leading.
She looked up, taking in his height and bulk. On second thought, there would be no dragging this man.
“You have perfect posture,” she said, running a hand down his spine. The bumps of his vertebrae, embedded in thick cords of muscle, invited her fingers to linger and explore. She snatched her hand away. “This is going to come in handy. When you’re dancing in hold, keep your spine straight and your shoulders back and down. Not up near your ears.” She demonstrated by hunching her shoulders in an exaggerated fashion. “There’s nothing graceful about this.”
Stone barked out a laugh and to her surprise, he imitated her silly move. “Not exactly the epitome of grace and charm.” He flashed her a devastating smile.
Gina took a deep, deliberate breath. Would it kill him to be a teensy bit uglier? She kept going.
“Instead, we stand like this.” As she had on his porch, she positioned his body into the pose he would use for the foxtrot. She tried to keep her touch professional and impersonal. “Our first dance is the foxtrot. It’s a lively, smooth-flowing ballroom dance that requires us to match our steps while in hold.”
“Is this anything like the waltz you showed me?”
“I like to think of the foxtrot as the waltz con sabor. With flavor. It’s a good first dance because our bodies aren’t touching.”
His brow creased as she stepped into the frame he created with his arms. “What do you mean? We’re touching.”
She grinned at his obvious discomfort. He had no right to be cool and calm when she was a hormonal mess. “This is nothing. Dance partners are very familiar with each other’s bodies. There’s no getting around it. If you hold back, it ruins the dance.”
Stone pressed his lips together and didn’t say anything. His gaze lifted over her head to their reflection in the mirrors.
She tapped his left foot with her right. “Now, the basic steps. Always start with your left. I’ll be doing the opposite of what you’re doing. The foxtrot is about smooth gliding steps and perfect frame.”
After taking him through a few sequences of slow-slow-quick-quick, she said, “We’re going to showcase your posture and form while contrasting them with your virility and humble background.”
He coughed and his steps faltered. Above the beard, his cheeks reddened. “With my what?”
“You’re a big manly mountain man,” she said. “We’ll let that side out in the Latin and jazz dances. With the more classical styles, like the foxtrot and the waltz, we’re going to show a contrast—the elegant and refined side of the Viking.”
“Viking?” He looked like he was going to choke. She broke hold to pass him a water bottle from the small cooler.
“Don’t tell me you don’t know what you look like,” she said, pointing at his reflection. “We’re going to use those muscles and that beard to our advantage.”
He took a long swig of water, chugging more than half the bottle in one gulp. “I didn’t realize this was so tactical.”
“What, you thought you could just show up and dance?” She snorted. “Think again, buddy. A lot of strategy goes into these competitions. Come on. We have work to do.”
For the next two hours, she dragged him around the room, correcting his steps and his stance. While Stone followed instructions, and went where she told him, he also sighed, eyed their reflections skeptically, and blinked for a little too long, like he wanted to roll his eyes.
If he didn’t learn to lead, she was going to end up doing all the work of getting him through the dances, and he was far too big for her to keep adjusting him as they moved.
Exhausted, Gina called for a hydration break. Without a word, Stone broke hold and dropped onto the edge of the small stage with an exaggerated exhale. Gina sucked on her bottom lip. If he sighed one more time . . .
The rehearsal room door opened and Donna Alvarez walked in.
Just perfect. Now Gina held back a sigh. She didn’t have the energy to deal with Donna right now.
Donna had been her main producer since Gina joined The Dance Off, and was most likely the person who’d chosen to pair her with Stone. Jordy wasn’t anywhere near as manipulative, and Donna was besties with the higher ups who concocted the “stories” for the show. A mousey assistant trailed behind, hugging a clipboard to her chest like a shield.
“Hi, Donna,” Gina said, aiming for pleasant.
“Gina.” Donna’s smile was wide, but thin. She always smiled that way. Her hazel eyes were like a shark’s, flat and deadly “Good to see you.”
Gina gestured Stone over. “Stone, this is Donna, my producer.”
Stone held out a hand to Donna and said, “A pleasure.”
“The wild man sure has some pretty manners.” Donna smiled again as she shook his hand. Stone’s face turned red.
“Donna oversees a few of the couples,” Gina explained for Stone’s benefit, and to cut through the tension. “Jordy’s only assigned to us.”
Jordy joined them, and they split up for individual interviews. Gina went to one corner of the room with Donna, while Jordy took Stone to the opposite end.
“How’s your first rehearsal going?” Donna asked. The camera girl, audio guy, and Donna’s assistant crowded around.
Gina flashed the camera a big grin. “Our first rehearsal is going great,” she lied. “Even though Stone has never danced before, he’s willing to learn and picking up the steps quickly.” Also false. “It’s really the best you can hope for in a partner with no previous dance experience.”
“What do you have in mind for your first dance?”
“I’ve never danced with someone this big before.” Gina raised a hand over her head to indicate Stone’s height. H
er football player the previous season had been a quarterback, and smaller. “We’ll do something to show off his form, strength, and skill, with an element of fun. I want to show the viewers a side of Stone they’ve never seen before.”
Donna’s shark-eyed gaze intensified. “And what do you think about his looks?”
Gina smiled through the urge to grit her teeth. How was she supposed to answer that? Of course he’s good-looking, damn it! “Don’t worry, the viewers will definitely see Stone shirtless, although not for the first dance. It wouldn’t be appropriate for the foxtrot. But keep voting for us, and we’ll be sure to show you the goods.” She winked at the camera.
Donna crossed her arms. “It seems like you two have a lot of chemistry.”
Did it? Shit. Gina played it cool in her response. “We’re still figuring out our dynamic. I’m sure our connection as dance partners will grow the longer we work together.”
Donna’s lips twisted like she was disappointed in the answer, but she let Gina get back to work.
Gina met Stone in the center of the room. His forehead was furrowed, and he looked as annoyed as she felt. Jordy had probably grilled him on whether he thought she was pretty or not. She’d have to warn him the questions would only get more invasive as the weeks went on.
She jerked her head to the side to indicate the camera crew. “You okay?” she whispered, even though the mic would catch it anyway.
Now he rolled his eyes full out. “Are those interviews really necessary?”
“Channel it into the dance. Anything that’s happening, in any part of your life, channel it into the dance and let it be transformed.” She shrugged. “That’s what I always do.”
He held her gaze for a long moment, his expression clearing. When he nodded, she nudged his elbows. He snapped to attention, his form perfect. She gave him an approving nod. “Good. Now we focus on footwork. Ready?”
He sighed. “Ready.”
She counted down and they took off across the room.
CHAPTER FIVE
Gina had claimed the foxtrot was similar to walking—one foot after the other. It wasn’t. Hours of learning moves like the promenade, ad lib, and Park Avenue step left Stone once again rethinking his decision to join this stupid show.
Dancing was hard. The basic steps had been one thing, but learning choreography was a whole different beast. His muscles ached from staying in hold, his feet hurt from the shiny black shoes, and he was starving. When he complained that he was hungry, Gina tossed him a protein bar and told him to “take it from the top.”
And it was all being filmed. Every stumble and misstep, Stone’s curses when he slipped, Gina’s innocuous touches.
How was he supposed to concentrate on learning to dance with Gina’s light, capable touch a constant source of distraction? Quick touches, barely there and then gone. A fingertip on his chin to change the angle. A nudge with her wrist to raise his elbow. Even her small feet kicking his to get them to move the right way.
Were all dancers like this? Whose brilliant idea had it been to stick him with someone so touchy and talkative? This wasn’t what he’d signed up for.
And despite her earlier assurances, he still felt bad about scaring her in Alaska. It hadn’t been right. Pretending to see a bear in the woods was a dick move, and he shouldn’t have gone along with it.
Worst of all, the producers interrupted him for interviews left and right. On Living Wild, his family and the crew knew he was a terrible liar, and he participated in fewer individual interviews than his siblings did. The Dance Off was supposed to be about dancing. Why did they want him to talk so much?
Stone stepped wrong again, nearly losing his balance. “Sorry.”
The corners of Gina’s mouth turned down and she threw her hands up. “Don’t be sorry. Be serious.”
He narrowed his eyes. “What are you talking about?”
She strode over to the cooler and grabbed a bottle of water. “You’re not taking this seriously.”
The accusation burned in his gut, and the words spilled out before he could think them through. “How much more seriously do you want me to take it?” He followed her and grabbed another protein bar from the box next to the cooler. “I’m here, wearing these ridiculous shoes”—he lifted one foot and gave it a disgusted sneer—“and doing everything you’ve asked of me.”
“Everything,” she said, in a tone that sounded suspiciously agreeable, “except take it seriously.”
“I come from a survival background. In the grand scheme of things, dancing has ranked low in priority. I’m doing the best I can.”
“Aren’t you lucky you don’t have to hunt and chop wood in LA? Now dancing can be your number-one priority. Do better.”
Before Stone could come up with a reply, someone knocked on the door. Stone ripped open the protein bar and took a big bite.
A woman poked her head into the room. “Hey there,” she said. “Who’s first?”
“Ah, the spray tan magicians are here.” Jordy turned to Stone. “Time to strip.”
Stone choked. “What, here?”
The woman entered the room with a team of young, attractive assistants and began constructing something that looked like half of a black nylon tent, with a large, egg-shaped opening.
No longer hungry, Stone tossed the bar onto his gym bag. “I thought we’d do this somewhere more . . . private.”
A list of instructions had awaited Stone when he moved into his hotel room the day before. Exfoliation techniques, tips on spray tan maintenance, and instructions to wear dark underwear and use the dark sheets and towels they provided. What the list had not mentioned was that he’d be doing this with an audience. The room was full of people. Jordy and his assistant conferred over a tablet, and the camera crew took a break while the spray tanner and her assistants checked their equipment.
Gina sat on the stairs leading up to a low stage. Leaning back on one hand, she chewed on her own protein bar and eyed him thoughtfully.
“Don’t be modest.” She waved a hand in dismissal. “I’ve already seen most of what there is to see, and I’ll see the rest before we’re through.”
Her words—and flippant attitude toward his privacy—didn’t comfort him. Sure, she’d already seen him naked from the waist up, but that didn’t mean he was ready to drop trou in front of her on their second meeting. Or in front of the others.
He put his hands on his hips. “Is this really necessary?”
Gina shrugged. “Fact of life around here. You’ll get used to it.”
She was still fully dressed and didn’t seem in a hurry to be sprayed. Her skin already had a beautiful golden hue, so maybe she was exempt from this fresh form of torture. He tried another tactic.
“I’m already tanned,” he pointed out. Living Wild made him use a self-tanning lotion since he was so often shirtless, but he would never admit that out loud.
The spray tan lady sputtered out a laugh. “Not tan enough. Get in here.” She switched on the gun with a low buzz.
Stone cursed his tendency to blush as his cheeks grew warm. Gina’s accusation nagged at him. The need to prove his commitment shoved him into action. He toed off his shoes and grabbed the back of his t-shirt, yanking it over his head. From the corner of his eye, he caught the way Gina’s lips parted, the slight widening of her eyes.
A hot rush of pure male satisfaction swept through him. So, she wasn’t completely immune to him. At least there was that.
No longer annoyed at having to strip, he bent at the waist to tug off his socks. When he straightened to his full height, he flexed his abs and dropped his hands to the waistband of his shorts. Gina’s eyes followed his movements. Even with everyone else in the room, the moment was just for her. He kept his attention on her as he drew the shorts down his legs and stepped out of them. Standing in the middle of the rehearsal space in nothing but a pair of navy blue briefs, he met her gaze head on.
Her eyes narrowed, then she raised an eyebrow and mouthed, “touch�
�.” Then she looked away. Satisfied, Stone strode over to the egg and stepped inside.
He lost track of Gina when the spray tan lady stepped in front of him.
“Have you ever been spray tanned before?”
Stone shook his head.
The woman explained the procedure as she worked, coating him in layers of tanning solution. Apparently spray tans made everyone’s bodies look perfect on stage, adding definition and shine. On The Dance Off, the tanner, the better.
The entire process went faster than Stone expected. Each layer took about five minutes, and he was given four layers.
“You’ve got some great definition in your muscles,” the lady told him as she lined his pecs. “The tan will add to that and make you look even more amazing.”
Stone ducked his head, muttering his thanks. He turned to face the inside of the egg-shaped tent while the woman outlined his back muscles. When he turned around again, the door opened and Gina walked in wearing nothing but a strapless purple bikini.
Stone nearly swallowed his tongue.
When he’d entered the rehearsal space that morning, the Gina who’d awaited him might as well have been a completely different person than the one he’d met in the woods. Teacher Gina wore her hair up in a high ponytail and her face free of makeup. Her eyes still sparkled. Her smile still drew him in. But she looked more approachable, more touchable. More real.
Dangerous thoughts for a man who’d convinced himself Hollywood girls were a bad idea.
The purple bikini was bringing up all kinds of dangerous thoughts now. Extra dangerous considering he was clad only in a pair of briefs, and the spray tan fairy had just yanked at the waistband over his hip.
To make matters worse, Gina stood nearby, hands propped on her hips, watching him with open interest.
“See?” she said. “Spray tanning isn’t so bad, is it?”
Stone grunted. If he looked at her, he’d risk embarrassing them all.
“All done,” the spray tanner said. “Gina, you’re up.”
Stone made a beeline for his shorts.
