by Alexis Daria
Kevin appeared on her side and grabbed her arm. “Yo, Gina, let’s dance.”
For a heartbeat, Stone thought she would stay. But when she nodded at Kevin, Stone let his hand drop from her back.
She wasn’t his. It was stupid to feel even the slightest bit possessive over her. Still, he kept his eyes on her as she followed Kevin onto the dance floor. The music had switched from DJ-spun beats to a live salsa band, and it seemed like all the dancers knew the right steps. Since he didn’t, Stone picked up his scotch and watched Kevin lead her around the floor in tight circles.
Jackson joined him at the bar, clutching a gin and tonic. “You’re the breakdancing one, right? That was a hard act to follow.”
“I thought I was ‘the Alaskan one.’” Stone cracked a grin and made himself turn away from the dance floor. “Don’t worry, there’s no breakdancing in our foxtrot.”
“That levels the playing field somewhat.”
“You’re a TV actor, right?” Since they were competitors, Stone sized him up. Jackson was a good-looking guy, objectively. Fashionably dressed, with broad shoulders, black hair buzzed on the sides, light brown skin and eyes. But could he dance?
“Yeah. My show’s in its second season.”
“What’s the name of it?”
To Stone’s surprise, Jackson ducked his head like he was embarrassed. “Bite me,” he muttered into his glass before draining it.
Stone squinted at him. “Excuse me?”
With a sigh, Jackson set down his empty glass and picked up the next one the bartender had waiting for him. “It’s the name of the show,” he clarified. “It’s called Bite Me. I play a vampire werewolf.”
Stone couldn’t help it. He burst into laughter. It was the funniest thing he’d heard since arriving in LA, and he was so fucking relieved that someone else had a more embarrassing byline than he did. He put down his drink before he dropped it, and missed seeing Gina return until she was standing right in front of him.
That damned red dress taunted him. His fingers itched to hold her as he had all week.
No, not like that. He wanted to hold her closer than the foxtrot warranted.
She cocked her head. “What’s so funny?”
On Stone’s other side, Jackson rolled his eyes. “He’s laughing at my job. I’m a serious actor, I’ll have you know.”
The others returned from the dance floor and Lori called over to Mimi, her ex, for another round of tequila shots, which appeared immediately. Knowing the bartender had its advantages.
Stone accepted his second scotch, sipping and listening with one ear while Gina and Kevin talked shop, and trying to gauge the nature of their relationship. There’d been nothing sexual in the way they moved together when they danced, and it wasn’t like Stone had any designs on her, but still. He just wanted to know.
“How was New York?” Gina asked Kevin. “You just did a show, right?”
“Cold. And I was only in the role for a few weeks. Had to come back for The Dance Off.”
“God, I just want to be on Broadway so bad.” Gina’s tone was wistful. “First some hosting gigs, then Broadway. Then I want my own TV show. Oh, and movies.”
Kevin grinned. “How are you going to fit movies into that schedule?”
“I’ll manage.” Gina blew out a breath. “Work always comes first.”
Kevin gave Gina a long look, then asked Mimi to bring her a glass of water.
Stone scowled into his glass. Gina’s words confirmed what he’d already known about her—she was a Hollywood girl, through and through. But from the sound of it, she and Kevin were just friends. There was that, at least.
Mimi poured another round of shots, and everyone reached in to grab one. Lori and Jackson crowded in on either side of Stone. When Gina grabbed one, Stone sighed and took a glass. Shit, if everyone else was doing them . . .
What the hell was he even doing here? He was all for hitting a bar and having fun, but a club like this, of this magnitude, with people plugged into the pulse of the entertainment industry . . . that wasn’t him. He didn’t belong here.
Maybe it was time to go home. Well, back to the hotel, in any case. But then Jackson asked Gina to dance, so he stayed to watch them.
Natasha took the empty space next to him. “He wants to win.”
“Who? Kevin?”
She shook her head and pointed to Jackson. “Look. He’s asking Gina for instruction. He did the same with me earlier.”
Sure enough, Gina’s lips moved in a running stream of commentary as she danced with Jackson. She even kicked at his feet the way she did with Stone during rehearsal.
Natasha shrugged again. “He’s a good-looking young actor at the start of his career. If he wins, it’ll make him a household name and open all sorts of doors for him.”
“Huh.” So, even at a social outing, Jackson was playing the game. And Stone was standing off to the side watching his partner help someone else.
He didn’t care. He only had to stay on for a few episodes to earn the cash for his mother’s bills. But shit, if he stayed on longer, he could knock out his own student loans, too. How much did the winner stand to make?
Didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to win.
“What are you drinking?” he asked, since Natasha’s hands were empty.
“Coke.”
“Coke and . . .”
She jerked her chin in Gina’s direction. “Just soda. Looks like I’m the designated driver tonight.”
Was Gina drunk? He couldn’t tell from her dancing. She was just as graceful as ever. “You want me to keep an eye on her?”
Natasha smiled and patted his arm. “Thanks, guapo. But I got this.”
Kevin scooted in on Natasha’s other side. His glass was nearly empty, and his signature grin, while still in place, was starting to look a little lopsided. “What are you guys talking about? Oh look, it’s my partner.” Kevin lifted a hand and shouted, “Hey, Lauren, over here.”
A pretty blonde in a short black dress approached them. She shot Stone a sassy grin.
“Ooh, check you out,” she purred. “Are you one of the pros?”
“Nah, he’s one of the celebs. A wilderness survivalist,” Kevin drained his drink and called for another before finishing the introductions. “This is Lauren D’Angelo, Olympic figure skater.”
Lauren slipped an arm around Stone’s waist and winked up at him. “Damn, you’ve got even more muscles than I do.”
“I . . . I guess.” She was flirting, which would have been fine, in most circumstances, but she was coming on strong, and Gina was just a few yards away, spinning around the dance floor with Jackson. Even though they were just dance partners, it felt wrong to flirt with another woman.
Lauren’s gaze sharpened. “Can you dance?”
Kevin cut in. “Rumor has it Stone’s got some sweet breakdancing moves.”
Rolling her eyes, Lauren released Stone to take the beer Kevin handed her. “Yeah, but can you dance? Ballroom style.”
“That’s what we’re here to learn, aren’t we?” Stone sipped his scotch just to have a reason to break eye contact with her.
“That means you don’t.” Lauren shrugged one shoulder. “No offense meant. Just taking stock of the competition. You know how it goes.”
Stone drank again to avoid answering.
“So, since I don’t have to worry about you as competition . . .” Lauren’s voice turned silky again, and she set the beer aside to wrap her arms around him.
She’d gone from flirty to competitive and back again in less than five minutes. Were all Olympians this intense?
Her hand slid down to his ass and Stone almost choked on his scotch. Unsure how to proceed, he spotted Jackson and Gina returning from the dance floor and sent Jackson a wide-eyed plea.
To Stone’s eternal gratitude, Jackson stepped in, grinning and holding out a hand to Lauren.
“Hey, I’m Jackson. You’re Lauren, right?”
She swept him with a cold, as
sessing gaze. “That’s right.”
“You want to dance? Gina and Natasha have been giving me salsa pointers, and I want to keep practicing. If I’m going to win, I need all the practice time I can get.”
It was the perfect thing to say. Lauren’s eyes flashed with challenge, and she let go of Stone. “You’re on. But you’re not going to win.”
Gina sipped from the glass of water Mimi handed her. “Getting a little close there, weren’t you?”
Her tone was unreadable. Before Stone could explain, a commotion to his left drew his attention. A bearded guy wearing a scowl and a black baseball hat joined their group, greeting everyone loudly and kissing all the women on their cheeks. The guy spotted Stone and swung over, extending a hand.
“How’s it going?” the guy asked in a deep, accented voice. “I’m Dimitri. You must be Stone.”
Stone nodded, shaking hands, and the name clicked. Dimitri Kovalenko, one of the judges on The Dance Off. “How’d you know?”
Dimitri’s dark eyebrows rose under the hat. “Are you kidding me? You must be the tallest celebrity we’ve ever had on the show, even counting football players. The wardrobe department is shitting their pants.”
Mimi set out another row of shot glasses as the dancers returned from the floor. When Gina reached for one, Stone almost said something, but he caught Natasha watching.
She had a friend here. Lots of friends. She didn’t need him looking out for her, and there was no reason why he should feel obligated to. She was just his dance partner. That was all.
“Gina, dollface, come dance with me.” Dimitri snaked an arm around her as soon as the shot glass left her hand.
“Okay.” She was giggling as he hauled her back to the dance floor.
It took every ounce of Stone’s self-control to keep from charging after them to break in. But what would he do then? He had no claim on her. And he couldn’t salsa.
Instead, he watched. His drink was gone before he knew it, another in his hand, thanks to Mimi’s watchful eye. As he sipped, he noticed something.
Dimitri and Gina dominated the dance floor. Whereas Kevin had been equally quick and masterful, there was a difference to the way Dimitri danced with Gina. Every eye was on them as Dimitri swirled her around, his arms trailing along hers, his hand resting on her back. And touching, constantly touching her—her shoulder, her arm, her back.
He was leading.
So, this was what it looked like when a man led in the dance. When Gina danced with him, and with Jackson, she had to lead, because she was the teacher. Stone finally understood how hard her job was. Not only did she have to teach him the dance, she had to make it look like he was leading, when in reality, she was the one in charge. Even when she danced with Kevin, they danced as equals. But with Dimitri? Dimitri was clearly in charge, every step of the way.
Maybe Stone was on his way to getting drunk, because the idea didn’t sit well with him. He was supposed to lead? Then damn it, he would lead.
As if she’d heard his thoughts, Natasha snuck up beside him and slipped an arm around his waist. “I think it’s time you learned how to salsa, guapo.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
The next time Dimitri spun Gina out, she came face to face with Natasha and Stone.
“Dimitri, I need Gina back.” Natasha cut in to the dance and grabbed Gina’s arm. “Go dance with Lauren.”
Dimitri gave Tasha a long look, then shrugged and headed to the bar.
“Stone, are you going to dance?” Gina’s thoughts were fuzzy and confused. Shit, how many shots had she sucked down? Three? Four? She couldn’t remember.
“We’re going to teach him to salsa,” Natasha said. “Come on, you be the woman, and I’ll maneuver him.”
“Good luck.” Gina moved closer so Natasha could put Stone’s right hand on her back. “He weighs a ton.”
“I can hear you,” he said with that delicious growl. She shivered, then mentally slapped herself when she realized her shiver was visible.
Yup. She was drunk.
No matter. She was a professional. She could teach salsa in her sleep.
Her thoughts turned to Stone in bed, and she shook her head to clear them.
“Hey, are you okay?” He leaned down so she’d hear him over the music.
Too close. He was way too close. And handsome. And delicious-smelling.
“I’m fine.” She had to hold it together. She put her left hand on his shoulder and gripped his left hand with her right. “Listen to the percussion. Stone, you’re going to step forward on two, the second beat of the music.”
“This is closed position,” Natasha said from behind Stone, kicking his feet to get him to step where she wanted him. “You do this when you’re dancing close, facing each other, like in the New York style.”
“New York style?” he repeated. “I didn’t know there was more than one.”
Natasha gripped his hips to shift his weight while Gina tugged on him with her hands. “In salsa clubs, unless you’re really trying to show off—like Dimitri always is—New York style is the way to go. The dancers use their momentum to create elegant movement. It’s all about precision and control.”
“And the man leads,” Stone said, Natasha’s words seeming to resonate with him. His gaze cleared, and he nodded. Gina stopped pulling on him, and he used his hands to direct her movements.
Natasha kept up a running commentary, helping Stone move and learn the footwork, while Gina gave herself over to the dance. Dancing in the arms of a man who could lead was thrilling and sensual. She could turn off her mind and just move. To be in the moment like that, fully inhabiting her body, filled her with a sense of beauty and excitement.
Stone released her back, trailing his big, hard hand down her bare arm to grip her fingers. His hands dwarfed hers, and she followed his guidance into a spin.
It was unbelievably sexy.
Gina lost herself in the music, in the movement, in the heat of Stone’s body and the warming of her own muscles from physical exertion. She kept her eyes trained on his, the clear blue reflecting the purple of the club’s lighting. He trapped her with his gaze, with the simmering, banked heat that made her heart thump erratically in her chest. The now-familiar scent of Stone’s Alaskan freshness lulled her into forgetting everyone else around them, and it was a while before she realized Natasha had disappeared.
They danced, his hands gentle but strong. His rhythm and footwork weren’t perfect, but his masculinity and dominance in the dance were really doing it for her. She edged in closer as she followed the steps she knew by heart, felt the tightening of his hold in response.
This. This was what she adored about dance. To dance like this with a man as handsome and virile as Stone, to be this close and intimate without words, to let their bodies do the talking . . . it was the most perfect thing in the world.
Time lost its meaning. The beat changed, and she used her own body to communicate the shift to him. After a week of dancing in hold together, he figured it out without her having to say it.
God, she loved that.
With each song, they moved closer. Their bodies touched and rubbed, hot sweat-slicked skin, her red dress vibrant in the changing lighting, his white t-shirt turning red, then purple, then blue, and back to red.
She arched and rolled, aware of every inch of her skin, and his. She wanted to climb him like a tree and wrap her legs around his waist. He’d cup her ass with those massive hands—something he was very careful to avoid doing, although tonight they wandered just a bit more than they ever had during practice.
He was so respectful of her. He knew he was big and burly, and since their first meeting, he’d done everything in his power not to frighten her again. Sweet, sweet man.
She just wanted his hands all over her.
The music changed again. They were barely dancing salsa now. Their bodies were too close, as if he were also reluctant to put space between them. His chest heaved, and god, she just wanted to dig her fingers into
those impressive pecs, and no, she wouldn’t stop there. The man had abs for days, leading down to those sexy, sharp indents at his hips . . .
Sticking around for his spray tan earlier in the week had been a terrible idea. She knew everything under his clothes—well, almost everything—and it had fueled her daydreams all week.
But they weren’t at work now. There were no cameras, no nosy producers. She indulged herself and sank her fingertips into his shoulder, trailing them down to feel the muscles outlining his upper arm. He flexed, and she closed her eyes.
He was just holding her now, not moving. One of his arms was wrapped around her waist, pressing her against him. Somewhere along the way, she’d reached up and thrown an arm around his neck, the height difference forcing her to arch her back. Her breasts pressed against his chest and her leg—what the hell?—one of her feet was on the floor where it belonged, but her other leg was bent and hitched up on his hip, held in place by his hand gripping the bare skin of her thigh.
Gina opened her eyes. Stone’s face was close, his nose touching her cheek, his open mouth just to the side of hers. Her body trembled in his arms, urging her to close the remaining distance. Her chin tilted a fraction of an inch, bringing their lips that much closer. His lower lip brushed the corner of her mouth. She breathed him in deep and let out the breath on a moan.
The song ended. In the moment of silence, Stone’s eyes met hers. They stared at each other, breathing hard, breathing each other’s air. He was so close, close enough to kiss.
Except Gina didn’t fuck around with her dance partners.
“I have to go home.” The words fell out of her in a rush, her voice low and breathy.
He nodded and released her immediately. She untangled herself, her body already going into shock from the loss—cold sweat, rubbery legs, trembling nerves.
How much had she had to drink again? Too much. Way too much.
She stumbled off the dance floor and found Natasha at the bar.
Tash took one look at Gina’s face and grabbed their purses. Without even saying goodbye, they hustled out of the club and into the lot for Gina’s car. Natasha fished the keys out of Gina’s clutch and slid into the driver’s seat. Gina sank into the passenger side and blinked slowly.
