by Alexis Daria
“So, we just stare into each other’s eyes . . .” Some of his own brand of quiet humor was back in his tone.
“Yes.”
“And then?”
“Just do it, Stone.”
As Gina stared into his eyes, she fought the urge to swallow hard. It would be all too easy to lose herself in their blue depths.
Or so she thought. Three seconds in, she felt the first twitch of her lips in her right cheek. Half a second later, the other side twitched.
“Are you supposed to be laughing?” He spoke out of the corner of his mouth, making her dissolve into giggles.
“No. Stop it.”
“I’m just doing what you said.” He schooled his features into solemnity, but broke into a grin and ducked his head. “This is silly.”
“No, it isn’t. Keep gazing.”
He brought his attention back to her. This time, she made it about five seconds before her lips quirked, and she saw an answering twitch in his. She pulled herself together, then saw his jaw trembling. She bit her lip before she could smile.
The longer they gazed into each other’s eyes, though, the easier it became. Her gaze wavered slightly, from his left eye to his right, to softly losing focus while staring at the bridge of his nose so she could keep both eyes in sight. He had to know how handsome he was. Surely they owned a mirror in the Alaskan bush?
As she gazed, she noticed new things about his face—he had slight creases at the corners of his eyes, his lashes were thick and brown, and he had a good, strong nose. The swirls in his eyes evoked calming mental imagery of clear water and wispy clouds scudding across a rich sky. Yet in their center, belying the tranquility, lay a barely leashed intensity like the scorching-blue heart of a flame.
What was he thinking? What was he seeing in her face?
A sense of deep and utter calm descended on her. Her muscles relaxed, and her skin took on a soft, fuzzy feeling. Laughter didn’t nudge her to smile or look away, and the connection between them stretched and expanded.
She’d never felt closer to anyone else ever. They were the same. And there was nothing to be self-conscious or nervous about.
She could trust him.
At that, she dropped her gaze. This was too intimate. Too close. The abruptness of the disconnection stole her breath, and she struggled to reclaim it while appearing at ease.
His hand entered her field of vision.
“Let’s dance,” he said, the deep rumble shaking her to her core.
She nodded, unable to speak, and took his hand. His warm fingers closed around hers, and he led her into the center of the room before taking her in his arms. His hold was perfect, his grip firm, just as she’d taught him. Out of habit, she looked up to meet his eyes. What she saw there scared her.
This wasn’t just about attraction anymore. This was mutual respect and trust. She liked him. She could tell a lot about a person by the way they danced, and everything she learned about him, she liked. He was steady and kind, funny and patient, and committed to being here.
Not a word passed between them as he led her into the tango. His eyes never left hers, except when the choreography called for it. This time, he held her even closer than before, but there was nothing disconcerting about it.
It felt so, so right.
He still did odd things with his knees, but the force of their shared connection exploded within her, making her skin tingle and her breath quicken. When he dragged his hands up her thighs, she imagined how it would feel to be in his arms, in his bed, with nothing between her skin and his hands.
He gripped her around the waist and swung her in circles, her back arched and her hands clasping her own ankles. Then he lifted her as if it were the easiest thing in the world, spinning her like a windmill over his shoulders and bringing her back to earth with barely a bump. He made it look effortless, and made her feel supported and safe throughout. People would marvel at the lift, and swoon at the passionate, watery ending.
Gina went through the motions of the dance, arching her body over his shoulder, curving her legs around his hip, throwing herself into his arms and letting him drag her across the floor. She pressed her cheek to his, breathing in the light scent of his sweat, and dropped to a split between his legs that ended with her clutching his hard thigh.
The dance would end on the stage with water pouring down on them, soaking them to the skin as he spun her in his arms, their hands grabbing frantically at each other’s bodies until he lifted her and she locked her legs around his waist.
She’d danced the tango countless times, with countless partners. It had never, never been like this.
This was foreplay. He was showing her his intensity, what he was capable of, and what he’d do to her—for her, with her—if she let him.
Right then, she wanted it more than she wanted her next breath. And it scared the shit out of her.
Nothing was allowed to come between her and her goals. Nothing.
She would never again allow a man to compromise her career. It was why, even at the end of the dance, she had to run away.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The Dance Off’s backstage catacombs were crowded on show night. Pro dancers, celebrity partners, camera operators, PAs, makeup artists, and producers all vied for space in the Sparkle Parlor. The nervous excitement buzzed along Stone’s frayed nerves. Try as he might to block everyone out, it proved impossible.
Lauren trash-talked. Twyla tried to bum a cigarette off everyone who crossed her path, and Beto flirted with all the women who crossed his. Farrah and Danny made silly faces for the cameras at every opportunity.
After a week of practicing the Argentine tango with Gina, Stone was so wound up he was ready to jump out of his own skin or punch a hole in a wall. Maybe both. The waiting made it worse. He and Gina weren’t going on until the end of the episode, second to last. It took everything he had to force a grin onto his face when the cameras turned his way.
Gina made it better. When he caught glimpses of her across the Sparkle Parlor, just the sight of her soothed him.
Jackson slipped out of the makeup chair and joined Stone against the wall. To their right, Keiko—the model—and her pro partner, Joel, practiced their dance moves. When the couple slipped into the hallway, Jackson shook his head.
“I bet you twenty bucks they’re sneaking off for a quickie.”
“Really?” Stone raised his eyebrows and stuck his head around the corner, but they were already gone.
Jackson laughed. “You have no idea how much hanky-panky is going on behind the scenes here, do you?”
“I hadn’t thought about it.” How could he, when all his thoughts were consumed by Gina? It was stupid. He’d known if from the beginning. None of this was real. The rehearsal process built an incredible closeness between dancer and partner, but it was all fake. All Hollywood glamor and lies with nothing of substance beneath.
As close as he felt to Gina, it wasn’t real. Everyone was just fucking around, and at the end, they’d all cash their checks and go their separate ways. This wasn’t his world, and Gina would never fit into his. The eye-gazing? The intimacy? There was no point in any of it. It was a giant waste of time. Better to just do the dance and look forward to the day he went home.
Except Gina’s job was on the line. She needed him to be in it to win it.
“I’ll catch you later,” he told Jackson, and ducked out to wander the rigging backstage for a bit. He wasn’t fit company right now for anyone.
He spent the rest of the show trying to avoid Gina, but when they took their marks backstage, she stepped closer, twining her arms around his waist. All other thoughts flew from his head.
Skinny straps snaked over her shoulders, holding up a stingy swath of glittery black lace that stretched down over half of her taut torso and one leg. It covered the important bits, but her left side and back were bare, and the “dress” was secured at her hip with a sparkly embellishment.
He tried to focus on her face, since
it would be rude and obvious to stare at her body, but her eyes—already so captivating—were lined with dark makeup, making them stand out even more and leaving him spellbound. Her lips, parted with concern, were painted red, and they sparkled, too. Her long hair had been parted on the side and pulled back into a complicated twist on the back of her head.
She was stunning, in every sense of the word, and he couldn’t seem to catch his balance around her.
She pitched her voice low, so no one would hear. “I’m worried about you.”
Her scent permeated his senses, making him hyper aware of their closeness. He fought his body’s reaction and growled, “Don’t be.”
Instead of comforting her, his words seemed to make her more agitated, and she leaned in even closer. “Tell me what’s going on. Please, let me help you.”
“I’m fine.”
Gina stared into his eyes for a long moment, then tapped a finger to his temple. “Don’t get stuck in here,” she said. “Stay with me. Remember what I told you? Channel whatever’s happening in your head into the dance. Into me. Let me help you carry it.”
Need welled up in him, and he couldn’t stop himself from clutching her shoulders, shifting her an inch closer. She moved with him, her hand resting on his chest.
“Stay with me,” she said again. “It’s just you and me, dancing together.”
He huffed out a laugh. “And millions of people watching on live TV.”
She shook her head and took his face in her hands. “You’re not dancing with those people. You’re only dancing with me.”
When he nodded, she brushed her thumbs softly over his cheekbones. “Will you eye-gaze with me, Stone?”
An unwise move, but he could refuse her nothing. He nodded.
It was easier this time. Neither of them giggled. Their behind-the-scenes footage played and Stone ignored it, keeping all his attention on Gina, as she’d directed.
Her eyes. Deep and dark, he could fall right into them. She’d consume him and he wouldn’t even mind.
A stage manager appeared beside them. “Ready? You guys are on, in three, two . . .”
With his mind and heart full of Gina, Stone led her onto the dance floor.
* * *
“That was an excellent Argentine tango last night,” Donna said the next day during Stone’s reaction interview.
Stone shifted in his seat. If any of the producers were going to pry into his innermost secrets, it was Donna. “Yeah, we averaged seventy-seven percent, so that feels pretty good.”
Donna leaned forward, a gleam in her eye. “It was quite a sexy dance.”
Fuck. His cheeks warmed, and he felt like an idiot. He wasn’t even wearing makeup that could cover his blush, because it was a rehearsal day.
And what the hell was happening to his life that such a thought would even cross his mind?
“Um, yeah, that was kind of a strategic move. Gina’s smart. She puts a lot of thought into our dances, and what story we’re telling, and what our wonderful, supportive voters want.”
Gina had drilled into him how appreciative they had to be toward their voters, instructing him to thank them at every opportunity.
Donna nodded. “Was it difficult to get into the role for your tango? We saw in the package how Gina pushed you to feel . . . comfortable.”
This woman and these questions were going to be the death of him. “Well, we haven’t known each other that long, and despite being on TV, I’m not a performer.”
Donna jumped on that. “Does that mean you weren’t acting when you and Gina were dancing last night?”
“No, I mean I’m not used to this kind of stuff.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I want to be respectful, and never want to make Gina feel uncomfortable. That’s all.”
“Let’s talk about next week,” Donna said, changing the subject. “The theme is Family History.”
This theme was something he’d prepared with his producers before leaving Alaska, so he knew what he could and couldn’t say. “My family means everything to me. Gina and I are focusing on the decision to start filming Living Wild. It was a big deal for us to open our lives in that way, and it brought us all closer together as a family.”
He expected Donna to call him out for sounding like a robot, like Miguel did, but she kept going.
“You must miss them a lot.”
Way to twist the knife, Donna. “I do.” Right? “Of course I do. I love my family, and I love Alaska.”
“What’s it like for you, living in LA?”
He blew out a breath, lifting his hands helplessly. “It’s different? Obviously. It’s weird being alone—you know, I’m used to having my family around. Los Angeles is crowded, loud, smelly. I get away to hike when I can.”
“Do you think you’d ever live here?”
He started shaking his head before she’d even finished the question. “Not a chance.”
Stone left the interview with a bad taste in his mouth. If Donna was asking him such pointed questions, how much worse must it be for Gina?
When he entered the rehearsal room, Gina and the camera crew were waiting for him.
“Hey, partner.” She smiled at him from her seat at the edge of the stage. “How ’bout those scores last night?”
He gave her a high five. “And we weren’t in the bottom three.”
Keiko and Joel had been the first couple to be eliminated. The pretty young model had never gotten past her nerves, which tripped her up in her samba. Gina had explained that Joel hadn’t been on the show long enough to build up a fan following that would keep him there.
“I have our next dance.” She handed him a piece of cardstock before picking up the container of fruit salad beside her.
He flipped it over and read the dance out loud. “The jive?”
“Have you heard of it?”
When he shook his head, she went on. “In ballroom, jive is considered a Latin dance. The type we’ll be doing derives from swing dancing and the jitterbug, and a few other styles. It’s lively, with lots of bouncing and bopping around. Very high-energy and upbeat.” She did a few moves with her upper body to demonstrate.
He set the card on the stage and took a seat beside her. “You sure know a lot about the history of ballroom dance.”
She pulled the foil off a Greek yogurt cup. “I had to learn about it for this show. Unlike many of the others, I didn’t start as a competitive ballroom dancer. Some of them—like Matteo, Danny, and Mila—were world champions.”
“Impressive. When did you decide you wanted to be a dancer?”
She paused with the spoon in her mouth, pulling it out slowly as she thought.
Killing him. She was fucking killing him. In bike shorts and an oversized TEAM STONE COLD tank top, with a yogurt spoon, she was killing him.
“I don’t remember,” she finally answered.
“You don’t? That seems like it would be a big decision.”
She shook her head and set the yogurt aside, thank god. “No, I mean, I was so young, I can’t remember that far back. I’ve always wanted to be a dancer. My whole life.”
Her words rang with truth, and the determination in her gaze threatened to strike him down. Had he ever wanted anything that badly? Been that clear on something he desired?
Alaska. He wanted to return to the place of simpler rules, clean air, nature, and sky at every turn. His heart felt at home there. Even now, with Gina filling his senses, Alaska called to him.
When he poked at the feeling, though, it wasn’t his family calling him back so much as the place, and the peace and tranquility it evoked in him.
“Wait a second.” He returned to something Gina has said, since he didn’t like rummaging around in his own feelings. “If you didn’t start with ballroom, what kind of dance did you start with?”
“Ballet, like most other little girls.” She leaned back on her hands. “My older sister had taken free dance classes at our local Boys & Girls Club, and my mom liked the teacher. Soon, I
was signed up for every kind of dance class they offered—jazz, tap, and Latin—and part of their kids’ dance troupe, which allowed me to travel.”
“How old were you?”
“When I joined that troupe? Probably eight. Eventually, we started looking for scholarships to other dance schools. I kept going with Latin and ballet, and picked up African dance and hip hop, too.” She gestured at her body. “I’m clearly not built to be a prima ballerina—not like Natasha—but I was good enough to audition and get into a public high school that specialized in the performing arts. That led to more opportunities, and I was part of another troupe and booking gigs by the time I was sixteen.”
She opened her mouth to speak, then shut it. Her gaze dropped. Whatever she’d been about to say, it was big. He wanted to know.
“What?” he asked quietly. “What is it?”
“I’ll tell you another time.” She pulled up her knees and wrapped her arms around them. “Anyway, we’re supposed to be talking about the most important time in your life.”
He pulled a protein shake out of his gym bag. “As you know, I live in Alaska.”
She chuckled. “I remember.”
“My family didn’t always live in that spot, though. We moved there around five years ago, after a fire destroyed . . . well, almost everything. Pop had a friend who hooked us up with Living Wild’s network, and they said they wanted to document our move and way of life.”
“A fire?” Her eyebrows nearly leaped off her head. “Was it lightning or something like that?”
“Arson.” Crap. He faced the camera and made a slashing motion across his throat. “Sorry, you can’t use that. There was a lawsuit and . . . you can’t air that.”
Jordy nodded. “That’s fine. We’ll cut it. Keep going.”
Gina’s eyes were bulging with curiosity, but she only said, “A fire?”
“Yeah.” That had been such a rough time. One of the neighbors had harbored a grudge toward Jimmy over a petty feud, and torched their home while they were away. They’d had a few things in lock boxes, and a small storage unit in town, and their vehicles. Nearly everything else was gone. “After that, my father wanted to move somewhere even more remote than where we already were. It would be hard, he said, but if we all went together, we could do it.”
