“Right. Your class.” There was a pause while he looked at her, and her cells and synapses melted into something about the same consistency as a roast marshmallow. “Well, take care of yourself today,” Sandro finally said. He didn’t move.
“You, too,” she told him. “I mean, cooking and all. Not that cooking’s dangerous...but, I mean, don’t get burned or anything.” What was she saying?
He was still smiling at her and the look in his eyes had narrowed and darkened into the look she recognized from when they’d sat against the wall after her bike crash. The look that made her think he was about to kiss her. Feeling it on her skin and all the way inside her, Jenna thought she just might fall over. Again.
She started backing away. She was sure it seemed strange but she didn’t care. She had to put some space between them.
“No burns,” he said softly, and a flicker of worry eclipsed his smile. “I’ll see you later, Jenna.”
He turned and crossed the dance floor, stopping to give Paul a high five before he walked toward the exit. He paused at the front desk and said something to Marlene. She laughed delightedly and watched him as he pushed through the doors and out into the street. Jenna watched him go, too, her own dose of worry darkening her spirits for a moment. What had just happened? What was this thing between them?
Whatever it was, she had to put it out of her mind. She’d just seen how he’d completely derailed Marlene’s concentration with one passing comment. She should take heed of Jack’s warning and Gavin’s stories, and not pretend Sandro would somehow be different with her.
Sandro was part of an old habit she had to break. The charming-womanizing-guy habit. She’d promised herself she’d avoid men like this. She’d promised herself she’d keep her focus on work, where it belonged.
There was movement across the room. Her students were strolling onto the dance floor, stretching, chatting and laughing as they warmed up for class. All the worry dissipated. These kids were what mattered. They were her future, and the simple joy they brought was way more important than the confusing and off-limits complication that was Sandro Salazar.
CHAPTER NINE
NO BURNS, HE’D told her. But looking at Jenna as she walked onto the dance floor, Sandro knew he’d lied. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen and he was burning. He’d thought of her all week, and now he was here watching her dance and realizing he was on fire and in trouble. How could he have thought that he’d somehow be immune to her lush frame and ethereal beauty? And now he’d have that costume haunting his dreams, as well.
She was wearing something tiny. It was like a bikini on top, except swaths of light, sparkly fabric wrapped around her arm and one shoulder. Below her lean, muscled torso was another piece of fabric, sort of a skirt but with all kinds of pieces missing in interesting places. Her lips were red and her eyes were dark with makeup, but she’d managed to avoid the clown look of so many of the other dancers.
The dance floor was enormous and crowded with many couples, all waiting for the competition to begin. Jenna’s focus was entirely on Brent, and Sandro found himself wondering if they’d ever been a couple. They were gorgeous together, that was for sure. Brent’s medium height and blond good looks were a perfect contrast for Jenna’s petite feminine frame. Sandro watched as Brent bent down and said something into Jenna’s ear and her wide smile illuminated her face. He could see it from across the cavernous room and jealousy crawled over him like some kind of skin disease. He wanted to be the one to put that smile there.
The dancers all seemed to know exactly when the music would start. A hush went over them, and each couple struck a pose, their focus laser-sharp on their partners. Then the music began, and on the first note each dancer swung into motion and followed the driving Latin rhythm perfectly, showcasing their elaborate steps as the judges wandered the perimeter watching them intently.
“This is awesome!” Paul whispered, and Sandro knew he’d just lost his last scrap of hope that maybe Paul would grow disillusioned with the world of ballroom dance. His little brother’s face was lit up with excitement, his eyes were bright and he was taking it all in with an eagerness that Sandro couldn’t fathom. Where Sandro saw layers of paint and weird spray tans, Paul evidently saw magic.
Suddenly Sandro pictured himself in a high-end cooking store, his hands on the perfect sauté pan. He remembered the way he used to feel when his food was cooked to perfection and plated into a work of art back in New York. Maybe he couldn’t understand Paul’s love of dance, but no one had understood Sandro’s love of cooking, either. He’d had no encouragement to follow his dreams and it had made his journey difficult. Maybe Jenna was right. Maybe the best way to help Paul was to make sure he didn’t have to pursue his dream all alone.
Then Jenna and Brent spun into view and that was the last coherent thought Sandro had until the song was over. Her dancing was exquisite. She was so light on her feet she looked as though she barely touched the ground. Her legs lengthened into elaborate lines, her arms shifted smoothly, and the way her hips moved, well, it was just hot. She was completely sexy, completely at home in the dance, completely present. He could tell from the way one of the judges lingered at the edge of the floor close to where they danced that she and Brent were moving on in the competition. For the next sixty seconds he was aware of nothing but Jenna.
Holy hell, no wonder Brent was in love with her. The way she shimmied and shook around him, well, no guy could be expected to resist that. It was lucky for him that Brent clearly didn’t have the balls to actually do anything about his feelings.
Lucky for him? Sandro groaned inwardly and looked away from the dance floor for a moment to clear his addled brain. He was here because she was Paul’s teacher and she seemed to feel that Paul would benefit from seeing this insane circus of sequins and spandex. He was here because he’d acted like an idiot at her dance studio the other day and he owed her one. He wasn’t here to think about developing any feelings other than unavoidable abstract lust for Jenna Stevens.
When the music stopped, the audience was on its feet and Sandro cheered and clapped with as much enthusiasm as the rest. Paul looked over at him with a knowing smile. “Doesn’t look like you had such a miserable time after all.”
Sandro elbowed him in the ribs. “Shut up. This was all for you, bro. What did you think?”
“I know you don’t understand, but I want to be able to dance like that. I want to be out there competing someday.”
“You’re right. I don’t understand the desire to dress up in tight pants and heels and wiggle your hips in front of a bunch of people.” Sandro laughed when Paul got an elbow jab back at him. “But if it floats your boat, bro, more power to you.”
“Well, at least I don’t want to put on an apron and cook in the kitchen!” Paul shot back.
“Touché.” Sandro laughed and mussed his little brother’s carefully styled hair. “I knew there was a reason I liked you so much, you little—”
“Shhh!” Paul whispered.
The judges were finished conferring and three numbers were called. One of them was Jenna’s. She and Brent had a chance to dance in the final.
As the last round got under way, Sandro had interest in nothing but Jenna, silently cheering her every step as she danced her heart out on the floor below. And when she and Brent were declared the winners, he was the first back out of his seat, cheering for her in sheer happiness, feeling her triumph as his own.
* * *
HE LEFT PAUL watching a performance by some kids about his age and went to find Jenna. He needed to be polite and congratulate her, or at least that was what he was telling himself. Reality was, he didn’t have any clue what he needed, but he just wanted to be near her.
She wasn’t in the lobby, so he started down a wide hallway that bordered the ballroom and found her about halfway down. It was a lot less crow
ded down here. She had thrown a long, loose sweatshirt over her costume and he was a little sorry about that. He was surprised to see her alone, with no family or friends around to celebrate her victory. There was no sign of Brent, either.
“Hey,” he said, and she looked up from the strap of the shoe she’d been trying to remove.
“Sandro!” She seemed genuinely pleased to see him and stood up. He couldn’t resist. He reached down and gave her a hug. She was warm and he liked the feel of her soft sweatshirt over her muscular arms.
“You were amazing out there, Jenna. Congratulations!”
“Thank you,” she said, smiling warmly. “I so appreciate you being here.” She looked around him and frowned. “Where’s Paul?”
For the second time since he’d met Jenna, Sandro felt completely, irrationally jealous of his little brother. He wasn’t used to beautiful women looking over his shoulder in search of another guy, especially not a teenage squirt like Paul. “Still watching the dancing,” he told her.
“Is he enjoying himself?”
“Yes.” Sandro decided to make her day. “I give up. I’ll never understand it, but he loves this dancing stuff. I’ve never seen him as excited as he was watching your competition. You were right, Jenna—he was meant to do this.”
Her wide smile got even wider. “Are you serious? You’re not going to be all grumpy about it anymore?” She looked like a kid who’d just got the best Christmas present.
Sandro laughed. “I can’t promise not to be grumpy. Or not to worry. But I’m glad I brought him to San Francisco.”
Jenna surprised him by reaching up and throwing her arms around his neck. She could barely reach, so he instinctively leaned down to reciprocate. His hands went to her waist and the curve there was almost all he could think about. That and the way she was so small under his hands—until her hips flared out in a perfect pinup-girl curve.
She must have caught his train of thought, because she froze and looked up at him, eyes wide and a deep blue under the layers of eye shadow and sprinkles of glitter. And he couldn’t help it. He knew it was a mistake, but all caution fled when he leaned close enough to feel her breath on his lips.
He brought his mouth down with no finesse, no skill, just the desperation of a thirsty man too long without water. Her mouth opened for him, and his own low sound of relief muffled her gasp. He’d wanted to do this since they’d sat on the sidewalk after the bike accident...maybe ever since she’d teased him at dinner on Jack’s ranch. One hand left her waist and reached for her hair, but her hand caught his and brought it back down.
“Photo opportunity soon,” she murmured against his lips.
He tasted her lightly there, where her words had been, and her arms around his neck tightened and pulled him closer, inviting him to explore the velvet skin inside her mouth. He staggered forward, losing balance, and she stepped back with him until she was pressed against the wall next to the bench. They didn’t break the kiss, somehow moving as their tongues twined with each other’s, as their breath went harsh and ragged, and his body pressed into hers.
He didn’t know how long they stayed against the wall like that. Long enough that his mind had narrowed down to sex and nothing else. Long enough that when he heard someone mutter, “Get a room,” he felt as if he was emerging from some kind of euphoric and distant place he’d only ever gone to before with the help of narcotics. This was Jenna’s workplace, his heated brain remembered. Down the hall was a lobby full of Jenna’s colleagues.
“We should stop,” he murmured into her mouth, and took one more kiss, long and slow, his thumb trailing her cheekbone, not wanting to leave her silken skin.
“This is crazy,” she whispered as he pulled away. She brought her hand to her mouth, immediately self-conscious of the lipstick he’d smeared. She smiled behind her hand then, her eyes lowered from his, and one finger came up, tipped in a scarlet nail, and trailed the outline of his lips, wiping lipstick from there, as well. He closed his eyes—it felt that incredible.
“Jenna?” Brent’s voice was behind them.
“Oh, no.” Jenna’s voice was so soft only Sandro could hear it. He tipped her head forward so it touched his chest. He wanted to kick himself. When he left New York, he’d vowed to treat all women with a new level of respect, the respect they deserved. And here he was, with the first woman he’d wanted since then, and he’d put her in this awkward position—lipstick smeared, hair and clothing in disarray, right in front of her dance partner.
“Brent, hey.” He turned his head just enough to see Brent out of the corner of his eye but hopefully not so much that the other man could see the lipstick on Sandro’s face. He pulled Jenna close to his chest to hide her. “Jenna and I were talking and she got a little emotional. Can you give us a minute?”
“Jenna, are you all right?” Brent started to step closer and Sandro felt irritation creep up.
“I’m good, Brent.” Jenna kept her head against Sandro’s chest. He could get used to having her like this, nestled in his arms. “Sandro’s right—I just got emotional...but I’m okay.”
A shriek of “Brenty!” came to their rescue and Sandro felt Jenna smile against him. He heard Brent say “Mom!” and then there were all kinds of high-pitched, squealy congratulations as Brent went toward the cacophony. Jenna took advantage of the distraction to reach for her bag and pull out a packet of makeup wipes. She used one to clean the lipstick off Sandro’s face and then he did the same for her, enjoying the intimacy of tracing the line of her mouth and making it perfect again.
“Am I good?” She looked up and Sandro couldn’t help it. He leaned down and kissed her again, gently this time, on the cheek.
“You’re beautiful,” he assured her. “Perfect.” And he meant it.
* * *
JENNA HOPED SANDRO had done a good enough job on her makeup that it wouldn’t be obvious to Brent, and his entire family, that she’d just been making out against a wall with her student’s big brother. What had she done? Gone against everything she’d promised herself, that’s what. But breaking promises had never felt so good.
She glanced at Sandro, and he smiled at her ruefully, shaking his head a little as if he couldn’t believe what they’d done, either.
“Jenna, get over here, please! We need a picture of the two champions!” Brent’s sister, Sarah, was next to her with admiration in her eyes. “You were amazing out there! Congratulations!”
“Wait for me?” she asked Sandro, trying to keep her voice quiet.
“Sure,” he murmured, his voice laced with humor and seduction. “As long as you want.”
She tried to think of something else, something serious or depressing, to take away the flush Sandro’s kisses had left on her cheeks.
Brent was holding out his arm for her. Jenna went to him and posed while Sarah snapped photos. Ballroom dance was a tradition in Brent’s family. His mother had been a champion in Poland and Sarah was already a huge success in youth competitions.
After the photos, Jenna stepped back to let Brent celebrate with his family. Hugs, flower bouquets and happy chatter surrounded her as her peers mingled with their loved ones. The loneliness Jenna felt in these moments after competition was familiar, but it still hurt. Her family’s indifference meant she celebrated her victories alone.
“Jenna!” She looked up and saw Paul jogging down the hall. “Congratulations! You were awesome!” Paul stopped a few feet away and the admiration and excitement on his face wiped away the traces of Jenna’s self-pity.
“Did you like it?” she asked.
“Yeah! I couldn’t believe it! I mean, I’d seen you practice a little, and I knew you were good, but I had no idea... How’d you get so good?”
Jenna laughed ruefully, thinking of her lifetime of dance classes and rehearsals. “Lots of classes and lots of practice.”
“Jenna?” Brent took her hand. “We need to get into the ballroom for our official photos.” He pulled her in under his arm. Jenna knew in an instant that he was doing it to show Sandro their connection and she lifted his arm and stepped out from under it. She wouldn’t be a pawn in whatever guy game he was playing.
“Sure,” she answered. She picked up her bag. “Give me a few moments to freshen up.” She needed to make sure the damage from Sandro’s epic kisses wasn’t immortalized in their photos.
Brent nodded and wandered toward the main ballroom, his happy family in tow.
Sandro seemed to read her thoughts. “Your family couldn’t make it today?”
Jenna sighed. “It’s a long story.”
“They want her to be a lawyer,” Paul added.
“How is it my baby brother knows more about you than I do?” Sandro asked, a wry smile on his face that melted something inside her.
“Maybe he’s been paying more attention,” she teased, then stopped abruptly, remembering just what kind of attention Sandro had been paying her only minutes earlier.
Sandro’s voice was serious. “I’ve been paying attention, too. Trust me.”
She could feel each word as a featherlight touch. She hoped her elaborate makeup hid her blush. “I can’t thank you two enough for coming,” she said. “But I have to get going.”
“Congratulations again, Jenna,” Paul said.
“Paul, can you give us a second?” Sandro asked. “Meet me by the front door of the hotel?”
“Sure,” Paul said, his eyes full of questions that somehow he had the restraint not to ask. He turned to go and made it a few steps down the hall before turning around. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” he called, all little brother again in an instant.
“Goodbye, bro.” Sandro’s voice was more a command than a farewell.
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