by Doreen Alsen
She didn’t look so dangerous. Dressed conservatively in a suit, sensible shoes on her feet, she could be a novice on her first day in the convent. Her dark hair was pulled back into a French braid, but some wisps had escaped to float around her face.
She looked familiar.
He wanted to talk to her but he still had a class to teach. “Okay! Let’s work on our combination.” Moving in front of the mirror-covered wall, he counted off and turned on the boom box.
“Good job, everyone! I’ll see you Thursday.” He watched the students gather into a swarm and leave the studio. The woman stayed where she was. He wiped his hands on his sweatpants as he walked over to her. “Can I help you?”
Her eyes were a dreamy shade of blue, the greenish blue of a calm sea. Her nose was small and straight in the middle of an oval face. Pretty. Very pretty.
“Yes,” she said. “I came to apologize for running you over. Unfortunately I’m Queen of the Klutzes.”
“Okay.” He held out a hand for her to shake. “Simon West. How did you know where to find me?”
She smiled and nodded at the Barrett University Dance T-shirt he wore. “I went to the Dance Department office and asked. I’m Veronica Cooke. I hope I didn’t hurt you.”
“You didn’t. Hurt me, that is.” Since when did he babble?
Since now, he guessed. He had a hard time thinking around her. He wanted to reach out and touch her cheek to see if her skin was as soft and smooth as it looked.
“Well, good. You’re a wonderful dancer. I wish I had that talent.” She glanced at her watch. “I’ve got to get to my office hours. It was nice to meet you.” She turned to leave.
He didn’t want her to. He found he very much wanted her to stay. Here. With him. “Um, do you have time to get coffee later?” He wasn’t dancing at Hardbody that night.
“I might. When?”
“Around four?”
“Four sounds great. Where?”
“Sammy’s?”
“Okay. I’ll see you then.” She gave him one last smile and left.
He indulged himself and watched her trundle down the hall. “I think I need to get to know you better, Veronica Cooke.”
****
Veronica couldn’t believe how cool and calm she was when she talked to Simon. Her heart had thumped hard against her rib cage. She managed to get out of there with out humiliating herself.
Score one for her.
She was pretty sure Simon was her cowboy from the previous night. He was handsome from afar.
He was dazzling up close, with blond hair that curled around his face. His eyes were a pure blue. His accent came right from Texas.
It didn’t hurt that his butt looked amazing in the sweatpants he wore and his chest and shoulders stretched his shirt in all the right places.
She’d nearly swallowed her tongue when she’d watched him dance with a combination of strength and grace. It was a powerful combination.
Her skin prickled at the idea of meeting him for coffee. She usually did not go out with men she’d just met. But this was just coffee in a crowded campus cafe. What could it hurt?
Easy answer. It couldn’t.
Chapter Four
Simon got to Sammy’s way before four. He found a table in a quiet corner, thinking it the perfect place to get to know a beautiful woman. He leaned back in his chair while keeping an eye on the door. With her dreamy mermaid eyes and shy smile, Veronica fascinated him.
Yes he’d been annoyed at her running him down at first, but she’d stolen a little piece of his heart when she tracked him down and apologized to him. He just couldn’t resist those eyes.
“You alone?” The waitress walked up to the table. Her Boston accent was thick and heavy.
“Yes.” He shook his head. “No. I’m waiting for someone.”
“Can I get you anything while you wait?”
“Yeah, coffee would be good.” He looked around her to check the door.
“Regular?”
“No, black please.” He didn’t watch the waitress leave. He couldn’t tear his eyes from the door.
He drummed his fingers on the table in unaccustomed impatience.
She would ask what he did. How much should he tell her?
Leading off with the fact that he was an exotic dancer was probably not the wisest choice. He was an under-employed choreographer, which was the truth. He would lead with that. So he made up the slack by teaching a couple of non-major dance classes at Barrett, tended bar every now and again at The End Zone—a local sports bar—and took off his clothes while he danced for women.
He wasn’t ashamed of being a stripper. He had a great body, which he worked hard to get and maintain, and no shyness about showing it off. At least he got to dance, which was the main thing.
The thing he lived for.
He’d give anything to find a steady gig as a choreographer for a ballet company. Addington had a respectable ballet company. He just had to get a foot in the door.
The waitress returned with his coffee. “Can I get you anything else right now?”
“No thank you. Not right now.”
“You just let me know when you’re ready to order.” She winked at him then sidled off to talk to another customer.
Simon sighed. He was used to women coming on to him. He didn’t have to like it.
But he did. He surely did.
Not that he’d ever act on it. Dozens of women every night sent him come join me notes after every show. He never acted on a single one of them.
He wasn’t stripping just to get some tail. It had always been about dancing and making money. He’d never had a problem getting women, being a straight man in a mostly gay man’s profession, so sex had never driven him.
Only the need to dance.
Always the need to dance.
He kept his eyes trained on the door. It opened and his breath caught and held. There she was, his mermaid.
He stood and waved. She smiled and battled her way through the crowd to get to him.
He’d never seen a more beautiful smile. Her cheeks were rosy from the cold and her hair wind-blown and dusted with snowflakes.
“Hello!” she said. “Am I late?”
“No, you’re right on time. Let me help with your coat.”
“Thanks.” She turned her back to him as she shrugged out of her sleeves.
He slid the cold, heavy wool garment down her arms and draped it over the extra chair at the table. “Please, sit.”
Tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, she wiggled into the seat. “Crowded in here.”
“What can I get you?” He caught the waitress’s eye and motioned for her to come over.
“Some tea would be great. Green, if they have some.”
“You got it.” He nodded to the waitress. “A green tea for the lady, please.”
She’d brought the coffeepot with her. “Do you want a refill?”
“Sure.”
All that accomplished, he turned his full attention on Veronica. He set his smile to stun. “So what do you do when you’re not knocking down poor dance instructors?”
She turned bright red. “I don’t usually make a habit of running people over.”
“So I’m special?”
She blinked. “Maybe.”
He laughed. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
Her eyes widened. “Pretty confident, aren’t you?”
“You got me.” He stirred his coffee. “So what do you do?”
She pursed her lips. “I’m an accountant and I teach accounting at Barrett, which is not nearly as interesting as teaching dancing.”
“Oh, I don’t know, I’ve heard that accountants can be pretty creative.”
“Oh, not me. Creativity isn’t allowed in my family.”
“That can’t be true.” To him it was inconceivable. Creativity had always been his raison d’être.
“Well, you got me there. My older brother is a musician and he’s allowed. But me and
my sister?” She shrugged. “No way.”
He didn’t like the shadows that crossed her eyes. “Are you good at what you do?”
She looked taken aback. After a minute, she said, “Well, yes.” She nodded. “Yes, I am.”
“Do you like what you do?”
Again another couple counts of silence. “I do.”
Simon took a chance and grabbed her hand from across the table. He ran his thumb over her knuckles. She sucked in a breath, so he knew he’d startled her. “Then that’s what’s important. Why do something if you hate it?”
“I guess when you put it that way, I can’t disagree.”
He wondered about her family, where she fit in the scheme of things. He knew he had to be patient, but it was proving difficult. He wanted to know everything about her all at once.
He could be patient when he needed to. When he wanted to. And as he looked into those dreamy sea green eyes of hers, he realized he’d do whatever he had to in order to learn her secrets.
****
“Here’s your tea! Can I get you anything else right now?”
“Veronica?” Simon asked.
“No thank you. Not right now,” she said.
“Maybe later, thanks,” Simon said with a heart-stopping smile.
Veronica picked up her cup and blew over the top of it before taking a sip.
She didn’t want to talk about her family. Her father didn’t suffer fools and expected everyone to jump to his tune. A career politician, about to embark on a campaign to become the governor of Massachusetts, he was totally about appearances.
All his children were to have a suitable and dignified career. Her brother, Roger, was the only one who could stand up to their father, as he was one of the most famous orchestral conductors in the entire world.
She was still trying to figure out if Simon was her cowboy from last night, but the mask he’d worn made that impossible. She wondered what he’d say if she asked him to take his clothes off.
Heh. It might make the level of embarrassment she’d feel worth it. “So, you sure don’t sound like you’re from around here.”
“No ma’am. I’m from the great state of Texas.” He grinned.
“You’re a long way from home, cowboy.” Let’s see what he’d say to that.
He got cautious. “You could say that.”
Was that an admission? Maybe he didn’t want her to know. “Is your family still there?”
“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “I haven’t been back in a long time.” And he didn’t look like he wanted to say anything more. His eyes focused on her face. “What about your family?”
“Born and bred a Boston Brahmin.” She tried to make it sound positive. “Lots of old money, none of which we earned. Oliver Wendell Holmes makes up a big branch of our family tree.”
His eyebrows skyrocketed up. “Holy hell. You really are connected.”
She shook her head because she didn’t want to give him the wrong impression. “No, not really.” She shrugged. “It’s all just names.”
He rubbed his hand over his chin. “Maybe. I mean, that’s easy for you to say, since you’ve always been connected to something historical. Me and my family?” He shook his head. “Poor dirt farmers from the Texas panhandle.”
“How’d you get into dancing from there?” She really wanted to know more.
“We had a dance studio in town. I got bitten by the bug and I got a scholarship.” He frowned. “My parents were none too thrilled. My dad particularly. Dancing wasn’t something real men did.”
“That must have hurt.” She certainly knew all about being an outsider in your own family.
He shrugged. “It was a long time ago.”
Her phone went off. She wrinkled her nose. “I have to get this.” She pulled the phone from her purse and wanted to groan seeing the caller I.D. Her mother. She stood as she clicked it on. “Mother.”
“Veronica. Do you have a moment to stop home tonight?”
“I’m headed straight to a department meeting after I finish what I’m doing.” She didn’t really want to deal with her mother.
“I want you to meet a colleague of your father’s. I think he’d suit as an escort for the Ballet Gala.”
Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no. “I appreciate the thought but I already have an escort.” Her pants were about to go up in flames.
“Oh. Do I know him?”
“I don’t think so. I’m in the middle of something right now. I’ll call you later.” She was a lying liar who lied. She clicked off the phone and turned back to Simon. She sat and deposited the phone back into its proper slot in her purse. “Sorry.”
“That’s okay. I hope there’s not a problem.” He sipped his coffee.
“Well, I do have a problem but it’s a little one. Nothing to worry about.”
“Are you sure? I’m a really good listener.”
She just bet, but she really didn’t want to tell him the sad tale of her mother setting her up with boring bankers and lawyers who wanted to score points with her politician brother-in-law. “It’s no big deal. Really.”
“C’mon, tell ol’ Simon about it.” His blue eyes twinkled.
She sighed. Why not? “There’s this big fundraiser dinner dance for the Ballet Guild coming up on Valentine’s Day. I’m on the planning committee and will be there. Wait. You’re a dancer. Are you going?”
His eyes clouded over. “No. I didn’t rate high enough to get an invitation.”
“I did. My mother’s trying to fix me up and I really don’t want to go with anyone on her approved date list.” She cleared her throat. She couldn’t believe how forward she was about to be. “Maybe you’d be interested in going with me? If you’re free, of course.” There. She’d done it. Her stomach felt a little queasy. “I can make it worth your while and introduce you to all the movers and shakers in the ballet world here.”
His eyes widened. “I usually tend bar at The End Zone on weekends, but I’m pretty sure I can get someone to cover my shift. Let me see what I can do.”
“Really?” Her voice squeaked a little. “That would be so great!” Even if he’d only said yes because she promised to introduce him to the movers and shakers, she was still thrilled.
“Going to a party with a pretty lady? Sounds like a great way to spend an evening. Why don’t you give me your number and I’ll call when I know if I can find someone to take my shift.”
She felt bubbly inside. Reaching into her purse, she grabbed the little carrier where she kept her cards. “Here’s my number.” She handed him the crisp white rectangle.
He glanced at it. “Awesome.” He put it in the pocket of his shirt. “I’ll let you know sometime tomorrow, if that’s soon enough.”
“That’s great! Oh, wait. I should probably warn you that I can’t dance. I will step on your toes all evening.”
A slow smile spread across his face. “Maybe we can meet up a few times before the gala and I can give you a few lessons.”
Visions of Patrick Swayze teaching Baby how to dance jumped up in front of her and her heart stuttered over a beat. “You would be willing to do that?”
“Sure. We could maybe grab a quick dinner on campus and then head to the dance studio.”
Oh, be still her heart. She was about to have a delightful coronary. And she still hadn’t found out if he was her cowboy. Did she dare dream that hunka-hunka-burning-love would actually be volunteering to teach her to dance?
Maybe she should just come out and ask, but she just couldn’t get her mouth and tongue to form the words. “If it would be no trouble, I’d like that,” was what Veronica went with.
“No trouble at all,” he said in that gorgeous Texas drawl. “It’d be my pleasure.” He lingered at that final word.
Heat zinged to all her lady parts and zapped them to life at the thought of Simon West and pleasure.
Their waitress returned. “Can I get you anything else?”
“Oh.” Veronica glanced at her watch. “Noth
ing for me, thanks.” She smiled across the table to Simon. “I’ve got a department meeting so I’ve got to go. Thanks for the tea.”
“No problem.” He gave her a big grin and patted his pocket. “I’ll be in touch soon.” He stood and held up her coat for her.
“Thanks!” She slipped into her coat, feeling extra warm. “I’m looking forward to hearing from you.”
After giving him one last smile, she turned and left.
The smile didn’t go away for a long time.
Chapter Five
“Faith, can you cover for me on Friday next week?” Simon sat at the bar at The End Zone
Faith Cabral, a curly haired blonde with huge chocolate eyes, wiped the counter in front of Simon. She frowned. “Valentine’s Day? I don’t know. Maybe, if Prince Charming doesn’t miraculously show up at the last minute to whisk me off. And I still haven’t gotten back to Hope about helping out with the catering of the Gala.” Hope Monahan was a local restaurateur who always catered the big party for the Ballet Guild.
“I’ll make it worth your while.”
“Really,” she scoffed. “How’re you going to do that?”
“I’ll take two of your shifts whenever you want.” He only hoped she wouldn’t ask for a shift when he was scheduled to dance at Hardbody.
Faith crossed her arms underneath her chest. “Three.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Three, huh?” He rubbed his hand over his chin. “Okay, you got ’em.”
“This must be some real hot date you’ve got going.”
“You don’t know the half of it.” On two fronts. He wanted to spend time with Veronica but he could also not pass up a chance to rub elbows with the money people for the Addington Ballet Company. “But I never kiss and tell.”
“That’s a shame.” Faith laughed. The front door to the restaurant opened, let in a cold gust of air, and Faith’s expression clouded. “Great. Just who I want to see.”
Simon turned on his barstool. “Who—Shane Baker?” Shane Baker worked with Faith for Hope Monahan.
“The biggest pain my cute little hiney has ever known. And, oh look.” She rolled her eyes. “Here he comes.”
