Romance: Dance with Me (California Belly Dance Romance Book 2)

by Cameron, DeAnna

  If he’d been offended, he didn’t show it as he parked her suitcase at the base of the stairs. He turned back with his usual cavalier smile. “I guess it’s a good idea we’re getting started a few days before Gina gets here. It’ll give you a chance to get all your clever put-downs out of the way.”

  His smile never faltered, but hers vanished.

  “I’m sorry. I’m just not used to this.”

  He held up his hand. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I know this is a weird situation. Honestly, I’m just glad you’re willing to do it. Do you want to see the upstairs?”

  “Do I? Absolutely.” She had to admit, she was more than a little curious what her room looked like.

  He lowered the telescoping handle on the suitcase and hoisted it up. “Damn,” he said. “Did you pack bricks?”

  She tilted her head. “Hey, you don’t get to complain about my stuff. Got it?”

  “Fine,” he said. “But holy mackerel.”

  She followed him until he stopped at a bright and beautifully appointed bedroom with a view of the harbor.

  “You can use this room, if you want,” he said. It seemed like he had something else to say, but he gnawed his lip instead, and his fingers were tapping a nervous rhythm on her suitcase handle.

  “What is it?” she asked. “Already freaked out at the thought of cohabitation?”

  He shook off his awkward distraction and grinned. “Yeah, I guess. Something like that. Hey, why don’t you settle in and then meet me down in the kitchen. I was just about to have dinner. You’re welcome to join me.”

  “Really?” She couldn’t remember the last time a guy offered to cook for her, but what happened to the upstairs tour? How much more incredible was this house of his? She wanted to see what was behind all these closed doors, but she couldn’t muster the courage to ask. Besides, there’d be plenty of time to be nosy. “Sure, I’m starving,” she said, and it wasn’t a lie. “What’s on the menu?”

  “Soup and grilled cheese sandwiches.”

  She chuckled. “You really are a true-blue bachelor, aren’t you?”

  “Oh, you’d be surprised,” he said.

  “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to make fun of you,” she said quickly. “Cooking isn’t exactly my strong suit, either. I live on microwave meals.”

  “Really?”

  She couldn’t tell if he was agreeing with her or mocking her, so she ignored it. Instead, she grabbed her suitcase handle and wheeled it to the bed. “I can put this stuff away later. Now where’s that dinner you mentioned?”

  She followed him to the kitchen, where she propped herself up on his stainless-steel kitchen counter. She slid back to the floor when he gave her an odd look, like maybe she was raised in a barn. Geez, he was fussy. Was this how it was going to be?

  She focused on the kitchen. The place was spotless, just like the rest of the house. All stark white and metal. It looked more like a hospital than any kitchen she’d ever been in. Who would’ve guessed Taz Roman was a neat freak?

  She felt stiff and out of place, but he, on the other hand, couldn’t have looked more comfortable. He went to work pulling packages from a refrigerator that was big enough to house a small family. From a hidden compartment atop the counter, he pulled a thick and crusty loaf of bread and cut four thick slices. From the packages, he pulled at least three different cheeses—two white and one cheddar—and cut slices from them as well. He poured a container of a reddish-orange puree soup into a pot and turned up one of the industrial-sized burners.

  She watched, fascinated. When he was watching the sandwiches on the griddle, she asked something she’d wanted to ask the moment she arrived. “So, uh, how long is your sister going to be here?” And more importantly, how long do I have to be here?

  “She didn’t say exactly,” he said, shaking the grill pan slightly.

  Her attention was drawn to a stack of Pandemonium Ball fliers on the counter, just like the ones he’d left with Abby. She took one. The fantasy illustration looked like something right out of Middle Earth.

  “Do you want to go to that?”

  She looked up to find him watching her.

  “I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it,” she said. She wasn’t going to admit that the price was way out of her league.

  “Since I’m performing, I get an extra ticket. You can have it if you want.”

  “Really?” She knew she was gushing, but who could be cool when someone was offering a free Pandemonium ticket? “You don’t mind?”

  “No, not at all.”

  She wanted to squeal like a four-year-old girl, but he hardly noticed. His attention was on the food. He lifted the panini-press top to reveal two perfectly browned, crisp sandwiches. He put them on plates and ladled soup from the pot on the stove into bowls. He set a bowl and plate in front of her. “I hope you like tomato and red pepper soup.”

  She already knew from the smell she was going to love it, but her mind was still reeling about the ball.

  “So what’s the deal with the costumes?” she asked and took a bit of the soup. “Is there a theme, or anything goes? Wow, where did you get this soup?”

  She was going to track it down and buy a gallon.

  “I made it a couple days ago. It’s always better a day or two later. The flavors mingle. You shouldn’t let your sandwich get cold.”

  She tried not to stare in disbelief, but really? He made it?

  “Where’d you learn to cook like this?”

  He sat down at a stool against the kitchen island and dipped the corner of his sandwich into the thick soup. “My aunt was a great cook. My dad, too. He used to tell me a man needed to know three things: how to make his own food, clean his own clothes, and balance his own budget. If he couldn’t do those things, he’d always be at someone else’s mercy.”

  “Sage advice,” she said.

  “Yeah,” he said, and his expression turned solemn. He ran his hand over his head, pulling his dusky hair back from the hard planes of his face. The gaze of his forest-green eyes had drifted away, across years, she suspected, not miles.

  He was so distant now, and she realized how much he must miss his parents.

  “So, the ball,” he said finally. “As far as costumes go, just about anything goes: a Halloween costume or a dance costume would work. The more outrageous the better, though.”

  “I can manage that.” She mentally catalogued her dance wardrobe. “Anything else I need to know?”

  He finished a bite from his sandwich. “Nothing comes to mind. How about you? Anything I should know?”

  “I want my own bathroom,” she said.

  His eyebrows shot up, then he smiled. “All right. I can manage that.”

  Emboldened, she moved to the next item on her mental list. “I want a key.”

  He reached around, pulled something from his back pocket, and placed it on the counter beside her. It was a shiny, new brass key. “Already done. And the security code is the street number.”

  “Nice.” She picked it up and turned it over in her hand. It was cold and solid and very, very real. How many women would envy this? But she couldn’t think that way. This was business. That was it.

  “Anything else?” he asked.

  “Nope. My own room, my own bathroom, and a key. That’s it.”

  Taz fidgeted. “Well, you’ll have your own room until Gina gets here. Then you’ll need to share my room.”

  She put down the spoonful of soup that was halfway to her mouth. “No way. This isn’t going to be a friends-with-benefits kind of thing. If that’s what you thought, that is not what this is.”

  He shook his head, amused. “Believe me, I’m not expecting that. But if my sister sees we’re not sharing a room, she’ll know we’re not for real.”

  “How could she possibly know? It’s not like she’s going to inspect the house.”

  “You don’t know my sister. That’s the least she’ll do. She’s not coming here to visit Disneyland. She’s
coming to stick her nose in my business.”

  This guy really was paranoid. “Don’t you think you’re exaggerating?” He looked so glum, she punched his arm playfully. “She just wants to meet her little brother’s special girl. That’s all. And she’ll only be popping in and out, right? It’s not like she’ll be staying here.”

  His gaze slipped away.

  “She won’t be staying here, right?”

  “Actually, she is.”

  What an interesting piece of news he hadn’t shared.

  “You told me she was going to stay in a hotel.”

  His gaze dodged hers again. “I know. I tried, but she wouldn’t go for it.”

  “So she’ll be here. With us. Watching us every minute?”

  He turned to the refrigerator and busied himself by pouring them each a glass of lemonade. “Not every minute. Just the couple of weeks she’s here.”

  She couldn’t have heard that right. “Wait, you just said you didn’t know how long she was going to be here.”

  He was still turned away from her. “She said maybe two weeks, give or take.”

  | 11

  “Two weeks? That’s how long we have to keep up this charade?” She started running through her calendar. She’d assumed three days, four tops. But two weeks? Maybe three? How in the world could they going to keep a lie going that long?

  She was about to say so when he turned back. Her complaint died on her tongue. He wasn’t smiling or sheepish. Now his eyes were narrowed, his shoulders squared, his jaw tense. “Yes,” he said, any hint of remorse gone. “Two weeks, give or take. Is that going to be a problem?”

  She leaned back and hit the edge of the counter with a thud. “I just wasn’t expecting it to go that long.”

  “Well, there’s still time to back out.” He turned back to the fridge. She watched the wide span of his shoulders and the muscles tensing beneath his snug white T-shirt. Yeah, she should leave. This was obviously a mistake. Another to add to her ever-growing collection.

  He turned back and seemed to sense her thoughts. The hard glare in his eyes had softened. “Before you go, I want you to see something first.”

  She put down her half-eaten sandwich and followed him to the staircase and up the curve of floating white steps to the second floor. He led her along a white corridor that glowed orange from the setting sun till he reached the last door. He opened it and stood aside for her to enter.

  “This is my bedroom,” he said.

  She slanted a look at him, but it was clear he wasn’t suggesting anything. Tentatively, she stepped into the vast cavern of a room, filled with the twilight glow glancing off the ocean. There was a king-sized bed wrapped in white linens and sky-blue pillows, a sleek dresser and matching nightstands in cool wood tones, and a giant potted palm tree in a corner. It was a gorgeous room but still paled in comparison to the view. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, she could see the wide, blue sky meet the sparkling Pacific along the horizon. From this vantage point, it was like there was nothing between her and the ocean.

  “This is beautiful,” she said, aware that it was a ridiculous understatement, but unable to think of any other way to describe it. Breathtaking, maybe? Hypnotic?

  She sensed him moving closer. The warmth of his body touched her, and she shivered.

  “It’s pretty nice,” he said. “But this is what I wanted to show you.” He stepped over to the navy-blue suede couch that sat in front of a sitting area arranged beside the room’s white marble fireplace.

  “A new sofa?” Seemed like a strange thing for a guy like Taz to be excited about. Okay, so he’s into interior design. It wouldn’t be the strangest thing she’d learned about him today.

  “It’s not just a sofa.” He pulled the two seat cushions to the floor, reached down, and lifted out a foldaway bed.

  Now she understood. “That’s your solution?”

  He was looking at her with such a soft, please-approve expression, it melted the snide comment tickling her tongue. He really was trying to make this work.

  “Okay,” she said, “but you’re sleeping there, right? I get the bed.”

  The shadows lifted from his expression, and he smirked. “I was thinking we could alternate. Seems only fair.”

  She walked to the bed and fell back on it, throwing her arms wide. “No way, the bed is mine.”

  “Bed hog,” he growled, but the humor was back in his voice. “Fine, but you better not be one of those grumpy morning people.”

  “Are you kidding? Of course I am. I’m awful until I’ve had at least two cups of coffee.” She laughed, but it was sort of the truth. “What about you? You don’t snore, do you?”

  He faked a huge, honking snore. “Just like that. Every night. That won’t bother you, will it?”

  He walked by her, and she tried to kick his legs out from under him. He stumbled and dropped beside her. He shifted around.

  “Hey, this bed really is comfortable. I take it all back. You’re getting the hide-a-bed.”

  She rolled on top of him and pinned him. “Uh-uh, drummer boy. I already called dibs.”

  He brought his hands together, raised them between her arms, and knocked away her hands. She landed with a thump on his chest. Her laughter caught in her throat. She could feel his breath and smell the woodsy, pine scent of him. Her heart beat faster, but she knew it didn’t have anything to do with their game anymore. She jumped up and was on the floor in an instant. She pretended to be immersed in the view. “Fine, we’ll trade off. You’re right, it’s only fair.” She swatted at invisible dust on her sleeves and invisible wrinkles in her black capri pants. Anything to keep from looking at those deep, green eyes of his.

  He propped himself up. If he realized she was freaked out, he didn’t say anything. “All right. Glad you can be reasonable. How about I show you the rest of the house?”

  He slid off the bed and went to the door. She followed him down the hall.

  The next door opened to another impossibly large room, and it was empty except for a stereo cabinet along one wall and a long, red-velvet tufted bench. She stepped in, and her heels made a clicking sound on the wooden floor. White plantation shutters covered the wide band of high windows. Two full walls were covered in mirrors. She pirouetted. “You have a dance room!” It was about half the size of the one at the studio, but more than enough for her. She turned and posed and played with her reflection.

  “If I’d known you were such a narcissist, I would have showed you this room first.”

  “You should have,” she gushed, gliding through the opening combinations of her audition choreography. “You probably would have gotten the bed without a fight.”

  “In that case, I re-pose the question—”

  “Oh no,” she said. “Too late for that. That issue is decided. We’re taking turns. But this room, am I allowed to use it?”

  “Yeah, if you want. Any time.”

  She bit back a goofy grin. It was almost too good to be true.

  “I never use this room,” he said. “The acoustics aren’t great, so I created a sound-proof music room on the other side of the house.”

  She perked up. “You have a music room, too? Can I see it?”

  She knew she was acting like a fangirl, but it was just so cool. She followed him down the hall. On the other side of the staircase, he opened a door to reveal a room that was half the size of the dance room but outfitted like a recording studio. Speakers, amplifiers, microphones, cables, and decks with dozens of knobs, levers, and gauges.

  She recognized his signature doumbek against one wall, but there were others, too, as well as an acoustic guitar, a mandolin, and some horns. She reached up to touch the thick, charcoal-gray foam that covered the walls.

  “That’s what I call the ‘neighbor savers,’” he said.

  She looked at him funny, and he added, “Soundproofing. There’s a window back there somewhere too, but the foam covers it. It keeps the sound levels down when I’m practicing, which keeps t
he neighbors happy.”

  She feigned surprise. “You mean they aren’t music fans?”

  “Not at two in the morning, which is usually the only time I have to work on anything here.”

  She approached the deck. “I didn’t know you recorded your own work.” Her fingers trailed over the levers and knobs.

  “I don’t really. I mean, I’m going to. Someday. I’m sort of working on something.”

  “Another Belly Dance Diva compilation? I’m not surprised. Dancers love it. You must be selling a ton.”

  He rubbed his chin. “It’s not exactly for the Belly Dance Divas. It’s something personal I’m working on. Some rhythms my father used to play with me when I was a kid, and some he used to do with his band. I’m adding them to some fusion beats, and I’m hoping to be able to release them as a solo album.”

  His smile was gone. He was tense again, back to being all business.

  “Sounds cool. I’m sure it’ll be just as popular as the Divas album. Anything you do with a drum is going to get attention. Wait, did that come out wrong?”

  He chuckled. “I don’t know, but I know what you mean.”

  “When are you going to release it?”

  He ran his hand through his hair. “I was hoping to get it done this year, to coincide with the new Diva compilation—which is in the works, by the way—so it could dovetail with the marketing Garrett is planning for that release. But it doesn’t look like that’s going to happen. I need to get the master recordings back from my dad’s old label, and so far I haven’t been able to make that happen.” That distant look came back, but just as quickly, he shrugged it off. “C’mon. We should probably get back to our food before it gets cold.”

  She grabbed some loose skin at her middle. “I don’t think I’d suffer from a missed meal. I could probably use it.”

  “Watching your girlish figure?” he said as they made their way down the staircase.

  She laughed. “Well, if I don’t, no one else will either.”

  “Don’t be so sure,” he said. “Your curves are in all the right places.”