It all came back to her. The sand on the floor, the smell of the ocean wafting in the always-open front door, and the buzz of tattoo guns blazing wild art on bare skin. She sighed, remembering that first incredible experience. The adrenaline rush of being under that gun. The ecstasy of watching the image she had spent so much time doodling and perfecting on paper come alive on her arm. No other tattoo had ever felt quite the same since.
“Your first, huh? It must be special,” he said.
She traced the hibiscus. It was her father’s particular favorite. “It is special. For a lot of reasons.”
They were the reasons she never talked about and tried never to even think about. She kept them to herself, chained to a concrete brick in the deepest, darkest parts of her memory.
But right now, with Taz so close and leaning in so intently, she could feel the chain loosening.
As she stared into his endlessly green eyes, she shivered, feeling naked and entirely exposed. But she knew she was safe. She could tell him about Dad, and about her dreams. She could tell him anything.
He flashed a sly grin as if he were reading her mind.
“Want to know one of my secrets?” he asked.
Her chest seized. Oh, God. Was he feeling it, too? “Uh, yeah,” she said, trying to sound calm.
He turned back to the television. “I don’t know. Maybe I shouldn’t tell you.”
“Hey, c’mon, that’s not fair.” She slapped him on the arm.
He was teasing. She could see it in the curl of his lips.
“You can’t put something out there like that,” she cajoled. “You have to tell me.”
He cradled his arm like she’d really hurt him, but a smile spread widely across his face. “I can’t tell you. If I do, you’ll never want to leave this bed.”
Her heart raced. She licked her lips and wondered when she’d last brushed her hair and whether her breath was fresh. “C’mon. Tell me.”
“All right.” He leaned over and pinned her against the pillow with his wide, strong chest. She gasped, breathing in his warm, woodsy scent.
He didn’t seem to notice. He was pulling open a drawer of the nightstand.
Her mind raced. Was it what she thought it was? Was this really happening? Thank God she’d taken that bath.
When he leaned up, he presented her with a handful of candy packages. “Okay, you asked for it. Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, M&Ms, or Milky Way bar?”
Her shoulders sank. “Chocolate?”
He laughed like it was the funniest thing he’d heard all night. “Yeah. Pretty great, huh? It’s like my own personal concession stand.” He looked down at the two packages still in his hand. “You don’t want one?”
She yanked the bag of M&Ms out of his grip and tore open a corner.
“Honestly, it’s no wonder you’re still single.”
“Who’s single?” he said and popped a whole chocolate cup into his mouth. “I have a girlfriend, remember?”
He laughed, jabbed her in the arm, and settled back to watch the rest of the movie.
| 20
The next morning, Melanie awoke to an empty bed.
Taz had nodded off almost immediately after the movie’s credits ran. She hadn’t had the heart to wake him and make him move to the fold-out bed.
She had just lain there most of the night, listening to him breathe, feeling the covers shift when he shifted. It was a peaceful sleep, but when she had awakened the next morning, he was already gone. The meeting with Garrett must have been an early one, she figured.
She, on the other hand, had nowhere to be. Silently, she thanked Deffner again for her glorious four-ten workweeks, which made every weekend a three-day weekend.
When she finally mustered the energy to get out of bed, sometime around nine in the morning, and passed the closed door of the guest room, she stopped to listen for signs of life within. Nothing. When she reached the kitchen, she realized why. Gina had left a handwritten note: Taz, Going shopping for a costume then meeting a friend for dinner. Don’t wait up.
She had to hand it to the woman. She was determined. Nothing was going to keep her from the Pandemonium Ball. She wondered what kind of fireworks there’d be if Garrett didn’t cough up the extra ticket.
| 21
Like Gina, Melanie realized she had better get her costume, too.
She considered stopping by her mom’s place to go through the boxes of performance costumes she’d stuffed in a storage shed in the carport.
They hadn’t parted on the best terms, though. Another screaming match wasn’t exactly the way she wanted to spend her day.
Instead, she headed for the dance studio.
“Looks like you’ve been busy,” she said to Abby, who was sweeping the shop floor when she arrived.
The boutique had made significant progress since she’d last seen it. The shelves along the wall were full, the music corner was together, and the jewelry racks dripped with dangling, shiny things. There were just two empty, round racks sitting in the middle of the space beside an open box of hangers.
“It’s coming together. Just need to figure out what moves from the shelves to the racks. The skirts, for sure. But I’m torn between the silk veils and the tribal belts for the other one.”
“I vote belts. The tassels and fringe will look better hanging, don’t you think?”
“Yeah, you’re right. Belts it is.” She moved to the shelf with three stacks of folded belts. She was turned away and was sorting through them when she added, “So?”
Melanie paused, confused. “So, what?”
Abby turned and planted her fists on her hips. “Really? You become Taz Roman’s fake girlfriend, and then I don’t hear from you again?”
“It’s only been a couple of days.”
“Two days, and I have no details. So spill it. What happened?”
Melanie shrugged. “It’s fine. I’m staying at his place, and it’s been fine.”
Abby clipped the belt she was holding to a hanger and smirked. “You’ve fallen for him, haven’t you? Miss Never In A Million Years has fallen for Taz Roman. I can’t believe it.”
“No, I haven’t,” Melanie snapped. “That’s ridiculous.” She craned her neck to look down the hallway.
“No one’s here. Don’t worry. Just me. Well, me and Taz Roman’s new ‘real’ girlfriend.”
“I’m not his girlfriend,” Melanie cried. “His real girlfriend, anyway. Just a fake one, and that’s it.” If only she could keep the schoolgirl grin off her face.
Abby gave her a break, though, and went back to pulling the tasseled tribal belts off the shelf.
“Okay, so let’s say there’s nothing romantic going on. Is he at least holding up his end of the bargain? I figure since I haven’t seen you that you must be practicing with him.”
“Yeah, you wouldn’t believe the dance room he has in his house. Actually, you wouldn’t believe his house! I knew the Romans were, like, music royalty, but his house is a-ma-zing.”
“So not a bad way to spend a few days, huh? When does his sister leave?”
“I don’t know. Definitely not before the Pandemonium Ball, which reminds me. I have a huge favor to ask.”
That got Abby’s attention. “Taz invited me to go with him to the ball, but—”
“But you said, ‘Only if I can bring my best friend, Abby’?”
Melanie chuckled. “I wish! You have no idea how much I wish you could be there, but he’s only got one ticket.”
Abby’s eyes narrowed. “Just one, and he’s taking you?”
Melanie nodded.
“Maybe Taz Roman has a little crush on you?”
“No way,” Melanie scoffed, but she could feel her face burning. “That would never happen.”
A little thought slipped through the crevices: Would it never happen? Was it really so far-fetched?
She shook it off.
“I was thinking about wearing one of the costumes we put together for the Marrakesh Nights per
formance a couple years ago, the black-and-white movie routine. Do you still have those?”
“I’m sure I do. I put all that stuff in the back room. I’ll go check.”
“No, I can do it.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, of course,” she said. “You have plenty to do.” It was the truth. Abby needed to focus on the boutique, not making sure Melanie had a proper costume.
But Melanie also couldn’t stop thinking about what Abby had said. Could there be something more to Taz’s invitation? The prospect thrilled her, and she had to fight back the goofy grin aching to give her away. If Abby spotted it, Melanie would never hear the end of it.
What she needed was a good, long search in the storeroom to get her mind back on track. She needed to bring these irrational thoughts back to the real world and forget these ridiculous ideas about Taz.
| 22
When Melanie returned to Taz’s place that evening, she found him in the kitchen, hunched over a bowl of red pepper soup.
“Oh, it’s just you,” he said when he saw her and went back eating.
“Well, hello to you, too,” she replied sharply.
“Sorry,” he said. “I thought you were Gina.”
“Nope, just me. I don’t suppose you have any more of that soup left, do you?”
Her stomach rumbled. It had been hours since she’d eaten the burger she’d bought in a drive-through before visiting the studio.
“Help yourself,” he said, motioning with his head at the pan on the stove.
She grabbed a bowl—finding the correct cabinet on the third try—and ladled herself a healthy portion. She sat across from him at the kitchen island and dug in.
“I got a costume,” she said after a bite.
“Really? What is it?”
She wiggled her finger until she swallowed her bite. “Not telling. I want it to be a surprise.”
His eyes widened. “Should I be scared? I see what some of you women wear to that thing, or maybe I should say don’t wear.”
“You wish. No, it’s nothing like that. I just want it to be a surprise.”
“Okay,” he said, still wary. “I wonder what Gina will come up with. With her, it’s always the bigger, the better. One year she went as The Secret Garden, with vines and fake flowers. The works. She hired a Hollywood special-effects artist to make the headdress. It was extravagant.”
Suddenly Melanie wasn’t feeling so confident about her own choice. “Sounds pretty spectacular. So I guess you were able to get a ticket for her?” Please no, please no.
“Yeah, it actually wasn’t a big deal. I just didn’t want her to go. Now I’m stuck. Oh wait, we’re stuck.”
“Right.” She cracked a half-hearted smile.
He watched her for a moment then said, “I have to admit. You continue to surprise me.
Her stomach flip-flopped. “Really, why?”
“I can’t imagine a few audition tips make it worth what you went through last night.”
Was he really concerned about her? Maybe she’d misjudged him.
“It wasn’t so bad,” she said.
He shook his head. “Well, I owe you big time. I know that.”
The nerves in her gut calmed. “I know how you can make it up to me.” It might have given her hives to say something like that to him a few days ago, but not now.
He perked up, amused. “Really?”
She took her empty soup bowl to the sink, rinsed it, and placed it in the empty dishwasher. After she’d stalled long enough, she turned back with a wicked grin and said, “Give me five minutes, then meet me in the dance room.”
| 23
Taz was already in the dance room, waiting when Melanie walked in wearing her usual practice outfit—black leggings, a snug crop top, and a hip scarf with dangling gold coins that swished and jangled when she moved.
“You look ready to dance,” he said.
“Are you ready to coach?”
He laughed. “I suppose we’ll see, won’t we?”
“I suppose we will.”
She went to the stereo, plugged in her smartphone, and selected the song. When the slow, flute-like melody filled the speakers, she turned back to him.
“This is what I’m planning to use at the audition. What do you think?”
He listened. When the solo flute gave way to a synthesized electronic beat, he nodded.
“Nice choice. Good mix of traditional and modern beats. How about showing me what you’re going to do with it.”
Her lips quirked in an “I accept your challenge” grin. She went back to her smartphone and restarted the song. She moved to the center of the room as the flute’s sinewy melody began.
As she stood there, a flash of fear washed over her. What if he hated the routine? What if he was just too nice to say she didn’t have a chance in hell at this audition?
“Relax,” he said calmly from the bench alongside the wall, as though he could read her thoughts.
Ordinarily, someone pointing out that she was tense only made her more tense. He didn’t. Instead, his words calmed her. They were comforting, like a warm, fuzzy blanket.
She shut her eyes, took a deep breath, and let the music guide her. She had danced through this routine so many times, so many hundreds, maybe thousands of times, that she didn’t have to think about it. Her arms, her feet, every part of her knew what to do without a thought, as if she were just a passenger floating on a beautiful cloud of music.
Since their last session, she had worked to incorporate his suggestions. She held back and took her time. Instead of pushing the music, she let the music pull her through the moves.
Too soon it seemed, the song ended, and she was standing in her final pose, feeling as if she were waking up from a dream.
She glanced at Taz, hopeful, eager. “What do you think? Is it better?”
He tilted his head, as though he were mulling the question. For an instant, the old fear returned. He hated it. Obviously he hated it.
Then he smiled that sweet, toothy celebrity smile. The smile that melted her self-doubt.
“It was good,” he said. “Really good. You aren’t rushing anymore. Big improvement.”
The weight of a hundred-pound stone seemed to lift from her shoulders. An unabashed, goofy grin spread across her face.
Then she noticed his smile faltered. He’d crossed one leg, letting his foot dangle over the other knee, and it was bouncing. It didn’t take a body language expert to see he was holding something back.
“Okay,” she said. “There’s more. What is it?” She tried to keep the disappointment out of her voice. She tried to sound like she didn’t care.
He stiffened.
“It’s a super-minor thing. I probably shouldn’t even mention it.”
He didn’t want to hurt her feelings. She could see that, and maybe that was what made her feel worse.
“Just be honest. You hated it.”
“I did not hate it. I just think…” He held his jaw and mulled his next words.
She wanted to scream.
“Just say it,” she demanded.
“Okay,” he said finally. “It’s the way you look.”
She took a step back. She certainly hadn’t expected that. “I already told you, the tattoos are part of who I am. If people don’t like it—”
“No,” he said, “that’s not what I mean. What I mean is the way you look at the audience, or rather how you don’t look at the audience.”
What the hell did that mean?
The look on her face must have said exactly that, because he stood up and tried again. “In my experience, a great performance is when there’s a balance between the dancer giving her energy to the audience and taking their energy into herself. A yin and yang, an ebb and a flow.”
It sort of made sense, but what did that mean for her routine?
“It’s the dancer dancing for the audience,” he continued, “and then dancing for herself. Now that I’m thinking about it an
d trying to put my finger on it, I think it boils down to eye contact. You don’t make any.”
“I do,” she said with a huff.
He shook his head. “You look down, or up, or at your arms, or your feet. But you don’t connect with anyone in the audience.”
“That’s not true,” she said, but an annoying little voice inside was telling her he was right.
“Then prove me wrong. Dance it again, and look at me.” He sank back on the bench, crossed his arms, and challenged her again.
“Fine.” He thinks he’s so smart.
She restarted the music and took her place in the center of the room.
He was wrong. She was sure of it. Silently, she repeated: eye contact, eye contact, eye contact.
When she danced, she tried to force herself to look at him, but those deep-forest green eyes, those impossibly green eyes, made her feel so strange, and so disoriented. She missed a step, and alarms went off in her head. Her breath came quick and labored.
This was a disaster. How ridiculous she must look, with her glance ricocheting off the walls like a rubber bullet.
She caught his smile, and he said, “You’re doing great.”
The words felt like a warm embrace. The tension that had accumulated in her shoulders and knees vanished. She could breathe.
“Yeah,” he said, nodding. “That’s so much better. Here, when you get to the part where you tip your head…” He jumped up and joined her on the dance floor. “Instead of holding your head straight-on this way, tilt it, just a bit, like this.”
The palms of his hands were holding her cheeks and gently he guided her head to the side.
He was so close, she could smell the soft, woodsy scent of him. Feel the tenderness of his touch. She stared at his neck, memorizing the dip of his collarbone, the line of his jaw. It was intoxicating, this feeling. Like there was no one else in the world.
Wait, this was crazy. This was Taz. This meant nothing. She tried to shake it off.
He pulled his hands away.
“I’m sorry, did I hurt you?”
She glanced up and saw those pools of green again, and she was lost.
Romance: Dance with Me (California Belly Dance Romance Book 2) Page 9
