He nodded, then started leading around the room according to her counts. After they’d made a circle, she looked up at him and smiled.
“You’re doing well.”
He smiled. “I’ve got a great teacher.”
Some of the sparkle faded from her eyes. “It’s time to twirl. Do you remember what to do?”
“Nope. I’m afraid you’re going to have to go over it again.” He grinned, showing her that he was teasing her a bit.
But she only continued to count and instruct. As he listened and positioned her and stepped back and helped her turn and caught her again, Shannon held her body in such a controlled way that it felt almost like he was dancing with a mannequin.
Though he ached to stop and hash everything out, he didn’t. He had to give her the space she needed. After all, he’d done this.
But later, when the hour was over, and he was walking back to his car, Dylan realized that he’d lost something really good. And worse, he had no idea how he was going to get it back.
CHAPTER 33
“Dancing is the art of getting your feet out of the way faster than your partner can step on them.”
—Evan Esar
One Week Later
It was Friday already. What a week it had been. First, she’d been a nervous wreck, worrying if Emerson was actually going to text her . . . and then wondering if she was ready to go on a date with him.
He had indeed texted her, but it had been full of apologies. He’d gotten a temporary job up in Toledo, and it paid so well he took the company up on an offer to do additional work for them. He asked for a rain check for the following week.
She had been so relieved that she feared her return message had sounded a little too pleased by his work schedule.
In other news, Jennifer had settled in with them like she was another long-lost sister. She was sweet, easy to talk to, and cleaned up after herself in the bathroom, which turned out to be a big plus for Kimber.
But the best news was her cooking. Not only was her food amazing, but her fussing in the kitchen somehow accomplished what the three of them had not been able to do. She’d made their loft a home.
Traci had verbalized it the best, saying that Jennifer’s cooking and comfortable way of acting around the loft made her want to be at home, too.
So, all of that was a plus. Her dance classes were going well, too, and she’d had two more private clients—both women.
The only difficulty she’d been having was the confusion she was feeling about Dylan. Their last class hadn’t felt right. And watching him leave, looking so alone, hadn’t felt right either. She realized that whether or not her head had completely forgiven him, her heart had. It just wasn’t in her nature to hold a grudge. And she was starting to realize that she, too, might say and do a couple of things she wasn’t proud of if one of her sisters were in jeopardy.
All that was why, when the clock turned six, she was in a new dress, her good heels, and was sitting on the beautiful Addams Family couch waiting for him.
At 6:03, the door swung open and Dylan strode in. He was dressed in dark jeans, a button-down, and had his badge still fastened on his belt—the corner of which was visible when his navy blazer opened.
“Am I late?” he asked, looking worried.
She couldn’t help but contrast the way he was acting with their very first meeting. She pointed to the big clock on the wall. “Not at all. You’re right on time.”
He tilted his head back. “Thank goodness. My sergeant wanted to talk to me about some scheduling stuff.”
“If you would’ve been late, I would have understood.”
He grinned at her, then stilled. “Look at you.”
She got to her feet. “What?”
“You look like a picture. Is that a new dress? Or, do you simply have a huge supply of pretty dresses?”
“It’s new.” She smiled at him softly. “So, shall we dance?”
“Yeah. But wait a second.” He shrugged off his blazer, folded it in two and set it on the arm of the couch. Then unfastened his shoulder holster. He pulled out his gun. “My safety is on, but I can go lock this up in my car if you’d like.”
She was now used to Traci and her pistol. But that said, she didn’t want it sitting out in the open where anyone could pick it up. “Would you mind if we put it in my desk drawer?”
“Not at all.” He set it in the drawer she had pulled open and then shut it neatly. “Now I’m ready to dance.”
“We could waltz or rumba, or I could teach you a little bit of swing dancing.”
“I’d rather waltz or rumba. I don’t trust myself with anything new.”
“Fair enough.” After turning on the music she’d chosen, this time some of her favorites, she lifted her arms to him. “Ready?”
This time, when he placed his hand on her waist, it was a little bit closer. His hand seemed a little more gentle. When she looked up at him, he wasn’t smiling. Instead, he was staring down at her. His expression intent.
Before she realized what she was doing, she relaxed into him and let him lead.
And he did just fine.
It was as if something had clicked in his brain and he no longer needed her to remind him to do a thing. Almost as if they were meant to be dancing together.
It sounded cheesy even to her, but she knew if she were describing how they moved, she would have said that they were floating around the room. In sync. It was beautiful and made all the practice and focus on wins and trophies seem so empty.
Actually, maybe dancing only for points was wrong.
Dancing wasn’t supposed to be about carefully controlled head tilts and extended legs and perfect posture. No, it was about moving with the music and being with a partner.
It was about simply enjoying being with someone that you cared about. And how one could convey feelings without words.
When the third song ended, Shannon realized she was slightly out of breath. Stepping back and dropping his hand, she said, “Boy. We were, um, on a roll there. Do you want a sip of water? I have an extra bottle.”
“Sure.” He took it from her, twisted off the cap, and drank half of it. “Thanks.”
Glancing at the clock, she noticed that somehow thirty minutes had already passed. “Are you ready to rumba now?”
He grinned. “For a moment there, I thought you asked if I was ready to rumble.”
“No rumbling today,” she retorted, realizing that she was both joking and referencing their earlier disagreement.
“Then I’m ready, Shannon.”
There it was again. That electricity between them that she’d first thought was wrong, then one-sided, then simply confusing. Now she was thankful for it—she just wasn’t sure what to do about it.
He held out his hand. She took it. Gave herself a good talking to, and then Michael Bublé’s “Save the Last Dance for Me” came on, and she quietly reminded Dylan of the beat.
Their pace wasn’t quite so fluid, which she was grateful for. The slight awkwardness made her remember that she was the teacher and he was the student. That he was paying her for her time. That, as of right now, that was all they really had.
As Michael began singing the chorus, Dylan looked down at her face. “So, Traci told me something interesting the other day.”
“What was that?”
“That you got asked out by a hot guy wearing tats.”
Oh! “I didn’t realize y’all talked about things like that.”
“You wouldn’t believe what we end up talking about. Some days when we’re cruising the streets of Bridgeport, we talk about everything under the sun. And then some.”
“I’m starting to get worried. Hopefully Traci isn’t talking too much about what happens around here.” She’d die if Traci ever shared the way they sometimes fought over the bathroom like they w
ere teenagers instead of grown women.
“Not too much. But the news about your date was notable.” She gaped at him as he guided her through a turn. When they moved forward, he murmured, “So, how was it?”
“The date? Oh, um, it hasn’t happened yet.”
“Yet?”
“Yes, well, Emerson had a work conflict. We’re going to reschedule.”
His expression was almost smug. “Is that right?”
“Yes. I mean, I think so.” When he continued to look at her intently, she said, “The truth is, I might not go out with him.”
“How come?”
“Because, well . . . it’s a conflict of interest,” she said suddenly.
“Because you’re his teacher?”
She nodded. Then, for good measure, she said, “Slow down, now. The rumba has a smoother pace.”
When he followed her lead, he spoke again. “Is that a thing? Are ballroom teachers not supposed to date their students?”
“I don’t know if it’s written down anywhere. But, it doesn’t seem like a good idea.”
“What about me?”
“What about you?”
“Well, we got upset with each other. It did make things difficult.”
She grabbed hold of that like she had a bull by the horns. “Right. That’s what I’m talking about.”
“Of course, I only have one more class. So . . .” His voice drifted off.
And she felt that the tension between them was starting to go far beyond mere attraction and into something bordering on lust. She shook her head. “Well, our situation is kind of a moot point, you know.”
“Because?”
“Because we aren’t dating.” Namely, he hadn’t asked her out.
“What would you say if I asked you?”
Michael Bublé’s song ended. On its heels was “All of Me” by John Legend. Darn it. “I don’t know if I need to answer that question. It’s rhetorical, after all.”
“Shannon Murphy, would you go out to dinner with me tomorrow night?”
“Yes.”
His eyes warmed. “I’ve never been so happy to only have one more class left.”
She was starting to feel that way, too. “Dylan, I’m not really sure what we’re doing.”
“That’s why we’re going to go out to dinner,” he said. “I’m going to pick you up, hold your hand when you walk down your front steps and help you into my car. And then I’m going to drive you someplace quiet and dark and expensive.”
“And then?”
“And then I’m going to help you into your chair, encourage you to order whatever you want, and maybe even get us a bottle of wine.” He paused. “How am I doing so far?”
She had to find her voice. “Pretty good.”
Looking pleased, he continued. “While we’re sipping wine and eating dinner I’m going to tell you about me, and you’re going to talk about whatever you want.” He pulled her closer. “And then . . .”
“Yes?”
“I’m going to ask if you want dessert.”
She laughed. “Sounds like the way to a girl’s heart.”
“The dessert part?”
All of it. “Especially the dessert part,” she said with a smile. Just as she realized they weren’t dancing anymore. They were simply standing in the middle of the floor with John Legend’s voice drifting around them.
“Shannon, I was going to wait to do this tomorrow night, but don’t make me wait.”
She lifted her chin so he could kiss her.
His lips were warm and firm and his breath tasted faintly like peppermint. And suddenly, she didn’t care what they were supposed to be doing or if he was going to take her out for sushi or steak or hole-in-the-wall Mexican food tomorrow night. She was just glad he was going to take her out.
When he lifted his head, they were both a little breathless yet again.
“Shannon,” he murmured. “That was incredible.”
But before she could answer Traci was at the door. “Lange.”
A chill rushed through her and they broke apart.
Looking at Traci, Dylan’s expression was hard. “What happened?”
She held up a note. “I went to work out after work, so I just got home. I parked next to Jennifer’s Altima and saw this under the windshield wiper.”
“She got another letter.”
Looking pissed off, Traci nodded. “I’m not into having rapists hanging around my house, Dylan. We need to put a stop to this.”
“You’ll get no argument from me.” Turning to Shannon, he said, “Do you mind if I go upstairs, hon?”
Hon? “Of course.” As Dylan walked by Traci, Shannon smiled at Traci’s what-just-happened look.
As Dylan climbed the stairs, Shannon took a breath and allowed herself to take one last moment to appreciate what had just happened.
She and Dylan had changed course. There was something really good between them now. Something special worth hanging onto.
She hoped that was going to be possible.
CHAPTER 34
“Break dance, not bones.”
“Hey, Jen, are you around?”
Jennifer looked up from the page she was designing for her new website. “Yep, I’m over here,” she called from her bedroom. When her brother poked his head in her doorway, she waved him in. “This is perfect timing! You’re exactly who I need to see. What do you think, should I mention the cooking classes I took years ago, or does that just make me seem out of date?”
Dylan walked inside but stopped against the doorframe. “Hmm?”
She moved the screen of her laptop so he could see it better. “For my website. Right now I’m calling it ‘Home Cooking by Jen’ until I can think of something catchier.” She sighed.
“Of course, I started thinking that maybe ‘catchy’ doesn’t matter all that much. I mean, people want good food, not gimmicks. What do you think?”
A line formed between his brows. “I couldn’t tell you.”
She rolled her eyes. “That’s no help.”
Looking back at her screen, she said, “Anyway, I know I need some kind of bio, but it turns out that it’s harder to write about oneself than I thought. So, what do you think about those classes? You never said.”
“Um, I’ll have to do some thinking about that.” He paused. Cleared his throat. “But first, there’s something we need to talk about.”
Jennifer heard the words, but it was his expression that made the big impression. It was carefully blank, the one she knew he used often as a cop.
It was also the look he’d worn when he’d visited her at the hospital the day after her attack. So she knew that look, but she really wished she didn’t.
Feeling like she was about to drown, she pushed her laptop to one side and stood up. “What happened?”
“You got another note.”
That just about took her breath away. “When?” she asked when she finally got her voice to cooperate.
“Today. Traci just found it.”
“Where did she find it?” Not that it really mattered. Did it?
Dylan looked regretful. “It was on the windshield of your car, honey. Traci parked next to you, saw a familiar-looking envelope stuck under one of your windshield wipers, and brought it inside.”
Would this never end? Determined to not let all her fears get the better of her, Jennifer sent her brother a watery smile. “I guess it’s good I’m still living with a cop, huh?”
Dylan just looked at her. “We need to see what it says, Jen. Are you ready for that?”
The question caught her off guard. “You don’t already know?”
He shook his head. “Traci thought since you were here, you should get the honors.”
For some reason, that made some of her muscles relax.
She didn’t know if it was because it was empowering or simply because she knew that giving up control was never easy for her big brother. “What did you think about that?”
He shifted, looking almost boyish for a moment. “You know what I thought. If I had my way, you’d never even know it had arrived.”
Walking to his side, she nudged him gently with her elbow. “You’re the best brother a girl could have. Literally, I think you’re going to go in some world-record book, you’re so great.”
“But?”
“But, I’m glad that I’m going to get to be one of the people who deals with this letter. I don’t want to just be the victim.”
“I never thought of it that way, but I think you’re right. This is better.” Looking more resigned, he nodded. “Well, come on, then. The girls are downstairs.”
“Pardon me?”
“Sorry,” he said as he walked down the stairs. “I meant women. The women are downstairs. Does that sound better? You know I meant no disrespect.”
“Whatever, Dylan. I’m trying to figure out who you’re talking about.”
“Traci, Kimber, and Shannon, of course.”
Of course? “All of them are here?”
He paused on the landing and looked up at her. “Jennifer, yeah. They’re your roommates, honey.”
Yes, they were. But had she expected them to become involved in her personal nightmare? Ah, no. No, she had not.
“Everyone’s in here,” Dylan said as he led the way into Shannon’s dance studio.
And sure enough, sitting around Shannon’s desk were her three roommates. Traci was still in her jeans and button-down for work. She even still had her holster on, with her gun in it. The only concession she’d made to being off duty was an untucked shirt.
Beside her sat Shannon, who was wearing yet another amazing dress. This one was knit in a bold shade of dark red and sported a deep V around the neckline.
Jennifer would have looked like an overripe tomato or strawberry in it. On Shannon, though, it was particularly flattering, showing off her trim figure and dancer’s legs.
Rounding out the group was Kimber. For once, though, she didn’t look like a famous New York fashion model. She had on glasses, no makeup, loose jeans, and a chambray shirt big enough for Dylan to wear.
Shall We Dance? Page 20
