He took a step toward her, holding out his hand. “It’s no problem.”
She took a step back, and he paused. “Unless you’d rather not.” He liked the fact that he could rattle her. He could tell that was something that didn’t happen often.
She visibly swallowed and took his hand. “Hey, if you’re up for it, I am, too. I guess I need all the help I can get.”
Taking the stereo remote from his pocket, he hit the CD changer and a bouncy swing filled the room. “Okay, the basic swing pattern is relatively simple—one, two, rock step.”
He had to show her several times before the rock step began to sink in. “Loosen up. You’ve got to let yourself feel the connection. Try not to think so hard.”
Melody stumbled. “I don’t know about this. Swing seems so corny.”
“Corny? The swing? No way. It’s the most versatile dance of them all. I bet you didn’t know that you can swing to hip-hop music.” He pulled the remote from his pocket and the CD switched to a pounding beat. Will continued to lead her through the basic pattern.
Melody wrinkled her nose. “Hip-hop isn’t exactly my thing.”
He twirled her around then spun her around his back. “Oh that’s right, goth girls are more into metal, right?”
“I’m not much for labels, but yeah, I like rock, punk, alternative…”
“Hmm, I’ve never tried to swing to punk music before. Maybe if you bring some in, we could try it out.”
She regarded him with a wary eye. “Maybe.”
“There you go.” He led her around the room. “You’re getting the hang of it now.”
He watched Melody trying to fight back her grin. “It’s all right, I guess,” she said.
Feeling her confidence growing, Will led her into more complicated steps. Melody followed along like a pro.
“I have to know, what made you want to take ballroom-dancing lessons?” he asked, pulling her close.
Melody scoffed. “Do I look like someone who would want ballroom-dancing lessons? No, I’m the maid of honor in my sister’s circus—I mean wedding. I think she only gave me the title in order to inflict girly tortures upon me—ballroom dancing, pointy-toed shoes, hot rollers…”
The image of Melody in pink taffeta and ruffles scowling at her sister from the front of a church sent a rush of laughter up from his diaphragm. He missed a beat, throwing them off for a second. “Come on, it isn’t that bad, is it?”
“Oh, it’s going to be bad. My family gets one favor and this is it. I only have to be presentable for a few hours,” she muttered through clenched teeth.
Will laughed. “Well, don’t worry about a thing. I’ll make sure you’re the belle of the ball.”
Right on queue, Melody faltered. “I’ll settle for not falling on my butt.”
“No problem.” He lowered her into a steep dip so that she was barely skimming the floor, then he whisked her up into a graceful turn.
His hands slid inside her T-shirt onto the smooth skin of her back. The song on the stereo had moved on to a pulsing erotic beat. For a brief second their eyes locked.
Melody immediately looked away. “So what’s a nice guy like you doing in a place like this?” she asked when she’d regained her breath.
Will exhaled slowly, taking hold of her hands for less intimate contact.
“I’m a stockbroker. I teach dance part-time. It was one of many odd jobs I used to do, and I still love it.”
“I figured it was a side job. Most people can’t buy designer shoes and diamond watches on a teaching salary.”
“I teach to stay sane. The stock market can be stressful. Dancing relaxes me.”
“Dancing has the opposite effect on me, but I guess that stands to reason since I have two left feet.”
“Nonsense, you’re doing well.” He took her through another pattern. “See that? You’ve just learned two weeks worth of steps in fifteen minutes. Next week, you’ll be way ahead of the class.”
“Great, now I’ve probably forgotten everything I learned from the last two weeks.”
“Not a chance. I’ll show you.” Will changed the music to a romantic melody by Frank Sinatra. He took her into his arms and the two of them immediately fell into fox-trot step.
Will had danced with many women. Old, young, the talented, the uncoordinated and some of the most beautiful, graceful dancers in New York. But there was something he just loved about dancing with Melody.
Dancing with her awakened primitive responses in him he’d never felt before. She would hate to know it but because she was so resistant to being controlled, making her body bend to his will gave him a rush of power.
She had the body of a ballerina, and all the grace of an elephant. But, he was skilled enough to compensate for that. He turned her this way and that, watching her hips and arms move in perfect concert with his. He didn’t want to take his hands off of her.
Will thought she’d been enjoying it, too, until she suddenly jerked out of his arms and pushed him away. She’d moved so quickly he stumbled back a few steps before catching himself.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry—I think I’ve got it now.”
Will stared at her, still stunned by her sudden retreat. “Um, okay…”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—it’s just that it’s getting late. I think I should go.”
He nodded. “Okay.”
“I mean, thank you—for this. I think it really helped.”
She was chattering a mile a minute. And the truth began to sink into Will’s head. She didn’t know how to handle the attraction between them. He had two choices. He could be professional: slow down, put her at ease and make her feel safe, or…
“I understand. All of this can get overwhelming. Maybe it would help you to get out onto a real dance floor. The Franklin Hotel has cocktails and dancing every Monday night. I could take you after class next week. You’ll have the chance to practice in a less structured environment.”
From the look of pure dread in her eyes, Will was certain Melody would turn him down.
“Next week?” Her voice squeaked slightly.
“Yes.”
Her brow furrowed. “After class?”
“Yes.”
“Just the two of us?”
Will nodded. “That’s right.”
He watched her swallow.
“Okay.”
Melody breathed a sigh of relief as she stepped into the familiar territory of Alchemy that night—on Mondays it was goth night. There was something so comforting about the red neon skull glowing in the window after an evening in that highbrow dance studio.
Stage lights washed the normally stark walls in a hazy red, and a blue spotlight swirled around the three-man band raging on the tiny stage. Off to one side of the cramped room akin to someone’s basement apartment, she found her friends at a table far from the stage.
“There she is. Finished with ballet class?” Bass called to her.
Mel rolled her eyes. “It’s not ballet—it’s ballroom dancing. And it figures you wouldn’t know the difference.” She pulled up a chair.
“Ballet