Strictly speaking, this was country dancing, the tio said when he came over to explain what was happening to Zoë. All Zoë knew was that Rico’s seat, as well as the one next to him, was empty, and what he and his young partner were doing on the dance floor was more dirty dancing than country dancing.
‘Rico is good, eh?’ the tio said, following her interest keenly. ‘But the girl is too obvious. No subtlety.’
No subtlety at all, Zoë agreed silently. The young woman was like a clinging vine, all suckers and creeping fingers.
‘Why don’t you dance?’
Zoë turned to smile at the tio. ‘With you?’ She started to get to her feet.
‘No, not with me!’ The tio pressed her down in the seat again. ‘I mean you should dance with Rico.’
‘Rico is already dancing with someone,’ Zoë pointed out, trying her best to sound faintly amused and casually dismissive.
‘Here, in this part of Spain,’ the tio told her slyly, ‘women do not wait to be asked.’
Zoë turned to stare at him, wondering if she’d heard correctly, but instead of explaining himself the mischievous old man drew his shoulders in a wry shrug.
There were a million reasons why she could not—should not—do as the tio suggested, Zoë thought as she stood up. This was insane, she told herself as she walked towards the dance floor. Rico Cortes would simply stare at her and turn away. As for his young partner—Zoë could just imagine the look of triumph on her face when Rico told her to get lost. She was about to make a fool of herself in front of the whole village—the whole world, if you took the television cameras into account. But she just went on threading her way through the crowds on the dance floor.
‘Brava, Zoë! Eso es!’
‘Maria!’
‘You should have worn your performance dress,’ the older woman whispered in her ear before melting back into the crowd.
Too late for that now—jeans and a tailored shirt would have to do. She couldn’t stop to think about it, Zoë realised as she reached her goal. She tapped the young Spanish beauty lightly on the shoulder. ‘Excuse me. I’m cutting in.’
‘Qué?’
The girl couldn’t have looked more shocked. Zoë almost felt sorry for her. Almost. She didn’t have a chance to see the expression on Rico’s face; the next thing she knew she was in his arms.
‘Well, this is a surprise.’
She could feel his breath warm against her hair. ‘A pleasant one, I hope?’
‘Unexpected, certainly.’
He had changed into casual clothes for the party: blue jeans, shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the collar open at the neck. He smelt divine, and he felt…
Zoë shivered as the music slowed to a sensuous rumba rhythm, as if responding to her mood. She saw that the young girl had quickly moved away to dance with some people of her own age, and didn’t seem too upset—though right at this moment Zoë had decided to be selfish. She only cared how she felt. And she felt wonderful.
Having so many people around them gave Zoë the confidence to relax in Rico’s arms. As they brushed past people smiled with approval. Whether that was to show their appreciation of the party or because she was in Rico’s arms, Zoë didn’t know, and right now it didn’t matter. Even with the difference in their size they fitted together perfectly. They were dancing as one, as if they had always danced like this, and the planes and curves of his body invited her to mould against him.
Rico had an innate sense of rhythm, and Zoë could only be grateful that Maria had given her the courage to dance in a way that made her feel seductive and desirable. Nothing existed in her universe outside of Rico as they danced on to the haunting music, and Zoë barely noticed when one of his powerful thighs slipped between her legs, bringing her closer still. She only knew that it felt right, essential to the dance, and now they were one—moving as one, breathing as one, and dancing as one…
He let her go when the melody turned to something lively. Zoë realised that they had been the centre of attention, and that now couples were turning to their own pleasures again. It was true, she had been so deeply and sensually aware of Rico she had forgotten for the space of their dance that they were not alone.
She trembled as Rico stared down at her. The tempo of the music had increased, but they were both oblivious to it. Nothing existed outside the ambit of his gaze, and as she watched his lips tug up in a smile Zoë realised she was hoping for something more.
‘Shall we?’ He tipped his chin in the direction of their empty places at the table.
She dropped back into the real world. Of course Rico didn’t want to dance with her all night. People were staring. The music had stopped again, and she was still standing on the dance floor like a fool.
‘I’ll…go and see if there’s any pudding left. Someone might be hungry.’
Rico didn’t try to stop her as she struggled to make her way through the whirling couples, but then she realised he was beside her, shielding her with his arm. When he stopped to talk to an old acquaintance she slipped away, making for the door to the kitchen. But she hadn’t even had a chance to close it when Rico came in behind her.
‘What’s wrong with you, Zoë? Why are you running away from me?’ He leaned back against the door, and she got the impression he wasn’t going anywhere until she explained.
‘Nothing.’
‘Nothing?’ His voice was flat, disbelieving. ‘I think it’s time you told me what all this is about, don’t you? You were fine when we were out riding together, and then tonight you turn on the ice.’
‘You haven’t spoken to me all night!’
‘Do you blame me?’
Truthfully, she didn’t.
‘Then you come up to me and want to dance. And then you run away again.’ Rico made a sound of exasperation as he spread his arms wide. ‘Are you going to tell me what all this is about?’
‘I can’t—’
‘You can’t?’ He shook his head. ‘Why not, Zoë? You’ve never been short of opinions in the past.’
‘I can’t explain because you’ll just think I’m being ridiculous.’
‘Try me.’
She met his gaze, and this time neither of them looked away.
‘Violence frightens me.’ Her voice was just a whisper.
‘Violence?’ Rico frowned and straightened up.
‘Of any kind. I know how that must sound to you—and I do know wrestling’s just a sport—’
‘Are you saying I’m a violent man?’ His eyes narrowed, and she could see she had offended him deeply.
‘No—not you…’ Zoë’s voice dried. She looked away.
‘Are you saying I remind you of someone who was violent in your past?’ He looked stricken. ‘That’s it—isn’t it, Zoë?’
‘I can’t help it.’ She made a weak gesture with her hands.
‘Do you have any idea how insulting that is?’
She saw his hand tighten on the door handle until his knuckles turned white, and took a step towards him. ‘I’m sorry, Rico. I haven’t even congratulated you—’
He made an angry gesture, cutting her off. ‘I don’t know what shocks me the most—the fact that you can mention violence in your past as if it were