“Patrick!” Nigel greeted him warmly, returning the embrace.
“You two are adorable,” Anita commented, standing at the edge of the dance floor. “Like Lucy and Ethel.”
“You should have warned me, Anita.” Nigel kissed her on both cheeks. He hadn’t tamed his thick Leeds accent in over thirty years of living in the United States. Patrick had a feeling the choice was deliberate. “I didn’t know you had finally found a partner.”
“It was a last-minute decision.” Anita sat down in one of the folding chairs and changed into her practice shoes. “Patrick’s doing me a favor.”
“You’re dancing at Keystone?” Nigel sipped at his ever-present liter-sized coffee cup.
Patrick sat beside Anita and changed into his own shoes. “Anita hasn’t missed it in almost twelve years. I didn’t think she should have to miss it just because Mikhail is an ass.”
“Hey!” Anita protested, standing up, looking unimaginably regal in her asymmetric tunic over her black tights. Patrick guessed she had recovered from the shock of last night. Then he realized he had tied the laces of his dance shoes together and bent to untangle them before she noticed. “Just because it didn’t work out between us, it’s not particularly anyone’s fault. Mikhail wasn’t an ass.”
Nigel caught Patrick’s eye, and the two grinned at each other. “Sure, love.” Nigel turned to the stereo. “Whatever you want to tell yourself.”
****
Nigel had them move through the routines they had already choreographed. He upgraded a few of the moves and had them smooth out some of the transitions. “Not bad,” he finally said. “What about rumba?”
After finishing their paso doble, Patrick was panting heavily and went to grab his towel to dry his hands and forehead. Did they really need two chassé capes and the leap? He needed to up his cardio over the next couple of weeks.
“Well? Rumba?” Nigel repeated, looking between the two of them. “I haven’t got all night.”
Patrick glanced over, but Anita was studiously looking anywhere but at him.
“We—we haven’t done it yet,” Anita replied.
Patrick wondered if Nigel’s eyes were going to pop straight out of his face. “You have less than two weeks until Keystone, and you don’t have a routine? For the rumba? Are you out of your minds?”
“We’ve been a little busy.” Anita scuffed at an unseen mark on the floor with the toe of her shoe.
Patrick wisely kept quiet. Since that first waltz, she had avoided being so close to him unless absolutely necessary. The other dances could be done more in shadow position or generally have less intimate contact. But the rumba…the rumba, in certain circumstances, could be like sex on the dance floor.
From his position in the unrequited Friend Zone, Patrick tried not to read a lot into Anita’s reluctance to stage the rumba. Nigel, though, clearly had no such compunctions.
“That’s no excuse, Anita. Patrick, get out here. We solve this now.” He scoffed. “Honestly, you call yourselves professionals.”
Patrick moved back onto the dance floor and took his stance by Anita.
“Hey, not my fault,” Patrick whispered to a stone-faced Anita.
She looked everywhere but at him. “Hey.” Patrick nudged her. “Is there something in my teeth?” He grinned broadly at her, knowing he had stuck a piece of gum between his incisors. Caught unawares, she finally smiled and seemed to relax.
“Right. Let’s start together. Patrick, invite her to dance by reaching for her face. Anita, hesitate, but then reach around his back. Swivel, swivel, swivel, long leg through his, yada yada. Go!”
Patrick saw Anita stiffen, but the music was starting. There wasn’t time. “What do you think he means by the yada yada?” Patrick whispered to her. Her eyes flicked to his. He heard the classic rumba beat, 2-3-4-and-1, and reached out for her. “No, seriously. Does he mean this?”
Patrick scooped her off the floor and into a lift where he wrapped her around his back and then quickly rotated her into a cartwheel, all while anchoring her hips with his hands. Anita burst out laughing when he set her on the floor.
Nigel turned off the music. “Cute,” he said dryly. “You don’t have time for cute. Back to positions!”
****
Anita tried to involve herself in the precision of the movements instead of her proximity to Patrick, but her body was not cooperating. It didn’t help that Nigel had chosen Enrique Iglesias. Still, though, Patrick was being…soPatrick,Anita couldn’t help but ease into the game of the rumba. The push and pull, the enjoyable seduction, the way he seemed to know exactly where she would be, ready to catch her or spin her.
If only sex could be like dancing.
Before she could realize it, the hour was over. The music abruptly stopped, and Anita became suddenly, desperately aware of her hands on Patrick’s temples, and his hand encircling her thigh, which was wrapped around his waist.Shit.She disentangled herself from him, ignoring the hum in her skin where he had touched her. He needed to keep those amazing, soft, sensuous hands to himself. Even if they did arouse a lot of weird and unusual feelings within her.
