“I’m a font of information, darling, but that’s more detail than I know. I’ll ask Marsha to send you the contact list,” Luna declared, then glanced at her watch. “I need to get going, I’m very late for my appointment.”
Wren nodded. “I’ll see you at home. Do try not to bully and boss too many people today.”
Luna grinned at her. “I refuse to hamstring myself,” she gaily replied before sailing out of the room. Wren watched her go and shook her head. She caught Dane’s reflection in the huge mirror and saw that he was looking at her.
“You don’t lookthatunhappy about having to teach dance,” he said, sliding his hands into the pockets of his pants.
She gripped the barre behind her. “I’m not, not really, but don’t you dare tell Luna that!”
“I won’t.”
Wren watched as he walked over to the sound system, looked at it, and bounced on his toes, testing the floor. He nodded, as if satisfied. “It’s a good floor, with plenty of bounce.”
“You sound like an expert,” she commented.
“Hardly.” He met her eyes and shrugged. “My high-school girlfriend was a ballroom dancer. I spent many hours watching her practice, I must’ve absorbed some stuff by osmosis.”
Wren knew how many hours of practice ballroom took. “Watching her must’ve been pretty boring for you,” she stated.
He shrugged, smiled, and her stomach clenched. His smile was meteor-strike dangerous. “Her partner had a crush on her, so I was protecting my interests.”
“Ah.”
“And watching her was always a pleasure. The girl,” he smiled wickedly, “had some moves.” Dane tapped the top of the sound system with his index finger. “What’s your style of dance?”
“I guess you could call it modern contemporary, but I did hip-hop, jazz, and ballet for years. I’ve been exploring K-pop and funk. I hate being labelled.” She could turn her hand to most disciplines, and frequently incorporated various styles from popping to swing in her choreography.
“Have you worked with anyone I know?” Dane asked.
She wondered how deep his knowledge of popular culture went. “I’ve worked with a few big names, including Kyro, K-Solo, and Shoozy.”
“I’ve actually heard of them,” Dane said, pleased with himself. “But if you asked me to name one of their songs, I couldn’t. So, you’re good at what you do, right?”
She nodded. “I’m very good at what I do.” Placing her elbows on the barre behind her, she resisted the urge to show off and drop into a deep split. God, she wasn’t a teenager anymore.
“So am I,” Dane said, staring down at the floor.
“So why aren’t you doing it anymore?” she asked softly, her voice threading through the tension that had invaded the room.
She felt it in her chest—the ache of wanting to reach across, to bridge the gap between them. He might be hot and confident, but at that moment, she’d never seen a man who looked more in need of a hug, some solid, human connection. And she wanted to be the one to give it—to hand him some steady, to make him feel like someone had his back,reallyhad his back.
You cannot touch him, Dunlop.
But I want to…
Hands. Off.
The fight inside her only increased her yearning. It was far too much too soon, but she’d forgotten how to backpedal.
His eyes, when they met hers, looked a little haunted, a lot sad. “Like you, I guess I simply need a break.”
“But I imagine it’s a lot harder to ‘take a break’ from what you do than it is for me from dance,” she replied. “I can just refuse a job, you can’t refuse a request to save lives. It had to have been quite bad for you to decide to come here.”
She’d gone too deep, far too quickly, and that wasn’t like her at all. She tended to keep things light and breezy, and it was the men in her life who, usually, pushed for a deeper emotional connection. But she’d wandered into unknown territory without a map or GPS signal. Good Lord.
Dane looked past her into the mirror, and Wren knew he wasn’t looking at her or his reflection. He was somewhere far away, some place where she couldn’t reach him. Not knowing him well enough to tell him to snap out of it, or to hug him to give him some comfort, she stood there, stiff and tense. What should she do? She bit her lip, about to go to him, to touch his arm, hoping he’d come back, when he looked at her, his expression bleak. “I needed to step away.”
He’d barely finished his sentence when the blast of an old-fashioned march filled the room. It lasted a few beats, but it was enough for her to jump out of her skin and for it to jolt Dane out of whatever dark place he’d stepped into.
