Page 4 of To Tango, with Desire

I squared my shoulders, throwing off her condescension. “I don’t think making the most of life has anything to do with age and everything to do with perspective. Some people are incapable of taking advantage of the opportunities that life brings, where there are others who are brave enough to take risks.”

“Our Amira is young but wise.” Alejandro cheered. “And an incredible dancer.”

“And dressmaker,” Tilda added. “She designed my outfit for the Mundial, and I swear half my wardrobe is filled with skirts and dresses by Amira. I wouldn’t be caught dead in any other tango outfit these days.”

“High praise, I see.” Kiki nodded once in approval. “I appreciate a woman who makes her own way.”

I tried my best not to fidget, but Zane’s unflinching stare left me on edge. The man said nothing and still I felt exposed.

“Amira is going to open up her own store.” Tilda beamed.

“Nothing’s been finalized. But that’s the plan.” I had no fallback, having quit my long-time job at the bridal shop last month, so this business had to work or I’d be screwed. And not in the way I’d like. “I’ve only been in business six months, so it’s early days yet.”

“Six months,” Zane echoed. I caught his gaze, and it was as if the air around us vibrated with energy.

When a tango vals began, he held out his hand. “Amira, dance with me.”

I braced myself, accepting Zane’s offer, and it was as if a lightning bolt struck me. His grip was firm, his touch familiar. I couldn’t seem to breathe, let alone speak as I followed him to the floor.

Zane wrapped his arm around the small of my back, drawing me close. And I felt like I was the only woman in the room.

Surely this drugging desire wasn’t one-sided? Surely this feeling wasn’t common lust? I’d never had a proper boyfriend before. Sure, I’d dated a ton of guys in college, but nothing had ever stuck. Trust me to find a connection with a man who was out of my league.

“Amira.”

His smooth voice cut through the tension. He spoke the word as if offering a caress, intimate and low. I had a strange presentiment that stepping into Zane’s world would be akin to drowning in quicksand, slow and yet painfully consuming.

Zane drew me close, and the electrifying feeling of his solid chest against my breasts was torture. I inhaled his scent, feeling nostalgic and aroused in equal measure.

The music soared, and we moved in unison, keeping time to the beat. The vals was romantic, grand, a faster-paced version of the Viennese waltz that often left a dancer breathless and yearning.

It was our dance.

I closed my eyes, offering him my weight. I was only slightly shorter than he, and yet he made me feel dainty. At one point, I could have sworn that he muttered my name, his mouth close to my ear, but I was lost entirely in the magic. In him.

Torn between annoyance and arousal, between pain and exquisite pleasure at being held in his arms, I succumbed to the dance, rejoicing in his touch. Song after song, we whirled around the crowded dance floor with precision and grace.

When the tanda was over, Zane held me long enough for me to wonder if he, too, was affected.

Gradually, he shifted back, his face close to mine. “It’s good to see you again, Amira.” He held my hand as we walked off the dance floor, his thumb sliding over the delicate gold bracelet I wore. “I’ve missed dancing with you.”

“Really?”

“You doubt this?”

Instead of heading back to the group, Zane led me to the far side of the club. Behind two pillars, was an extended lounge area, where the dim lighting and plush sofas afforded dancers a modicum of privacy.

“Perhaps they didn’t have cell coverage in Europe for six months.”

“Amira.” His tone was half-amusement, half-frustration.

As soon as I’d spoken, I had regretted it, wanting to snatch the words back, to shove them into my mouth and sew my lips shut. I sounded sullen and needy.

At that moment, I felt every bit of our fifteen-year age-gap. All my plans of playing it cool had flown out the window.

Why ask for my number only to never contact me? I wasn’t that naive to think his desire to see me again had been all in my head. Ghosted by a billionaire. A player. Should I have really been so surprised?

Zane turned to face me, glancing down at my wrist.