“Private lessons?”
Tilly wondered if this sounded as much like ‘a private fuck’ to him as it did to her. He must think she was shameless. Maybe she was. “If you…don’t mind, I mean.”
His serious expression lightened into a relaxed grin. “I don’t usually, but if time is really that tight…”
“It would help me so much! You know what people are like about weddings.” Don’t you? Since you’re marrying Melinda. For some reason.
“Oh yes.” He laughed. “Well, no time like the present. Why don’t you hang up your coat and we’ll fit an hour in right now. Unless you have to rush off?”
Bingo! Hallelujah! Now I just have to pray that the wire doesn’t fall out of my boobs.
Tilly put her coat back on the peg, did a quick surreptitious fluff-up of her artful curls and returned to Norman, smiling expectantly.
“Okay then,” he said, all businesslike and brisk. And hot. And masterful. And suggestive. And the sexiest thing in the whole world, no, no, no. “Let’s start at the very beginning. By the way, ten pounds should cover it.”
“Bargain!”
“Glad you think so. Good. What we start with, Tilly, is the frame.”
Her spine tingled at the way he spoke her name. The tingle sparked into a full frisson once he took her right hand in his and lifted it to his shoulder level, bringing it out to the side of their bodies.
Norman’s left arm enclosed her upper back and pulled their bodies close.
More than a frisson now, more like a full-scale shiver, as their chests met and their abdomens pressed together, as far as they could given the height differential.
“It’s called the abrazo, the embrace,” he said, his voice filtering down from somewhere above Tilly’s head, which was less than an inch from his firm shoulder and the glorious scent of aftershave that clung to his neck. “In Argentine tango, the hips don’t meet. The man has to give his partner the freedom to follow his every step. Perhaps freedom isn’t quite the word, because I’m afraid that you, as the woman, have no say in how the dance goes. It’s a macho dance from a macho culture. You may need to leave any politically correct baggage at the door. At least until the dance is over.”
She could hear the smile in his voice, but the weight of his hand at her back, and his tight grip on her gave her the strange feeling that he revelled in being able to exhibit his unashamedly masculine side. And who could begrudge him that, when it was such an attractive spectacle?
“I can see that you’re about a foot shorter than me,” he murmured, using his body to make subtle adjustments to her stance so that she felt like a doll. “But that needn’t be a problem. Now really, what you have to do first of all is familiarise yourself with the rhythm. I’ll take you through it.”
Without warning, his hips launched them into a series of steps, deceptively simple at first, but then mutating into unexpected complications that meant Tilly got her toes stepped on rather heavily.
“Ouch! It’s because you’re making me go backwards! I hate not being able to see where I’m going.”
“I’m steering. You don’t have to see. You just have to feel. Later, when we get to the stage of locking eyes, you will have no choice.”
“I don’t have that kind of…soul. I don’t feel stuff. I have to see it.”
“Ohhh, nonsense.” His tone was so shockingly seductive that she had to close her fists, clinging on to him tighter than ever in order not to lose footing. “I think you have the pulse in you. I mean, you do have a pulse.” He moved one thumb down to that point in her wrist that jumped and raced. “Rather a quick one. The dance is exciting you. So that means you do have that kind of soul.”
It’s not the dance, it’s you, you great lummox!
“I wish I had your confidence,” said Tilly, wondering how the words were coming out at all, and hoping they didn’t sound as wobbly to him as they did to her.
“You’ll pick it up. Trust me.”
Like Melinda doesn’t?
But as the class proceeded, Tilly found that her feet came to miraculous life. After a few trips and missteps and one near-sprain, h
er legs began to do what Norman wanted. His hold was so firm that she began to feel safe, began to allow her lower body to follow his, and after forty minutes, she was almost gliding. His arms now seemed like a second home, and his distracting handsomeness became something to embrace rather than try to ignore.
You’re being held and made dance floor love to by a beautiful man. Enjoy it, Tilly. It might never happen again.
“You see, you see!” He whirled her over to the CD player to add music to their headspinning mix. “I was right. You can do this. Keep going, Tilly, let’s make this really interesting.”
He began to vary his steps a little more, picking up pace so that it seemed she was being stalked around the dance floor by a predator intent on capturing her. She couldn’t fight it, couldn’t escape. All she could do was surrender, becoming looser in his arms, flowing along with his every move.