Hot Moves Read online

  Brady didn’t know how but he wanted—no needed—to be near her, touching her, tasting her, discovering the scent of that smooth neck, the taste of that full mouth that looked like some kind of ripe, exotic fruit. He stared at her face, her eyes as the pair whirled past. Wide and lovely, they drew him in, mesmerized him. Then she closed them as she abandoned herself to the dance.

  The dancers spun, their steps now slow, now quick, circling around one another. They intertwined their legs in a stylized sequence that was the next best thing to foreplay. Unable to look away, Brady stared, his body tight with need. She was pressed to her partner, a teasing half smile on her face as they stepped ever closer to the edge of the crowd. Her eyes flicked open and she stared directly into Brady’s.

  And this time, his heart really did stop.

  IT WAS WHEN SHE DANCED the tango that Thea felt truly free. She’d draw the silk of one of her dresses over her skin and it would begin, the throb of arousal, the choreography of need. And when the dance began, nothing else mattered. She existed only for the rhythm, for the steps, her body flowing into the movements that became merely extensions of the music.

  If the waltz was about romance, tango was about passion, the dance of lovers. For so long she’d existed without any touch but a quick hug from friends and family—and the contact of the dance. Torso to torso, thigh to thigh, the tango somehow refilled the dry well of her soul, renewing her week after week, allowing her to go on.

  The night was warm, the stars just beginning to emerge. The seduction of the music eddied through her system. Eyes closed, she concentrated only on the steps and lead of her partner, the light touch of arm, the firm press of hands. She let the dance take control and in doing so became something more than she was, a woman who could trust without fear, feel without consequences.

  She felt the stir of longing. Not for her partner, Paul—a myopic shoe salesman with a wife and three kids—but for the touch of a man, the feel of a body against hers for the sake of her, not for the sake of a dance.

  Paul pulled her to a stop near the crowd. Thea flicked her leg around his in a gancho, snapping her head to the side to stare at the people.

  And heat punched through her. She swayed, lips parting in shock. And she stared, stunned, even when the dance whirled her away.

  He stood at the fringe, part of the crowd, but separate. His gaze fixed on hers with a naked wanting that snatched the breath from her lungs. In the dim light, she couldn’t see the color of his eyes. It didn’t matter: blue or brown, gray or green, she could see, feel, sense the desire. He stood a distance away but she could have been in his arms. Suddenly all the unfocused need she felt, all the passion she’d always invested in the dance, coalesced. Paul’s touch became the feel of this unknown stranger.

  Paul spun her back into the center of the circle. She obeyed his lead, swiveling left and right before him teasingly, though it was the stranger she moved for. She and Paul stalked each other in the ritualized pursuit of the dance but it was the stranger she wanted. It was the stranger whose touch she craved.

  And he never stopped watching her. In the final throes of the routine, she was conscious, always conscious of his gaze and of the arousal that flared within her.

  She hardly noticed the end of the song, only that she and Paul were bowing to the crowd amid the surge of applause.

  Thea knew what she was to do next. This was a milonga designed to recruit more tango enthusiasts for the Portland Tango Club. The showcase was to get them excited about the possibilities; the subsequent impromptu lessons for the onlookers were meant to show them that they could do it, too.

  The stranger didn’t look like the type who’d be interested in tango. Tall and rangy in jeans and a black T-shirt, he looked more like a guy who spent his time outdoors, hiking, mountain biking, skiing.

  Anyway, she was being ridiculous. It was a glance across a dance floor, nothing more. It was the kind of thing people—guys—did all the time, she reminded herself. He probably hadn’t even thought twice about it. The only reason it spoke to her was that she didn’t have anything even remotely resembling a personal life.

  Pathetic, she thought, glancing toward the river. Besides, it wasn’t as if she was looking to get caught up with a guy. She was only here for a short job. The strange interlude was best forgotten. She swallowed and turned to where he’d been standing.

  Only to find him directly behind her.

  “Nice dance.”

  His eyes were green, she saw in the fading light, deepset, a little sleepy-eyed. His wasn’t a conventionally handsome face. The features were too strong: an aggressive nose, sharp cheekbones pushing out against the skin of his angular face. Humor lingered around the corners of his mouth, though, humor and promise from lips that looked way too intriguing. Her heart pumped faster in her chest.

  “I’m glad you enjoyed it. You like tango?”

  “I’m getting a new appreciation for it by the minute,” he said, giving her a look that had her cheeks warming. “You two were something. Have you been dancing together long?”

  “Oh, about four hours.” At his surprised expression, she laughed. “I’m visiting. This was a last-minute thing we threw together.”

  “Don’t even try to tell me that you just learned tango today.”

  Thea nibbled her lip. “Would you buy it?”

  His glance sharpened with some special attention. “Right now, I’d buy about anything you tried to sell me,” he said. “I’m Brady, by the way.”

  “I’m Thea. And the answer is no. I’ve been dancing for about eight years.”

  “You’ve been using the time well.”

  This time, she definitely blushed—she knew it because she saw his grin.

  Up front, Robyn turned on the microphone. “Thea, Paul, thanks for that showcase. We’re going to go through another figure before the free dance, so if you’re interested in learning some tango instead of watching, pair up with a partner and let’s get started.”

  Brady’s eyes glimmered. “I guess now’s my chance to get you to show me some of those hot moves.”

  Thea eyed him. “Why do I think you already know all the hot moves you need. Or is it the smooth moves?”

  He laughed loudly. “Oh, now that was harsh. For that, you have to teach me.” He stepped toward her and raised his hands.

  He worked for a living, she thought, staring at them. They were long-fingered, strong, his forearms sinewy and tanned. And she suddenly found herself wondering what it would be like to dance with him, to have those hands on her, to be pressed against his body so tightly that not even air came between them. Why not, she thought suddenly. She was supposed to draw new students. Why shouldn’t she touch him, feel him, let him touch her? See what he was made of.

  Besides, it was only part of the dance.

  “All right, everyone,” Robyn was saying. “Line up in pairs, ladies facing me, gentlemen with your backs to me.” She walked them through the steps, first the gentlemen, then the ladies. It gave Thea the opportunity to study her new partner.

  Lean, balanced, Brady moved with a deceptively careless grace. He didn’t seem to be focused on Robyn’s direction but he caught on to the steps immediately. And when Thea began moving through the ladies’ sequence, he stood, hands on his hips, watching her. “You don’t need to stare,” she said once as the step took her past him.

  “I’m paying attention. I figure I might learn a thing or two.” His tone was light, but the heat in his eyes sent something skittering around in her stomach.

  “Okay,” Robyn said. “Now that we know the basic step, let’s get into dance position and try it out. Stand opposite your partners. Ladies, put your left hand on the gentleman’s shoulder.”

  He stepped closer. “Now, about that paying attention,” he murmured and Thea’s pulse bumped and sped up.

  He was tall, she realized. She stood nearly six foot in her bare feet and had grown accustomed to towering over men, especially in high-heeled dance shoes. With B
rady, she found herself looking up.

  Taking a breath, she put her hand on his shoulder. And swallowed. It didn’t matter that she was only touching the cotton of his shirt. Somehow, all she was conscious of was the feel of the hard rise of muscle beneath.

  “Gentlemen, put your right hand on the lady’s shoulder blade.”

  His gaze fixed on hers, Brady pressed his hand in place and it was all she could do not to gasp.

  He flashed a wicked smile. “Sorry, is my hand cold?”

  It wasn’t cold at all, and he damned well knew it. Heat spread out from the extravagance of the fingers spread on her bare skin. It felt startlingly intimate. They were in public, among a throng of people. So how was it that she could only think of darkened bedrooms, of how it would feel to have that hand slide over her bare body?

  Snap out of it, she told herself.

  “Now join your other hands and space yourselves about six to eight inches apart. As you’ve seen, Argentine tango tends to be danced in a tight, closed position, with the inner thighs of the lady and gentleman pressed together. Those of you who like, step closer.”

  Eyes staring unwaveringly into hers, Brady moved against her. “I like,” he murmured, close enough that she could feel the breath of his words. His fingers tightened slightly on her back, bringing her closer. “Yeah, I like a lot.”

  Her heart hammered madly in her chest. He was too close, too hot, too there. “Easy, big fella,” she said as evenly as she could muster. “It’s just a dance.”

  Yet his touch overtook her focus. She needed to concentrate on something safe, Thea thought in a panic. Not those eyes, not those green, green eyes with their glint of humor, not those eyes that made her want. And if she didn’t look there, she’d find her gaze slipping down to his mouth, which was way too near. Every time she looked there she found herself wondering what it would feel like to brush her lips against his, wondering how he’d taste. Wondering what he’d do if she leaned in out of the blue and pressed her mouth to his.

  Ridiculous, she thought impatiently. The man was a stranger, they were at a milonga. It was absurd.

  And she couldn’t stop wanting it.

  So she focused on the point of his jaw. Nice. Safe. Square and strong, darkened a little with a day’s growth of beard. If she leaned in and put her face against it, it would be rough, warm. And it would put her closer to that clean scent that didn’t seem to have a thing to do with conventional colognes. Maybe shampoo or soap? Whatever it was, if she could get a deep, deep breath of it she thought maybe she could die happy.

  The music caught her by surprise when it began. She found him looking down at her in amusement. “You okay?”

  “Fine.”

  He leaned in. “Better focus,” he said softly in her ear. “Teachers can’t get distracted.”

  With every step, she could feel his torso shift, as though beneath his clothes his body were stripped down to muscle and sinew and bone. With every step, she became only more aware of him against her. And it sent her mind vaulting along carnal pathways, speculating if this was what it would be like to have him pressed against her naked, on top of her, so that she could feel his every movement as he poised himself over her, bringing all that heat and want and tension and lust—

  “Okay, ready for me?”

  She stared at him. “What?”

  “My hot move.”

  She gave an uneven laugh. “Sure.”

  Looking down a bit, he led her through the eight-count basic that Robyn had taught them. Thea watched his face. He was concentrating on his feet, his lead, working his way through each segment of the figure. His lashes were darker than she’d expected, a sheaf of his hair hanging down over his forehead. “And, done.” His eyes flicked up to meet hers.

  She felt the jolt all the way to her toes.

  “Good memory,” she managed, unable to look away.

  “You think I’m good at the eight-count basic, just give me a try on something else.”

  Thea had a pretty good idea he wasn’t talking about tango anymore. She stared up at him, watched desire replace the humor, desire overtake everything. He bent his head toward her—

  And the song ended.

  For a moment neither of them moved, caught in a frozen tableau of awareness, lips a hairsbreadth apart.

  Thea moistened her lips. “I should…dance with someone else now.”

  “Do you want to?” he asked, not looking away as a new song started.

  “It’s not a question of want…”

  “Then don’t. Stay with me.” And he pulled her back into his arms.

  NIGHT HAD TRULY FALLEN now, the moon high overhead. They danced in the dappled shade of the trees. She was extraordinary, Brady thought, looking down at her as they moved through the steps. Shadows pooled dark in the hollow of her collarbone, her shoulder itself milk pale in the moonlight. Beneath his fingertips, her skin was bewitchingly soft. If he stretched more he could press his lips against it, inhale that subtle scent of hers, something that wrapped around his senses and evoked images of candlelit Buenos Aires cafés with slow moving fans turning up by the ceiling.

  He could feel his pulse beating the slow thud of demand, like some clock measuring off the moments until they could be together, alone. He thought of the look in her eyes when the first song had ended, a heady mix of arousal, want and seductive surrender. He wanted, needed to see it again—when she was under him, taut and twisting with desire.

  The music died away and a new song began. The milonga was quieting now, couples spreading out. They’d danced their way to the edge of the area, he saw. “Want to take a break?” he asked.

  Thea glanced at the couples. As far as Brady could tell, they seemed to be doing fine. “Maybe for a few minutes.”

  The two of them walked slowly toward the river walk. Behind them, the music continued. On the pavement, away from the lights, things were quieter, more peaceful. Across the Willamette, lights glimmered, making reflections on the dark water.

  “It’s so beautiful,” Thea murmured. “Most places, they’d cram office buildings and condos and hotels along here.”

  “Used to be a freeway, then they shut it down and turned it into a park.”

  “Bravo. Usually it’s the other way.”

  His teeth gleamed in the half-light. “That’s Portland. Hell of a town.”

  “Are you from here?”

  “Born and raised. I guess that makes me biased.”

  “Maybe just a little.”

  “So how about you? You said you’re visiting?”

  “My friend Robyn is part of the tango club. She needed a hand…”

  “So she brought in a pair of hired stilettos.”

  He made her laugh. “I guess so. She knows I’m hooked on the dance.”

  “It shows. You can’t dance the way you do without feeling something for it.”

  “You do it long enough, it becomes a part of you.” Thea drifted to a stop and leaned against the railing overlooking the water. “I guess that sounds silly.”

  “No, it doesn’t.”

  She turned away from the river, looking back at the milonga. A breeze stirred the lanterns in the trees. Their moving patterns of light and shadow silhouetted the figures dancing. A woman’s voice, throaty with longing, floated through the evening air; and behind it, the instruments formed a mournful chorus.

  “She sounds heartbroken,” Brady murmured. He stepped away from the railing, slipping one hand along to cover Thea’s, swinging around to come slowly to a stop before her.

  “She is. ‘Mi Noche Triste.’ My sad night,” she translated. “It’s a very famous song in tango.”

  “Do you know the story?” He leaned in to press his hands on the rails, trapping her between them, his gaze holding her transfixed.

  “She weeps for a lover who has abandoned her. She sits in the dark. At night, she falls asleep with the door ajar because it lets her imagine that he is coming home. That’s tango, the dance of longing.”

>   “What do you long for?”

  “What makes you think I long for anything?” He was close to her now, so close.

  “Everybody wants something.” His lips were a fraction away from hers.

  “And you? What do you want?”

  “That’s easy.” He could tell she felt his breath as he said the words. “I want you.”

  And then he leaned in and took.

  3

  IT WAS A BIG, WIDE WORLD, but somehow the entire thing reduced down to just one sensation—the press of Brady’s lips to hers. Thea stood absolutely still, not even breathing, every fiber of her attuned to it. Mesmerizing warmth, a surprising softness, a beguiling friction that tempted her lips to part.

  Her breath shuddered out.

  And then, oh, then, the taste of him, the slick dance of tongues that sent butterflies flitting about her stomach and a slow roll of tension forming within her.

  She felt herself trembling. Everything in her clamored to dive into the kiss hard and deep, to crush him against her, but here he’d barely touched her and she was quivering. And it rocked her in some fundamental way. She wasn’t a virgin, but there was some part of her that wasn’t really touched, some part of her that would be his alone.

  And so Thea kissed him.

  She’d wondered as the years rolled by what it might be like. She’d wondered if she’d forgotten how, if she’d be able to relax and enjoy it any more. But with his mouth on hers, she let all that go and immersed herself in the kiss. Her hands framed his face, fingers threaded through his hair. Changing the angle of the kiss, she nipped at his lips, her tongue dancing against his. Her soft exhale was a barely audible moan.

  And suddenly everything changed. She’d kissed men during her life, even once or twice in the years since New York, but it had never been like this, this overwhelming surge of sensation. She’d kissed men but it had never raked her with wanton need. She didn’t want easy exploration any more. She wanted it relentless and direct. In a flash, she turned the kiss hard, lacing it with demand.

  Brady’s hands clenched the railings until his knuckles whitened.