One Last Dance Read online

  One Last Dance

  by

  Angela Stephens

  Copyright © 2013

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Copyright © 2013

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Warning: This work contains explicit sexual scenes nature and it is written for adults only.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  Sometimes, Sophie wished that she had never learned how to dance.

  It was the sensual cadence of the tango that had first made Sophie fall in love. The sound of feet sliding on wood, the rhythmic scuff of soles and taps of heels, the controlled breathing of two people in such close proximity, leaning into each other, utterly dependent on their partners to make the dance work were all things that had once stirred Sophie’s heart. Even now, when the sound was a reminder of the ability she had lost, she was still drawn to it. Sometimes, it almost made her forget. But she could never forget. At just age twenty-five, her career as a dancer was already over.

  Her fingers tightened on the handle of her black wood cane. She loathed the thing, would have thrown it into the nearest fire if Darren hadn’t insisted she use it. She refused to walk with it, absolutely refused, but she would acquiesce to her friend in this one instance: she would use the cane when teaching a class, if she wasn’t demonstrating steps, to take some of the weight off her left knee. Now, she used it to tap the beat out against the wood floor. At least it was good for that.

  “You have to feel the music and let your body react!” she called to the class. “Listen to it! Don’t think!” She rapped the cane harder against the floor, watching as each pair moved in front of her in the harsh, sterile white light of the dance studio. This evening’s class was an intermediate one, so the dancers were familiar with the steps but not yet fluid in their movement.

  “They’re not hopeless,” Darren muttered in her ear. “Well,” he qualified, “not totally.”

  Sophie bit back a smile. The classes at this level were reserved for people with a real interest. Of course, when faced with the harder lessons, their interest would often fade. Only a rare few found a real passion for the dance and went on to her advanced classes.

  “Okay, stop!” she called, rapping the cane on the floor once, loudly. The couples froze. She scanned the room, doing her best to ignore the stream of people walking by on the sidewalk outside the large front windows. She still wasn’t quite used to the more than occasional gawkers who stopped to watch the dancers on the other side of the glass. Darren was the one who’d suggested the floor to ceiling windows along the front of the studio to gain the business some exposure. He’d been right. Not that all the classes they offered were booked full, but enough of them were that she was operating in the black, due in no small part to their walk-in clientele.

  “Men, you have to make her feel confident in your support. If she doesn’t feel that the support is there, she won’t let you bear her. And ladies, you have to learn to let go. Follow your leader. Trust him.” The words sent a small lance of pain under her ribs, but Sophie ignored it. “Now, try it again.”

  She watched them closely for the smallest misstep and found it quickly. “Wait, wait.” She waved her hand in exasperation. Once again, the dancers paused. She motioned Darren over.

  “I can’t stress enough how important the embrace is,” Sophie said. Darren lifted his arms and she stepped into him but didn’t place her hands in his just yet. “Men, with your left hand you have to be doing your Shakespeare. Darren?”

  He rolled his eyes at her but turned his left palm toward himself and intoned solemnly, “‘Oh, that I were a glove upon that hand.’” The sober expression cracked and a broad grin spread across his handsome face, his dirty blond hair tumbling over his dark green eyes. “I would be kid leather and cost a fortune!”

  Sophie sighed, shaking her head at him. She loved her friend but his inability to remain serious for any length of time could be trying. “Thank you, Darren. Guys, you see how he’s holding his hand? Your palm should be facing you, wrist turned in. In order for this to be comfortable for your partner, you really have to hold her close. Keep that other hand on her back. Support her.”

  Darren slid his right arm around her, his broad hand cupping her shoulder blade. Sophie glanced at the students, making sure they were observing. “You have to have some tension in your arms, guys. If you don’t, your partner won’t know where you’re going.” She nodded at Darren and he swayed just a little, showing how his motion was transferred to her through the frame of his hold.

  “Ladies, you can’t be limp noodles either. Keep those muscles tight, but your wrist relaxed. Rest your arm along his, fingers on his shoulder. Let him draw you against his chest and brace you.” Sophie matched actions to words.

  “Now, once you’re in his embrace, when he moves, you move. The two of you come together to make the dance. If you aren’t completely together, there is no dance. Watch.”

  Sophie took a deep breath, gritting her teeth, and nodded to Darren again. He began to move slowly at first. She followed, stepping back as he stepped forward, twisting her hips, forcing her breath slowly in and out. Her body moved mechanically. Sophie knew these steps in her sleep, and Darren was a very competent partner, an accomplished dancer in his own right. They were comfortable with each other, which allowed her mind to focus entirely on her left knee. If it showed the slightest sign of buckling, even just a twinge, she would immediately halt the dance. The last thing she needed was to fall in front of her students.

  Darren was pushing her today, tipping her off her axis in a series of complex volcados, leading her into a molinete. Her heart pumped a little harder, bringing a flush to her cheeks. There was a time when it would have been a flush of joy, anticipation. Now, it was just anxiety. The harder he pushed, the more likely her knee was to give out. Still, she reacted almost instinctively to his lead, kicking her leg up and sliding it around his thigh.

  Her knee throbbed at the added weight. She froze, pulling out of Darren’s embrace with a small, fierce tug and turning back to the class. Her friend let go, but she didn’t miss his look of worry.

  “You see,” she said to the class. “No matter what, the embrace must be strong. It’s the foundation of the dance. Ladies, lean down into your partner on the volcados. Not flat against him. He isn’t a brick wall.”

  There were several soft chuckles in response. She stiffened her back as her leg gave another throb, praying her knee wouldn’t give way. Darren caught her eyes, winking, and a small bit of tension eased from her. “Okay, let’s start again. We’ll try it with the music this time.
” She clicked her remote and the spicy beat of tango music filled the room.

  Darren leaned down as she watched the couples begin moving together again. “Okay?”

  “Just a twinge,” she muttered under her breath. She felt him turn his head and study her, but kept her eyes on the class, and Darren knew better than to push it.

  ***

  After the class was over and people had dispersed back to their homes, Darren approached again. “You know when your knee goes like that, it’s okay to sit down.”

  Sophie grimaced. “Obviously I made it through the class, so I didn’t need to sit,” she said. “They have to trust that I know what I’m doing. Nobody wants to learn to dance from a cripple.”

  “Honey, you’re far from a cripple.”

  She glared. Of course she wasn’t a cripple, but she wasn’t able to do everything she used to be able to do either, and for a dancer that was pretty close.

  Darren sighed. “Just keep it in mind, Soph. I’m going to lock up. The dinner Wayne made is probably cold by now.”

  Sophie laughed. “Noted. Must be nice, having a man cook for you. I think I’m going to do some stretches before I head home.”

  “Great. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  As Darren headed for reception to lock the front doors, Sophie stood and crossed to the ballet bar. Gripping it in both small hands, she began some slow stretches, focusing on loosening up the tightness in her knee joint. With some difficulty, she lifted her leg onto the bar and bent over it, stretching her hamstring.

  She heard the front door open and paused, listening for the sound of Darren’s voice. There was a low, polite sounding murmur—Darren greeting the walk-in—and then a deeper reply. Though she couldn’t hear her assistant’s words, she detected a note of awe and apology in his tone. The other voice, low and smoky, became more urgent. The sound seemed to settle against her skin like cashmere, luxurious and tantalizing.

  Sophie lowered her leg and made her way carefully toward reception. Who could that voice belong to?

  Chapter Two

  The man talking to Darren looked like someone used to getting his way. He was tall, over six feet, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist. His hair was jet black, stylishly cut and thrown back from his wide forehead in beautiful waves. It framed a face that belonged on a bust in the classical wing of a museum, with its wide jaw, full, chiseled lips and a long nose with the slightest bump in the middle. In the last afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows, his olive skin seemed burnished with an inner glow.

  More than his appearance though, it was his demeanor that set Sophie’s heart beating quicker. His movements were slow and confident, those of a man who knew his place and his effect on others. He stood with his shoulders back but still fluid, not like a soldier so much as an athlete. A dancer, maybe. Sophie’s eyes travelled up from his expensive leather shoes to his tasteful grey slacks, cut slim to accentuate his long legs and perfectly shaped ass, and from there to his black button down shirt, unbuttoned near the top to show his impressive chest. Definitely not something he wore to work. Definitely sexy.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” Darren said, “but the studio is closed for the night.”

  The man’s heavy black brows rose a fraction of an inch, and he inclined his head slightly. “I don’t mind. I’ll wait.”

  “But there’s nothing to wait for.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  Sophie stood in the doorway between the front classroom and reception, heart doing its own set of ochos in her chest. Her skin prickled all over with heat in a way it hadn’t in a long time, since Christian, maybe. But this man wasn’t like Christian. Christian had been handsome the way a model was handsome. He looked great, but the real thing was about as good as a picture. This man’s confidence seemed to indicate that he could make money without relying on his looks, although he was definitely gorgeous.

  He looked at his watch, an impressive silver piece that looked expensive. Sophie guessed it was an Omega. She watched the way his shirt slid over his chest as he moved his arm back down to his side. It fit his impressive physique snugly. She wanted to run her hands over it, though she wasn’t entirely sure if it was because of the look of the fabric, or the man. What did this gorgeous stranger want with her little dance studio?

  “There was a woman teaching the last class. Blonde hair in a ponytail. I would like to speak with her,” the stranger said.

  Darren gave a soft sigh. “Ms. Becker has gone home for the—”

  Whatever this man wanted, he really wanted it, and it was worth finding out what it was. Sophie decided to step in before this dark stranger physically moved Darren aside. “That’s okay, Darren,” she cut in. “You can lock up. We’ll be fine here.”

  Darren’s blond brows rose sharply. He cut a look at the man, eyeing his tall form, and then looked back to her. Sophie bit back a snort, amusement at her friend mixing with the attraction she held in her chest.

  She gave him a slight nod. Darren studied her face a moment longer and then shrugged. She turned back to the stranger, surprised to find that he’d wandered into the classroom.

  “Sophie,” Darren whispered. “You sure you don’t want me to wait?”

  She shook her head. “Just arm the front door. I’ll take care of the rest.”

  ***

  When she was sure Darren was gone, she followed the stranger back into the classroom. Darren had turned off half the bank of overhead lights when he’d exited earlier, leaving the room bathed in a dim glow. She watched the man as he stood in the center of the room, dark eyes scanning and cataloging everything.

  Sophie took a deep breath, willing her frantic heart to calm. “What can I do for you, Mr...”

  He spun on his heel, the move smooth and agile, until he faced her. “It is you. I knew it.”

  Sophie’s head spun. She would know if she’d seen this man before. “I’m sorry? Do I know you from somewhere?”

  “Buenos Aires.”

  A shock went through her system. That was a city she knew well.

  “I saw you dance in a competition and you had more pasión than I had ever seen.”

  He had no accent, yet the way he said pasión showed he knew the language, and probably tango. Sophie felt a jolt in her stomach and her shoulders slouched. She wasn’t expecting another reminder of her past from a stranger. A reminder of a time before her knee had betrayed her. Whatever he was expecting, it was from a past version of herself. He would be disappointed by the present Sophie. “I’m sorry, Mr.—”

  “Henry. Please just call me Henry.”

  “Okay then, Henry,” she said, shaping the syllables with her tongue and lips. “I appreciate the compliment, but that was a long time ago. Why did you come in here tonight?”

  His gaze rested on her mouth as she spoke his name and again she felt that flare of heat on her face. A slow, crooked smile spread across his sensual lips, his mouth turning up at one corner and revealing a deep dimple. “I saw you through the window and I felt compelled. I’ve wanted to see you dance since that night, but I couldn’t find any of your performances. Then tonight as I’m walking down the sidewalk I see you teaching a class. You’ve been under my nose this whole time.”

  The stab of pain in her stomach intensified. That she could have such an effect on a man this beautiful was so flattering, and yet realizing that the dancer who had created that effect was no longer able to dance devastated her. She needed to get him out of here before she began to cry. “Henry—”

  “Dance with me.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Did he really think he could come into her studio and dance with her because he saw her in the window? Because he had seen her at a competition once? “If you’d like lessons, I’m happy to give you a schedule. We have new classes starting all the time.”

  He was already stalking over to the chair at the front of the room and the loathsome cane propped against it. She saw him pluck something from the seat and realized it was her
iPod remote. “I don’t want dance lessons. I want to dance with you.”

  “I’ve had a full day. And I don’t give out free private lessons.”

  His thick brows rose. “I’ll pay double your normal rate. For the whole hour. One dance and I’ll leave.” He pointed the remote at the iPod dock and waited, gaze steady.

  He couldn’t be serious. “Does that normally work? The ‘double your rate’ bit?”

  “I wouldn’t know. First time I’ve used it.”

  So he was a charmer. Sophie’s thoughts went to her knee. She wiggled her leg a bit to test its strength. It felt fine, which was strange given the pain she had been in earlier. Her attention returned to the beautiful man in front of her. The urgency that had emerged in his eyes left her startled. “Well I can tell you. It doesn’t.”

  His hand dropped, but his gaze remained fixed on her, his dark eyes searching. They travelled down her body, and Sophie thought for a moment she felt his eyes linger on her bad knee, but they returned quickly to her face. “No? What about this: when I saw you dance in Buenos Aires, I felt your pasión. I felt connected to you, like I knew you just by watching you move. I feel that again today, and I have to know if we have that connection.”

  He stepped toward her, stopping a foot in front of her. His eyes locked again with hers. “So I’m going to say it again. Dance with me. Please.”

  His close proximity brought a new warmth to her body, and Sophie was surprised to find she had begun to grow wet between her legs. She knew the connection he was talking about. It was something she had felt with Christian when they had danced, and as she thought about it she realized it was something she shared with the gorgeous creature in front of her. Henry. She tasted the unspoken syllables in her mouth, wondered what it would be like to scream them.

  She snapped out of her reverie and dropped her eyes down to the skin exposed at Henry’s open collar. A shake of her leg showed her knee was fine. “Henry—”