What the hell was Lance doing? This would just feed her impulsiveness. Not that she needed any help with that, but this would definitely not curb her clever tongue. Thankfully, the pounding of little feet sounded on the stairs and, seconds later, Skylar roared in like a whirlwind. Mac breathed a sigh of relief at the distraction as the little girl kissed her dad on the cheek, then ran to hug Gayle.
“Hey, cutie pie,” Gayle said, squeezing Skylar to her side but staring right at Mac. “You don’t say? You like my challenges, handsome? Want some more from Gayle’s bag of dares?” She winked at him and that dreaded jolt hit him low in the gut.
Fuck. How was the woman always so on? She never missed a beat. Never got flustered. And it flustered the hell out of him, especially since she caused this new need to spiral up in him. One that seemed to be growing stronger the more he was around her—if his reaction to her sudden presence at the door was any indication.
He needed to get control of this right now, before the woman got any ideas. “What are you doing here so early?”
“Go eat,” she said to Skylar. She waited until the little girl was sitting at the table, scarfing down her breakfast, before she returned her attention to Mac. “I came for you, handsome.”
At the unexpected answer, his mouth dropped open as his stomach clenched tight again. Came for him. Did she have any idea how damn erotic that sounded? Of course she did. She was Gayle. Was she fucking with him again? She’d enjoyed the hell out of that yesterday.
Either his expression asked that very question, or she read his mind, because a wicked gleam entered her eyes. “Not this time. I really came for you.”
“For what?” He was pretty damn proud of himself for keeping his tone guarded.
“I’m getting ready to go to the rec for Zumba. Want to join me?”
“Zumba?” All evocative thoughts evaporated at the mention of the workout class. Was she for real?
Lifting her arms above her head, she swung her hips in an erotic circle that drew his gaze to them. He jerked it back up, determined to keep his wayward eyes on her face and not her luscious body.
“Yeah,” she said. “You know, Latin aerobics class?”
“Are you asking me to go to Zumba?”
Lance guffawed in the background, seconding how outrageous the idea was.
“Uh. Doesn’t ‘want to join me’ imply that?” Her brows drew together in confusion, then she laughed. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those guys.”
“If you mean the type who doesn’t participate in a chick’s aerobics class then, yes, I’m exactly that type.”
There was no way in hell he was going, and it wasn’t because of the dancing. His gaze dropped back to her hips. Dangerous. She was fucking dangerous.
She pouted out her bottom lip, drawing his attention to the plump, inviting flesh. That tightening hit his gut yet again. Damn, he was going to have to stare at the ceiling to be able to have a conversation with this woman.
“Oh, is the poor manly-man scared he won’t be able to keep up?”
And then he felt it…the tug at the corners of his mouth. He clenched his teeth together to keep his lips from curving into a smile. “Men do not dance to work out.”
Not with her, anyway.
“Really? Tell that to the founder, who also happens to be one fine-as-hell Latino.” She sashayed over to Mac. “Show me how you can move those hips, handsome. I. Dare. You.”
So, this was what she had in her bag of dares today.
Refusing to let her bait him this time, he said, “Not going to work, Gayle. I’m privy to your game now. You’re not going to goad me into this one.”
She gave a long sigh and shrugged. “Oh, well. It was fun while it lasted. Besides, it’s better not to be disappointed. A curmudgeon wouldn’t have the moves to keep up, anyway.”
Lance howled with laughter, irking the piss out of Mac.
“Curmudgeon. That’s. Perfect,” Lance said between gasps of air.
“What’s a curmudgeon?” Skylar asked.
“A grumpy old man.” Gayle’s pleased expression mocked Mac, causing his rebellious side to storm forward.
“Uncle Mac isn’t an old man,” Skylar said.
“Thank you.”
“But he is grumpy,” she finished.
Lance doubled over, laughing even harder.
Fine. He’d show them. “I have the moves. Prepare to be awed.”
And that’s when he realized the woman had won.
Again.
Mac most certainly did not have the moves.
Gayle stifled a snort as he stumbled over his feet while trying to do a simple meringue. The man was the epitome of the saying “white men can’t dance.” He didn’t have a lick of rhythm in his amazing body. Every dance step, from the salsa to belly dancing, was stiff and cumbersome.
She’d give him credit, though. For the last forty-five minutes, he hadn’t backed down from any of the hip-swinging moves. Nor did he seem embarrassed. Not even after the twenty or so women in attendance had gathered in groups and started ogling as soon as he walked in the door.