“I’ll see what I can do about that.” He gives me a look up and down that really does chase Will from my mind, for a few seconds at least.
We climb the cedar steps to the recreation building, and I let go of Vincente’s arm, a little regretfully. I don’t want to give the impression I’m some sort of clinger. Brooke claps her hands together as we step through the main doors. It takes me a second to realize it’s my companion she’s focused on, not me.
“All right!” she says. “We’ve got a special treat for you all, so you’ll be able to tear up the dance floor in style during the reception. Get ready for tango class! This is Vincente Flores, the man who’ll be showing you how it’s done.”
Chapter Nine
I wasn’t kidding when I told Vincente I’m not much of a dancer. For the first several minutes of learning the basic tango step, all my attention is on the progression of walk, sidestep, cross, pivot, and close, and I feel pretty victorious in the fact that I manage to stay on my feet, even if they do get tangled once or twice in the beginning. “Switch, switch!” Vincente says every few minutes, keeping us on our toes both metaphorically and literally by changing up our partners.
I start out with Colin the cyclist, who’s a bit stiff but doesn’t stumble any more than I do. We part ways with a laugh, and I find myself faced with Trevor. “I’m going to apologize in advance,” he says. It turns out to be for good reason—he nearly steps on my toes five times before our instructor calls another “Switch!”
“Get over here, cousin-in-law,” Maggie says to him. “Apparently I naturally lead—maybe I can keep you in line.
By the time I’m clasping hands with Brad, I’ve warmed up enough that I don’t have to keep rehearsing every move in my head. Which is a good thing, because Brad must have been worshiping his temple of a body with a great deal of cerveza tonight. He hardly has the steps down, but that doesn’t stop him from trying to throw in a dip here and a spin there, with a guffaw and a slide of his fingers a little closer to my ass than I’d prefer.
“Behave,” I tell him with a stern look, and he gives me a goofy grin it’s hard not to forgive.
“ ‘The tango is a game of seduction,’ ” he says with exaggerated dramatics, repeating Vincente’s line from the start of the class, but he’s more careful with his hands after that.
On the next “Switch!” I turn and nearly collide with Will stepping toward me.
“Shall we?” he says with an inscrutable expression. My hand automatically rises to meet his. He tugs me a little closer with his palm pressed to the center of my back, and suddenly there’s only a few inches between us. He smells like sun-warmed skin and that woodsy cologne.
My breath catches. I haven’t been this close to him in five years—and back then it was the occasional brief platonic hug. Not locked together in what’s meant to be dance’s most passionate embrace. His gray-green eyes hold mine with a clear challenge in them. My spine straightens. I’ll take that challenge. If this is a game of seduction, then I plan on winning here too.
It does feel like a game, like an argument between lovers, in a way I hadn’t noticed with my previous partners. I move toward him and then back up, pivoting with him, always in step, never completely giving way. I nearly stumble when I cross my ankles, and Will’s embrace steadies me—while pulling me another inch closer. I swivel, determined to keep up. Hoping he can’t feel how fast my heart is beating.
He doesn’t stumble even once, even slightly. I eye him suspiciously. “Have you done this before?”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he says. He hasn’t looked away from me once. “I’m a man of many talents.”
“Mmhm?” I say. Where’s the air conditioning? It’s getting a little too hot in here.
It’s hard to say whether I’m more relieved or disappointed when Vincente cuts in. “You’re doing well, Ruby,” he says. “Perhaps I can offer some . . . additional instruction.”
“I’m up for that,” I say. At very least it’s easier to breathe now.
Dancing with Vincente is its own sort of thrill, just a less intense one. “It’s important to lean close,” he says as he puts his arm around me. “And to gaze into your partner’s eyes. This is a dance of intimacy.”
“I thought it was a game,” I say.
“That too. A game is more fun when it’s played by two people enjoying getting to know one another.”
“Is that what we’re doing?” Sidestep, cross ankles, pivot. Vincente’s movements flow as if the dance comes more naturally to him than walking.
“Certainly,” he says with a flash of teeth. “As the man it is my job to listen. You shift your weight first, and I know you are ready for me to pursue you. Even as I lead, I must show I understand what you need.”
“I guess you say that to all the ladies.” I bat my eyelashes at him.
He chuckles. “Only the prettiest ones, mi reina.”
My gaze slips away from his face for a second—and snags on Will’s. He’s dancing with Lulu now, but he’s obviously forgotten the eye contact portion of the dance, because he’s staring over her shoulder at me as they go through the motions. Or maybe he’s glowering at Vincente?
I don’t know what’s gotten into him, but it lights a little fire in me. I lean a touch closer to Vincente, feeling Will’s eyes on us, and say, “So when do we get to the part with roses in our teeth?”
“You’re an ambitious one,” he says with a wink. “That isn’t actually a part of any real tango. But there are many more enjoyable uses we might put our lips too.”
“I can’t imagine what you’re talking about,” I say, mock-coy, and for a second I think he might close the distance between us with a demonstration. Maybe it looks that way from the outside, too, because before he can, Will is looming over us. He taps Vincente on the shoulder.
“I think it’s time for another switch,” he says.
Vincente gives him a measured look. The knowing glint in his eyes is more amused than anything else. “All right,” he says in a louder voice. “Find the partner you were most comfortable with and continue practicing with them. I’ll come around and offer suggestions.”
Will has already grasped my hand. I can’t say I was especially comfortable dancing with him, but right now I’m not thinking comfort is really the point. Not when the intentness of his gaze is sending sparks over my skin.
I can’t help myself. I raise my hand to set it in position on his shoulder . . . and trail my fingertips down the side of his neck on the way there. The heat in Will’s expression jumps from smoldering to scorching. I’m playing with fire again, all right, but damn, it feels good.
We fall into the dance, forwards and sideways and back again in time with the sweeping music. With each rotation, we inch closer together. Will’s thumb traces an arc on my back. His leg brushes the inside of my thigh during the closest step, setting off a blaze over my skin.