Billionaire Erotic Romance Boxed Set: 7 Steamy Full-Length Novels (114 page)

“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—”

His hot breath was in her hair as he stepped forward. “I will pay you ten times your normal hourly rate. One dance, that’s all I’m asking for.”

She looked up and saw his expression. If eyes could be on fire, his dark eyes were blazing. For her. “You don’t even know my rate,” she said quietly.

He smiled. “Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter.” His hand came up for her in perfect form, just as Darren’s had earlier.

One more check of her knee. It felt good.
What the hell
, she thought. It was worth one dance: the money—she would have to make up her private rate—and to know if this handsome man she had just met could connect with her in a way no one had in a long time. “One dance,” she said.

She lay her hand in his grip, a shock of arousal flashing through her as their palms touched. His broad hand curled around her fingers, dwarfing the slender digits in his warm clasp, and drew her closer. The music started. “Thank you,” he whispered into her ear. His breath sent a pleasant shock through her system.

Sophie’s hand slid instinctively up his arm and came to a rest on his shoulder. His right arm slipped around her back, his long fingers brushing tantalizingly against her left side. He pulled her even closer, twining her hand in his. She was achingly aware of the press of her breasts against his broad, hard chest through the thin cotton of her t-shirt.

He moved fluidly backward, drawing her with him into the basic steps of the tango. Though he stuck to the simple configuration for the first several revolutions, it was clear he didn’t need lessons. Sophie blinked up at him, startled by the graceful glide of his movements. His eyes were a much darker shade of brown than hers, nearly black. She was suddenly caught in them, unable to look away, as if the shiny pupil of his eye was really the tar it appeared to be and she was stuck fast.

She drew in a quick breath, heart whirling, as he began to lead her in some more complex combinations. He sandwiched her, pushing her foot to spin her into a set of backward ochos. Sophie’s heart began to beat in time with the music as he pulled her back into him, his hard thigh pressing between her legs.

The contact sent a ripple of excitement into her belly. If she’d been wearing one of her competition dresses, he would not have been so fully against her inner thigh, but in the soft, stretchy yoga pants she wore to teach class, she could feel the heat of his skin as if nothing separated them.

She brought her left leg up in a thigh stroke and saw a flare of fire in those inky irises. The look in his eyes wasn’t focus, it was absorbtion. It had been a long time since she’d been in a man’s arms like this. She danced a few steps here or there with Darren to illustrate proper form or execution, but that was as similar as acting in a play was to living life. Clasped against his hard, warm body, Sophie shivered. She needed to say something before she completely melted in this stranger’s embrace.

“I’m Sophie, by the way,” she breathed, biting at her lower lip at how inane the words sounded to her own ears. She gritted her teeth slightly, trying to bite back any more conversation and just concentrate on the music. It was an impossible task. The feel of his hand on her back, thumb softly stroking her side, was too distracting. As was the glide of his legs between and around hers. His powerful body moved nimbly to the beat of the music. He said nothing.

Arms around his neck for a complicated drag she hadn’t attempted in ages, Sophie felt the puff of his exhalation against her mouth. She blinked rapidly, scenting peppermint on his breath. When she managed to pull her eyes away from his, they dropped to the full, sensual curve of his lower lip. She watched the corners tick up slightly, only really becoming aware that he’d tilted her into a volcado when she realized she’d used her left leg for a series of rapid embellishments she hadn’t done since her competition days.