Romance: Dance with Me (California Belly Dance Romance Book 2) (5 page)

“I’ll bet she was one of the Belly Dance Divas,” said the Southern one, pulling a pocket-sized brush through her wild mass of blond hair.

“I don’t think so,” the other one said, hardly glancing at her own thin, brown bob. “I didn’t recognize her.”

“It’ll come to me,” the blonde said, stuffing the brush back into her purse.

“If she is with him, are you still going to talk to him?”

The purse dropped with a thud on the counter. “Why would you even ask me that? Of course I am. It’s just an interview.” She stopped. “That’s how I remember her. I interviewed her for the blog when the Divas performed at the Lava Theatre last year. She’s not a soloist, but in the company. Absolutely.”

“I still can’t believe I missed that show,” the brunette said. “I begged for the night off, and I was still scheduled to work.”

“You better make sure it doesn’t happen next weekend. Do you know how hard it was to get those Pandemonium Ball tickets?”

The conversation wandered away from Melanie and the Belly Dance Divas, and on to the more practical matter of managing a frustrating work supervisor. Melanie stopped listening. She was still stuck on the earlier comment about her.

They thought she was a Diva. Really?

Maybe she had a better chance at the audition than she thought.

But if she did, she better not blow it by walking out on Taz Roman.

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8

“Oh, Mr. Roman, that was so amazing. I hope I’m not bothering you.”

Taz snapped his drum in its case. “Nope. What can I do for you?” His answer was crisp, bordering on curt, and he didn’t turn around as he propped his instrument at the edge of the stage. It wasn’t his usual way of dealing with after-show fans. His father had taught him better than that.

“When you perform, you belong to the audience,” Leopold Roman would say in that accent that was as thick as the Carpathian forests until the day he died. “Before the show, during the show, and after. That is the performer’s life, Tazarian.”

Taz had taken the words to heart. Ordinarily, he’d drop anything to chat, and it didn’t hurt that most of the time the fans seeking his attention were sweet, starstruck women with kitten-soft voices that did dangerous things to his thoughts. Just as this one would’ve been doing if he could just shake the feeling that he’d made a terrible mistake, or silence that little voice in his head telling him it wasn’t too late.

Go after her.

“I was just hoping you might autograph this for me,” the woman cooed.

He turned, and it was just as he’d suspected. She was a petite platinum blonde with a dress cut low to reveal her perfectly tanned, perfectly plump assets, and legs—he dipped a quick glance—oh man, legs that were tailor-made for those red-hot stilettos.

Those legs alone might have brought him back to his senses if he could just take his eyes off the door and get rid of the gnawing in his gut.

Why had he pushed Melanie? Why hadn’t he stuck to his plan? Put her on the spot for a moment and see how she handled herself. See if there was anything there.

He’d expected a shoulder shimmy or two. Maybe a playful undulation. What she’d given him would have knocked him on his ass if he weren’t already sitting down. The woman had moves—that was obvious. Not to mention a body with all the right curves, even without one of those glitzy stage costumes that could make a tree branch look good.

But it was more than that. She had connected with the music in a way he’d never experienced before. It was as if she anticipated him, or maybe it was the other way around. Damn, it had all happened so fast, and as soon as he realized what was happening, he’d shut it down. He wasn’t even sure why.

Go after her.

But one hopeful, upturned gaze stopped him. That promise he made to his father at least a hundred times.

That is the life, Tazarian.

With a frustrated sigh that he hoped his smile would disguise, he took the sliver of paper the woman was handing to him along with a pen. “Absolutely. What’s your name, darlin’?”

She giggled. “Charlotte. Charlotte Beaudreaux. Would you mind if my husband and I sit with you during the break?”

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9

When Melanie returned to the dining room, she had a fresh layer of lipstick, freshly brushed hair, and a fresh attitude. She walked in to find the stage cleared and the crowd thinned. Taz was sitting at her table with a beer bottle in his hand, holding court with the nearby diners like he was some kind of king. The way he flashed his white, perfectly straight teeth and tossed his loose hair back over his shoulder, he didn’t seem to have a care in the world.

It made her resent him just a little bit more.

Did he expect her to grovel to get his help? Her instincts told her again to turn around and march out the door.

It wasn’t like her instincts had been much help lately. If she didn’t give this a try, she’d regret it forever, even if she didn’t make the Divas.

She had killed it up there. She knew it. Even those women in the ladies’ room knew it. She had a chance, probably her best one ever.

If Taz wanted to make it difficult, fine. Let him. She could deal with it. Besides, she had an advantage when it came to him: she was immune to that million-dollar smile of his. If he wanted to play games, let him. Bring it on.

She turned on her own million-dollar smile—or what she hoped passed for one—and walked up to the table as if she were expected.

He turned up a wide grin. “There you are. I thought you’d abandoned me.”

Was that real surprise or sarcasm? She tried reading between the laugh lines tugging at the corners of his eyes. He was still soaking in the adoration. Still on. Maybe he never turned it off.

Then he stood and pulled out her chair. So, the big gorilla at least had some manners. “Thank you,” she said tightly.

The blonde who had urged her on before turned a big, fuchsia smile at her. “Your ears must have been burning. We were just talking about you.”

Melanie faked a smile. “Oh?”

“Nothing bad, of course.” The woman batted her hand playfully. “We were just saying how wonderful you were up there. Both of you, really. You must perform together a lot.”

“No, actually,” Melanie said, trying to detect whether the woman was putting her on. “It was a first, and I hope the last.”

“Don’t say that,” the woman cried a little too effusively. Her words slurred just a bit. “You could feel all that chemistry up there. It was very sexy—”

“Charlotte, honey,” the man in the suit sitting beside her reached out and touched her shoulder. “I’m not sure that’s appropriate.”

The woman turned a wide, confused gaze at him. “What do you mean? I only meant they’re a cute couple.” She turned back to Melanie and Taz. “Right? I didn’t offend you, did I?”

The man stood and gathered her up with an apologetic look. “C’mon, Charlotte, we shouldn’t monopolize Mr. Roman’s time.”

“Oh, you’re no fun. All right. Well, Mr. Roman, it sure has been a pleasure talking with you and your friend.”

Melanie noticed the way the woman leaned forward when she offered her hand. It was hard to say whether she meant to call attention to the plumpness peeking between the deep V of her clingy wrap dress, but Taz certainly seemed to notice it.

“The pleasure was all mine,” he said, staring directly at her breasts.

As the man pulled the woman toward the door, Melanie introduced herself to the martini with three olives awaiting her.

Taz watched the couple leave, then slanted a look her direction. “I didn’t think you were coming back.”

She feigned surprise. “Why? You don’t think I enjoy being put on the spot like that? No warning? No preparation? It keeps life so interesting.”

Her sarcasm sparked amusement in his expression. “You can’t blame me, can you?”

“Excuse me?” Was he really that cruel?

He shrugged. “I need to know what I have to work with before I agree to anything. That’s just good business.”

“Business?” She leaned against the chair’s backrest, stunned—and still furious. “That was your idea of a fun little test, then?”

He glanced away, considering it, then nodded. “Yeah, if you want to call it that. Look, I know you can dance on your home turf, in front of a friendly crowd. I’ve heard that much. But performing on big stages in strange cities where nobody knows you, that’s not the same thing. I need to know how you do under pressure.”

She set down her martini glass, and a splash of gin sloshed over the rim. “You asked around about me? Why? When?” The questions were racing through her brain faster than she could spit them out.

“Today. After you left the studio.”

“But I told you I wasn’t interested. I told you no.”

“I had a feeling you’d come around.”

Melanie replayed the scene. There was no way. She’d been clear when she left. She cocked her chin. “It was Abby, wasn’t it? What did she tell you?”

His glance skittered away again. “Nothing I didn’t already know.”

She folded her arms and planted her elbows on the table. “What do you think you know about me?”

He fixed her with a steel glare. “I don’t even have to know you to know you,” he said. His jaw tensed as he stared, not at her, but through her, into her past, into her secrets.

She shifted, but he didn’t ease up.

“I see your kind all the time,” he said. “You want to be a Belly Dance Diva. You want it so bad you can taste it. You can smell it. But you let your nerves get the better of you. You’re a good dancer, maybe even great, but when the pressure turns up, you fall apart. You want it, but you’re afraid of it. How am I doing so far?”

Hitting the nail on the head, but she’d never give him the satisfaction of telling him that. “I want it,” she shot back. “I’ll give you that. But I’m not afraid to fail.”

“Then why haven’t you ever tried out before? Auditions happen every year, and I’ve never seen you there.”

“I’ve been busy. I have a job. Besides, my boyfriend wasn’t exactly excited about the idea of me being off on tour for months at a time.”

His eyes flashed. “A boyfriend? How’d you change his mind?”

“I didn’t. That’s why he’s an ex-boyfriend,” she said, shredding the corner of her cocktail napkin into bits. “My point is that I’m ready, and I want this, and I can do it without your help. I’m just smart enough to know that when an opportunity comes up, you take it.” Her gaze slid across the tabletop and climbed up slowly to meet his. “So let’s not forget who really needs who here.”

He tipped back his beer bottle and smiled, like she’d just passed another secret test. She resisted the urge to reach over and slap that smug look off his face.

He set down his bottle with a thump. “Okay. Here’s what I’m
not
going to do,” he said. “I’m not going to guarantee you a spot in the troupe. I couldn’t even if I wanted to. The producer makes those decisions. I sit on the audition panel, along with the choreographer and a few others, but Garrett makes the final call. He has the vision. You’re going to have to earn it the same way everybody else earns it.”

She opened her mouth to reply, but he stopped her with a raised finger.

“But,” he continued, “in the years I’ve been working with him, I’ve sat through a lot of auditions and rehearsals, and I know what he’s looking for. I know what he likes, and more important, I know what he doesn’t.”

The way he was staring at her made her shift uneasily in her seat. “If you have something to say, just say it.”

He shrugged. “I just want you to know that all I can offer is advice. I’ll critique your routine. I will give you pointers, but I cannot and will not promise you a spot. If you think that’s worth your time, then we’ll talk about my part of the bargain.”

Melanie took another sip—a gulp, really—of her martini. She felt the alcohol burn its way down her throat and warm her belly. Was it worth it? She broke off their standoff stare. Her gaze brushed over the silky, white sheers along the windows, billowing gently from the breeze coming in off Newport Bay. He wasn’t offering her a sure thing, far from it. But it was still an edge. “Yeah, I’m in. What do I have to do?”

He leaned back, looking relieved. “For starters, you’ll have to move in with me.”

She sputtered the martini that was at her lips. She set the glass down. “Are you kidding me? Why?”

His overabundance of confidence vanished. “I know. It’s a lot. But I kinda mentioned that to my sister, that you and I—well, my girlfriend and I—were living together.”

“When you decide to lie, you really go all out. Honestly, I’ve never been happier to be an only child.”

“I know. It was a stupid thing to do. She wanted to stay at the house…” He stopped, shook his head, and tried again. “I thought if I told her she couldn’t, she wouldn’t come. She hates hotels. Obviously, my plan backfired. So I need a live-in girlfriend. That’s number one.”

Okay, she hadn’t expected that, but it wasn’t a deal breaker. “What else?”