Page 12 of Tainted Love

“Fine,” I say, setting down the empty glass.

Dante sits back against the wall, victorious and bold, while I stand up and kick off my shoes. I wiggle my toes against the floor, tricking my blood into awakening them. I haven’t felt nervous on a stage since I was ten years old but, for some reason, that forgotten sensation lingers on me now.

My feet shift into fifth position, with my left heel attached to my right toes. I close my eyes, searching my brain for a bit of music to play but I can’t seem to find one. His eyes… they’re far too distracting.

I spin around, putting my back to him before trying again. Mozart. That’ll do, I suppose. With my eyes closed, I let the song play out and my body moves to every note. Glissade, coupé jeté, pas de chat. I free flow, making it all up as I go. My head spins, drunk on whiskey and stage-fright.

I spin on a pirouette and stop, finally opening my eyes to witness his reaction.

Dante jaw sags but he quickly closes it. “You’re very talented, Ms. Vaughn,” he says, his voice a low growl.

I clear my throat. “Thank you.”

My heart pounds in my chest. I try to hold my breath but it’s not nearly as calming as I’d like it to be.

“Are you all right?” he asks, reading the signs all too clear.

“Of course.” I look at my feet while I swipe my right toes across the hardwood floor in a quick rond de jambe. “I dance all the time.”

“Not like this…” His teeth rake across his bottom lip. “I highly doubt private dances are the norm for you.”

“You assume too much, Mr. Hart.”

He tilts his head. “Am I wrong?”

I fill my lungs. “I guess not. Men are usually more interested in how far back over my head I can lift my legs as opposed to how talented I am.”

“How far back can you lift your legs?”

“You’ll never know.”

He smiles wide and stands up off the floor with both of our empty glasses. His cologne touches my nose as he passes by, forcing me to keep my attention on him.

“You’re a touch too confident about that, I think,” he whispers, leaning in within an inch of my ear.

My hairs stand on end and bristle with disappointment as he widens the gap between us on his way to the kitchen.

I lean against the archway between the living room and the hall, listening closely to his movements. The refrigerator opens and closes. Fresh cubes of ice drop in the glasses. He comes back several moments later with our glasses refilled.

“Still trying to get me drunk, Mr. Hart?” I ask. “That’s cheating.”

His face comes into view from the shadowed hall and he looks down at me with a smirk touching his lips. “Just loosening that tongue of yours, Ms. Vaughn.”

“Like you give a crap about what a girl has to say.”

“I beg to differ.”

He holds out my glass using his fingertips alone, leaving more than enough room for me to retrieve it without coming close to touching his fingers.

I grab the bottom with a trembling hand. My body screams, reacting to his startling eyes. I try to look away, but I can’t bring myself to move. Part of me wishes for his hand to graze mine, just so I can know what his skin feels like other than a professional handshake. His hands look thick and rough. Strong like a carpenter who builds his own furniture. I try to imagine what he’s done with those fingers… and what he’s capable of doing with them.

“Ms. Vaughn?”

His lips curl to one side and my mouth waters. I can’t control it. I don’t even want to admit to it. My skin burns. My body aches to be touched but he’d never touch me — not unless I touch him first.

I pull my hand away and my pinkie slides against his inner palm.

Lightning strikes up my arm. The glass slips from my fingers and shatters on the floor beneath us.

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