Page 1 of I Wanna Dance

CHAPTER 1

Leah

“May I have this dance?” asked the man who had made my pulse stutter, even if for a short moment. I was in my mid-forties, divorced, and building a new law practice—I didn’t have time to breathe, so astutterwas a big deal.

“Marco, right?” I smiled at him.

“Yes. Leah?” He looked good in a button-down shirt that was rolled up to his forearms. He wore suit pants, and they fit him well—probably tailored, I thought, bemused. This man had obviously come to Viviana’s Salsa Studio straight from work.

I deduced that he was probably my age or a few years older. His thick, neatly combed salt-and-pepper hair was a gorgeous contrast to his dark Latin skin, as were his warm hazel eyes.

“Yes.” I slid my hand into his outstretched palm.

His hand was warm, and I couldn’t help but notice the faint scent of cologne—clean, subtle, expensive.

“All right, no time to waste!” Viviana clapped her hands again, cutting through the moment. “Everyone, face your partners, and let’s start with the basics!”

We turned toward each other. Marco’s eyes met mine again, and I was charmed to see that he was as anxious as I was about this little adventure my paralegal and friend Alana had forced upon me in the form of a Christmas present. January was a time for resolutions, and I’d decided to learn to salsa dance—or at least pretend to.

“Marco”—I liked how his name rolled off my tongue—“if I step on your toes, be a gentleman and pretend it didn’t happen.”

He smiled wide, and the heart stutter came back. “Only if you promise to do the same when I step onyourtoes.”

“First time?” I asked cheerfully.

“Yes. You?”

“Yes. This is a Christmas present,” I told him.

He grinned, and seriously the man needed to stop doing that because his face went from good-looking to handsome, doing a number on my dried-up vagina that hadn’t seen any action in a while.

“For me as well.”

“No way!”

We both laughed, and that’s how it began—my journey to learn a new dance…and other things.

The notes of Latin music filled the air, a sultry rhythm that curled into the polished wood and mirrored walls of the dance studio. I’d never been to a dance studio before, and I wasn’t sure if Viviana’s place was unusual or the way all of them were. This one was painted in earthy tones of amber and gold, strings of fairy lights (probably forgotten from the holidays) hung along the high ceilings, and expansive, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the bustling streets of Atlanta’s Buckhead area below.

When I came into the studio, I felt foolish. Severely conscious in my forty-plus body in black leggings and a loose emerald-green top, I didn’t look anything at all like Viviana did inleggings and a crop top. (Yeah, no way was I exposing my two-baby belly.) In fact, my perusal told me that all the women in my class looked better than I did. It also told me that they were part of a couple.

But when I saw the man—who, like me, was alone, I wished I hadn’t gone for functional today as I usually did—my hair pulled back into a high ponytail, and my face makeup-free except for some hurried mascara. I was part excited that I’d been paired with him and part terrified of the same thing.

I cursed my friend under my breath. Alana had instructed me not to missanyof the classes unless I had a broken leg or she’d quit. Since I couldn’t operate my law practice without the best paralegal in the state of Georgia—I had agreed.

“You’ve paid your divorce dues, Leah,” she instructed, her dark eyes full of mischief. “Salsa is going to bring you back to life. Trust me.”

I wasn’t so sure about the wholeback-to-lifething, but I figured there were worse ways to spend a Thursday evening than learning how to salsa with a bunch of strangers.

“Okay, everyone, gather around!”Our instructor, Viviana, clapped her hands, her bangles jangling with every movement. She was the kind of woman who could light up an entire room without even trying. With wild, dark curls, a figure poured into clothes that looked like they were painted on her, and an infectious personality, it was impossible not to like her.

“Welcome to Salsa for Beginners!” Her voice carried over the room, rich and lilting like she was born to speak over music. “I’m Viviana, your instructor and personal matchmaker.” She winked as a ripple of laughter ran through the room. “Kidding, kidding—sort of.”

There were about ten of us, five couples in total, all of varying ages. Some seemed comfortable in their skin, like they’dbeen dancing together for years, while others looked about as awkward as I felt.

Now, as we learned to dance, I was glad that Marco was not one of the confident ones.

“I’ve never done this before,” he whispered.

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