Page 28 of In Step

He couldn’t be straight. He just couldn’t. At forty-four, I wasn’t some naïve kid, and no matter what everyone around Kane thought, I just couldn’t be imagining thisthingbetween us.

When I turned around from washing the dry sweat off my hands, Kane was waiting quietly where I’d directed. He looked mostly terrified and just a little excited. And as he slowly tracked my approach, his cheeks stained pink, and my balls did a little happy dance in my tights. Of course they did.

I took a moment to roll down the high waist of my damp tights and undo the knot in my singlet so it hung loose to my thighs, aware of Kane’s eyes following every movement. And yeah, I was going to pop a semi if he kept that up.

When I looked up, there was that blush again. “So, the tango. A few things before we start.”

Kane’s eyes locked on mine, dark navy in the dim lighting, and it took a second to adjust to the intensity of that focus directed solely at me. Heady, breath-taking stuff. I swallowed hard and scrambled for what I’d been about to say.

“Yes, the tango is a dance,” I started again. “But ultimately, it’s anexperience. I guess you could say that about all dances, but with tango, it’s just...more. It’s a deeply internal connection, not just a performance.” I shrugged. “I don’t know if I’m making any sense.”

He frowned and folded his arms, but there was curiosity there. “Keep going.”

“Well, it’s like I was telling the others at lunch today. Tango is as much about attitude as anything else. If you can walk, you can tango. But to be good, you have toembodythe music.” I sighed and searched for a better explanation. “What I mean is that even if one person is more accurate with the steps, they can be less commanding to watch than someone who simply feels the music better. It’s a dance of love. But even more than that, it’s a dance of passion. It’s very deliberate. Dramatic. And the slow movements mean every look and gesture is amplified in importance.”

Kane smiled and shook his head. “I think you’re setting the bar a little high for me there.”

I snorted. “I don’t expect that from you or any of the others. It’s just good to have an idea about what the dance really means. The best tango dancers suck you into their bodies and emotions almost like you’re feeling it yourself. It’s a contact sport.”

He laughed, and the rare sound sparked under my skin like hot diamonds, and I wanted more.

“At one time, tango was actually forbidden because of its raw sexuality, which mostly came from the fact the leader puts their leg between the follower’s legs, something very definitely not allowed in polite society dancing at that time. It’ssupposedto get your juices running.” I held his gaze. “Like the very best foreplay.”

This time he didn’t look away, and I didn’t miss the darkening of those pretty eyes. But he said nothing.

I cleared my throat and held my arms in position. “I’ll be leading and all you have to do is follow. You’ll find I’ll be quite strong in my direction to start with, so you’re clear about what I want you to do.”

“So, your leg between mine, then?” he asked roughly.

“If that’s okay?” I gave him an out.

He shrugged. “You’re the one who knows what they’re doing.”

And I couldn’t help but wonder if he was talking about more than the dance or if that was wishful thinking.

“We’ll start with the embrace.”

He arched a brow.

I smirked. “That’s what the hold is called.”

“Ah.” He didn’t look at all convinced.

“And for the record, the embrace, theabrazo, is the singlemost important part of a great tango. Every movement of your legs starts from the torso and embrace. It sets the scene. It’s the foundation of everything. Think of it like an actual embrace with someone you care about, just as you’re about to kiss them.”

His eyes widened. And okay, I might’ve been messing with him a bit.

“How you hold someone sets the foundation for a kiss, right?”

He frowned. “I guess.”

“No guessing involved. If there’s no arms involved, it’s not gonna be much of a kiss, is it? Acquaintance type stuff. But arms around the shoulders, arms around the waist, hands cradling a face, fisting a shirt, they all change what the kiss means. You follow?”

“Sure.” The flush on Kane’s cheeks, the pulse point in his throat, his darkening pupils, the way his knuckles whitened on his folded arms told their own story.

“We start with thecabeceo,” I explained. “That’s the traditional way men of Buenos Aires invite a partner onto the floor. They look around the room, spot someone who interests them, make eye contact, and then nod. If the other person nods back, it means they accept. It’s almost like cruising for a hook-up.”

Kane’s gaze slid from mine to the door. “Maybe this isn’t such...”

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