Page 82 of Just Say Christmas
“Ah,” Hayden said, his irrepressible spark showing up again. “That’s probably because she had a pretty enormous thing for you, too.”
“She told you?” Well,thatstartled him.
“Nah, mate. Told me she didn’t.” Hayden laughed, a bit giddy now that the tension was past. “And that you didn’t, either. The question is—which of us will Dad approve of less now? Me, or Zora?”
“It’s a tossup,” Rhys agreed. “Of course, I’m keeping Zora in Auckland. That swings the balance in our favor, probably.”
“No,” Hayden said, the spark dimming for a moment. “Probably not. Not sure having me around is high on Dad’s list.”
Rhys had no answer for that other than a silent vow to do better himself. After that, fortunately, they ate. Food always helped, and the toasts, and the speeches. Once everyone had eaten too much, the younger ones cleared away the remains of the meal, and Koti said, “Give us a hand, boys. We’ll move these tables to the edge, have room for some dancing.” After which Marko’s dad Ander, a good bugger who made you see where Marko got his straightforward nature, brought out his guitar and pulled a chair over, and Ella went to join him with her tambourine.
A pause, then. A hush. And falling into the stillness, a rise and a fall of notes, plucked one at a time, the chords dark and mysterious, and then the music building. Ander played flamenco style, his fingering astonishingly deft for a man who’d spent his entire life out of doors, amongst machinery and sheep and fencing and dogs, and Ella beat out the accompaniment.
Zora said, “Their first dance. That’s the tango.” He hadn’t realized she’d moved to stand beside him, and his arm went around her reflexively.
Marko appearing through one side of the circle of spectators, then, his suit coat over one shoulder, his tie gone, the top of his shirt unbuttoned. And Nyree across the circle from him. She’d come out of the house changed from her gown into a very short red dress with a flirty hem. And black shoes. He liked those shoes. He liked the dress, too, the hem of which she held between her fingertips as she stood sideways to Marko, looking at him over her shoulder, the very position of her head a challenge.
They came toward each other, sliding across the floor, heads down, one arm outstretched, and when Marko tossed his jacket and pulled her into him hard like he was taking her down in the tackle, everybody sighed. She turned, stepped, twisted to the accompaniment of the syncopated rhythm, and he spun her, then brought her back again. She was wearing a sort of . . . bodysuit under there. That was startling.
The tension of the moment when Nyree pulled away, Marko’s hand sliding down her shoulder, her arm, all the way to her wrist, until she snapped her head around to stare at him, and he pulled her back in. Her leg wrapped around his, and he was spinning her, both her feet off the ground, and setting her down again. Careful, always. Determined, definitely. All barely restrained passion, her hands coming out to slide over him from behind, his hand spread out just below her breasts as he danced her backward. Holding her through the kicks, the turns.
Marko was doing well on the “dark, intense, and sensual” side of the equation. Nyree, though, kept on smiling, then seeming to remember that she was meant to be a dark seductress, which made Rhys smile himself.
They finished on a lift and spin, Marko’s hand under Nyree’s thigh, her other hand in his, then twirled once more and came to a stop, his hand just above her belly, pulling her back into him, her head thrown back, arm overhead.
Zora said, over the applause and laughter, whistles and cheers, “What a first dance.Whata dance.”
“We could do lessons,” he told her. “If you like.”
“Seriously?” she asked. “You’d do dance lessons?”
“Seriously. I would. If Marko can do it, so can I. Who says forwards can’t dance? Course, could be I just want to hold you like that in public.”
“Or could be you want me to keep our date night.”
“Well, that too. Looks like they’re doing lessons right now. Let’s check it out.”
Nyree and Marko were, in fact, showing the others the steps, and had most of the group pairing off to try them, including Hayden and Luke. That had escalated quickly. Best thing you could do, though, really. Show people something enough times, and it lost its shock value.
There was more dancing, then, especially after Marko’s mum pulled out her mandolin, and his aunt joined in with the violin. Circle dances, and more slow stuff, with people pretending they knew how to tango. Music, and dancing, slices of pavlova and a couple of beers. And seeing Zora let go of the work and the plans and the worry, letting herself laugh, letting herself be thrilled.
Forgetting he was a coach, and not thinking about being a dad. Holding the woman he loved, the woman he’d waited for, dancing her backwards, spinning her around by the hand and catching her again. Watching her catch his eye and catch her breath.
Being a man.
* * *
ZORA
Sometimes, you had to leave home to see the truth. Nyreehadfound them a room in the house after all, a tiny thing up under the eaves. A B&B room, with an ancient quilt on the white iron bed, a creaky wooden floor, the mountains out the window, and a bathroom down the hall.
The house hummed, still, with expectancy. With a wedding night, and secrets and hearts laid bare.
She was sitting up in that iron bed now, brushing her hair. And if she was doing it because Rhys liked seeing it, and because he was shutting the door behind him and coming to her dressed in a pair of sleep pants and nothing else? If he was shoving back his hair with one hand, showing her his tattooed bicep, his chest, and his still-absolutely-delicious abs, with that line of dark hair arrowing down from his navel? If his hair was still black, his eyes still that startling peat-green, his chin still had that dimple in it, and his hard jaw had grown some black shadow since he’d shaved this morning?
Well, yeh.
She said, keeping up the rhythmic brushing that was as soothingly sensual as it was unnecessary, “I put an arrangement in their room earlier. Nyree and Marko. Anthurium. Bursting out of their vase. Most sexual flower in the world. Think they noticed it?”
