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Ahead of Brady, the broad swath of the Willamette River bisected the city on its way to join with the Columbia. The lights of the Hawthorne Bridge glimmered in the fading light. On the broad sweep of the waterfront park that paralleled the riverbank, a crowd of people was gathered. Music floated across on the night air. Piano and strings, the slow, insistent thud of percussion. The exotic rhythms of the music whispered of passion, of dim, intimate cafés where couples embraced in the dance. Paper lanterns dangled from the trees. Ahead, people clustered around a spot in the open, watching. And beyond them, Brady glimpsed motion, color?a couple, dancing. Something about the music intrigued him. Something about it had him wanting to see more. And when he got near enough to look past the crowd, he saw. She wore red, a narrow dress slit all the way up the thigh on one side to reveal a long, sleek leg jackknifed up to the hip of her partner. A matching red blossom was tucked into the dark hair gathered at the nape of her neck; her back, her arms were naked. Brady swore that his heart stopped, or maybe it was just the music. When she began to move again, with an almost catlike grace, he gulped oxygen out of self preservation, with the same rush of adrenalin he felt when shooting the rapids in his kayak. He stared at her as the pair moved through their intricately choreographed dance of seduction. It wasn’t one of those artsy dances with all the feathers and floaty dresses. Dark and driven, it was a dance of lust, pure and simple. The woman prowled around her partner -- her lucky, lucky partner -- with a sort of predatory sexuality, every line of her body, every movement eloquent of heat and demand, every glance one of temptation. Brady didn’t know how but he wanted -- no, needed -- to be near her, touching her, tasting her, discovering the scent of that smooth neck, the taste of that full mouth that looked like some kind of ripe, exotic fruit. He stared at her face, her eyes as the pair whirled past. Wide and lovely, dark as sin, they were the kind of eyes a man could get lost in. Then she closed them, her lashes dark fans on her cheeks as she abandoned herself to the dance. The pair spun, their steps now slow, now quick, circling around one another as they intertwined their legs in a stylized sequence that was the next best thing to foreplay. Unable to look away, Brady stared, his body tight with need. She was pressed to her partner, a teasing half smile on her face as they stepped ever closer to the edge of the crowd. Then her eyes flicked open and she stared directly into Brady’s. And this time, his heart really did stop. * * * It was when she danced the tango that Thea felt truly free. She’d draw the silk of one of her dresses over her skin and it would begin, the throb of arousal, the choreography of need. And when the dance began, nothing else mattered. She existed only for the rhythm, for the steps, her body flowing into the movements that became merely extensions of the music. The night was warm, the stars just beginning to emerge. The seduction of the music eddied through her system. Eyes closed, she concentrated only on the steps and lead of her partner. The light touch of arm, the firm press of hands. She abandoned herself to the dance and in doing so became something more than she was, a woman who could trust without fear, feel without consequences. She felt the stir of longing. Not for her partner, Paul -- a myopic shoe salesman with a wife and three kids -- but for the touch of a man, the feel of a body against hers for the sake of her, not for the sake of a dance. Paul pulled her to a stop at the edge of the crowd. Thea flicked her leg around his in a gancho, snapping her head to the side to stare at the crowd. And heat and desire punched through her. She swayed, lips parting in shock. And she stared, stunned, even when the dance whirled her away. He stood at the edge of the crowd, his gaze fixed on hers with a naked wanting that snatched the breath from her lungs. In the dim light, she couldn’t see the color of his eyes. It didn’t matter: blue or brown, gray or green, she could see, feel, sense the desire. He stood at the edge of the crowd but she could have been in his arms. Suddenly all the unfocused need she felt, all the passion she’d always invested in the dance, coalesced. Paul’s touch became the feel of this unknown stranger. Paul spun her back into the center of the circle. She obeyed his lead, swiveling back and forth before him teasingly, but it was the stranger she moved for. She and Paul stalked each other in the ritualized pursuit of the dance but it was the stranger she wanted. It was the stranger whose touch she craved. And he never stopped watching her. In the final throes of the routine, she was conscious, always conscious of his gaze and of the heat that flared within her. She hardly noticed the end of the song, only that she and Paul were bowing to the crowd amid the surge of applause. Thea knew what came next. This was a milonga designed to recruit more tango enthusiasts for the society. The showcase was to get them excited about the possibilities; the subsequent impromptu lessons for the onlookers were designed to show them that they could do it, too. The stranger didn’t look like type who’d be interested in tango. Tall and rangy in jeans and a black t-shirt, he looked more like a guy who spent his time outdoors, hiking, mountain biking, skiing. Anyway, she was being ridiculous. It was a glance across a dance floor, nothing more. It was the kind of thing people?guys?did all the time, she reminded herself. He probably hadn’t even thought twice about it. The only reason it meant anything to her was that she didn’t have anything even remotely resembling a personal life. Pathetic, she thought, glancing toward the river. Anyway, it wasn’t like she was looking to get caught up in anything. She was only here for a short job. The strange little interlude was best forgotten. She swallowed and turned to where he’d been standing. Only to find him directly behind her. “Nice dance.” His eyes were green, she saw in the fading light, deepset, a little sleepy-eyed. His wasn’t a conventionally handsome face. The features were too strong: an aggressive nose, sharp cheekbones pushing out against the skin of his angular face. Humor lingered around the corners of his mouth, though, humor and promise from lips that looked way too intriguing. Her heart pumped a little faster in her chest. “I’m glad you enjoyed the showcase. You like tango?” “I’m getting a new appreciation for it by the minute,” he said, giving her a look that had her cheeks warming. “You two were something. Have you been dancing together long?” “Oh, about four hours.” At his surprised expression, she laughed. “I’m just visiting. This was a last minute thing we threw together.” “Don’t even try to tell me that you just learned tango yesterday.” Thea nibbled her lip. “Would you buy it?” His glance sharpened with some special attention. “Right now, I’d buy about anything you tried to sell me,” he said. “I’m Brady, by the way.” “I’m Thea. And the answer is no. I’ve been dancing for about eight years.” “You’ve been using the time well.” This time, she definitely blushed, she knew it because she saw his grin. Up front, Robyn turned on the microphone. “Thea, Paul, thanks for that showcase. We’re going to go through another figure before the free dance, so if you’re interested in learning some tango instead of just watching, pair up with a partner and let’s get started.” Brady’s eyes glimmered. “I guess now’s my chance to get you to show me some of those hot moves.” Thea eyed him. “Why do I think you already know all the hot moves you need. Or is it the smooth moves?” He burst into laughter. “Oh, now that was harsh. For that, you have to teach me.” He stepped toward her and raised his hands. He worked for a living, she thought, staring at them. They were long-fingered, strong, his forearms sinewy and tanned. And she suddenly found herself wondering what it would be like to dance with him, to have those hands on her, to be pressed against his body so tightly that not even air came between them. Why not, she thought suddenly. She was supposed to draw new students. Why shouldn’t she touch him, feel him, let him touch her? See what he was made of. Besides, it was only the dance. “All right, everyone,” Robyn was saying. “Line up in pairs, ladies facing me, gentlemen with your backs to me.” She walked them through the steps, first the gentlemen, then the ladies. It gave Thea the opportunity to study him. Lean, balanced, Brady moved with a deceptively careless grace. He didn’t seem to be focused on Robyn’s direction but he caught onto the steps immediately. And when Thea began moving through the ladies’ sequence, he stood, hands on his hips, just watching her. “You don’t need to stare,” she said once as the step took her past him. “I’m just paying attention. I figure I might learn a thing or two.” His tone was light, but the heat in his eyes sent something skittering around in her stomach. “Okay,” Robyn said. “Now that we know the basic step, let’s get into dance position and try it out. Stand opposite your partners. Ladies, put your left hand on the gentleman’s shoulder.” He stepped closer. “Now, about that paying attention,” he murmured and Thea’s pulse bumped and sped up. He was tall, she realized. She stood nearly six foot in her bare feet and had grown accustomed to towering over men, especially in high-heeled dance shoes. With the Brady, she found herself looking up. Taking a breath, she put her hand on his shoulder. And swallowed. It didn’t matter that she was only touching the cotton of his shirt. Somehow, all she was conscious of was the feel of the hard rise of muscle beneath. “Gentlemen, put your right hand on the lady’s shoulder blade.” His gaze fixed on hers, Brady pressed his hand in place and it was all she could do not to gasp. He flashed a wicked smile. “Sorry, is my hand cold?” It wasn’t cold at all, and he damned well knew it. Heat spread out from the extravagance of the fingers spread on her bare skin. It felt startlingly intimate. They were in public, among a throng of people. So how was it that she could only think of darkened bedrooms, of how it would feel to have that hand slide over her bare body? Snap out of it, she told herself. “Now join your other hands and space yourselves about six to eight inches apart. As you’ve seen, Argentine tango tends to be danced in a tight closed position, with the inner thighs of the lady and gentleman pressed together. Those of you who like, step closer.” Eyes staring unwaveringly into hers, Brady moved against her. “I like,” he murmured, close enough that she could feel the heat of his words. His fingers tightened slightly on her back, bringing her closer. “Yeah, I like a lot.” Her heart hammered madly in her chest. He was too close, too hot, too there. “Easy, big fella,” she said as evenly as she could muster. “It’s just a dance.” Yet his touch was all she could focus on. She needed to concentrate on something safe, Thea thought in a panic. Not those eyes, not those green, green eyes with their glints of humor and heat, not those eyes that made her want. And if she didn’t look there, she’d find her gaze slipping down to his mouth, which was way too near, and every time she looked at his mouth she found herself wondering what it would feel like to brush her lips against his, wondering just how he’d taste. Wondering what he’d do if she leaned in out of the blue and pressed her mouth to his. Ridiculous, she thought impatiently. The man was a stranger, they were at a milonga. It was absurd. And she couldn’t stop wanting it. So she focused on the point of his jaw. Nice. Safe. Square and strong, darkened at little with a day’s growth of beard. If she leaned in and put her face against it, it would be rough, warm. And it would put her even closer to that clean scent that didn’t seem to have a thing to do with conventional colognes. Maybe shampoo or soap? Whatever it was, if she could just lean in and get a deep, deep breath of it she thought maybe she could die happy. The music caught her by surprise when it began. She found him looking down at her in amusement. “You okay?” “Fine.” He leaned in. “Better focus,” he said softly in her ear. “Teachers can’t get distracted.” And focusing was almost worse. With every step, she could feel his torso shift, as though beneath his clothes, his body were stripped down to muscle and sinew and bone. With every step, she became only more aware of him against her. And it sent her mind vaulting along carnal pathways, wondering if this was what it would be like to have him pressed against her, on top of her so that she could feel his every movement as he poised himself over her, bringing all that heat and want and tension and lust? “Okay, ready for me?” She stared at him. “What?” “My hot move.” She gave an uneven laugh. “Sure.” Looking down a bit, he led her through the eight-count basic that Robyn had just taught them. Thea watched his face. He was focused on his feet, his lead, working his way through each segment of the figure. His lashes were darker than she’d expected, a sheaf of his hair hanging down over his forehead. “And, done.” His eyes flicked up to meet hers. She felt the jolt all the way to her toes. “Good memory,” she managed, unable to look away. “You think I’m good at the eight count basic, just give me a try on something else.” Thea had a pretty good idea he wasn’t talking about tango anymore. She stared up at him, no longer dancing, unable to look away as she watched desire replace the humor, desire overtake everything. He bent his head toward her? And the song ended. For a moment, neither of them moved, caught in a frozen tableau of desire, lips a hairsbreadth apart. Thea moistened her lips. “I should…dance with someone else now.” “Do you want to?” he asked, not looking away as a new song started. “It’s not a question of wan.” “Then don’t. Stay with me.” And he pulled her back into his arms...
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