The First Move Page 7

  She looked back to the dance floor. “You really mean to take me dancing.”

  He pulled away from her and gave her a puzzled look. “When I said ‘dinner and dancing’ what did you think I meant?”

  “Dinner. No one has ever taken me dancing before.” If they had asked, she probably would’ve said no. Dancing implied more intimacy than she was willing to grant any man.

  “Rey,” he said with all the laughter gone from his face, “I won’t say or do anything to you I don’t mean. When I say I’m taking you dancing, I’m taking you dancing. You can try to scare me off by answering the door in your running clothes, but I don’t scare easily.”

  His eyes burrowed into her, and she believed him, totally and absolutely. She shivered. Fear or excitement?

  Someone bumped her from behind and she lurched forward until she was pressed against Miles. His chest was hard against hers and he smelled of pine and Ivory soap. The contact made her dizzy.

  He slid his hand around her waist and leaned in close to her ear. “Come on,” he whispered, and goose bumps trailed down her neck. “We’re blocking traffic and I’ve got other plans for you.”

  The hostess seated them at a small circular table. Miles sat closer to her than she wanted him to. The heat of his thigh burned through the thin silk of her dress, but every time she scooted away, he scooted closer until her butt was nearly off the bench and he could stretch out and take a nap if he wanted to.

  “This is ridiculous,” she said with a shove in his direction.

  “You’re right.” He slid to the center of the curved seat. “Now I can’t hear you.” He moved closer to her again but gave her some space this time—she could’ve slipped a sheet of paper between their legs if she wanted.

  She thought about arguing, then wrinkled her nose. He’d given her a chance to bow out of the date and she’d not taken it. There was no reason for her to be a cranky bitch the entire night. He was going to feed her a tasty dinner and while she wasn’t obligated to take him home with her afterward, she could at least be nice to him in return.

  Service was a bit slow, but a waitress finally took their order and they settled into conversation. She wasn’t planning on talking much, so she didn’t mind that Miles mostly chatted about himself, telling short anecdotes about Sarah and his move back to Chicago. Even though she turned down cocktails in favor of iced tea, by the time the entrees came, she was relaxed and didn’t close up when Miles turned the conversation around to her. It probably helped that he didn’t press her for information about her daughter. Instead, he asked how she got into photography and about her hobby of bird watching.

  “How can anyone be upset while looking at a bird? Even in the city, they move with such purpose, but don’t let their business get in the way of their joy. And—” what the hell, she’d said so much already “—I envy their freedom from judgment.”

  “I did some research on you. You take portraits and do weddings, but your specialty is newborn photographs—babies, less than a week old. Why?”

  She took a sip of iced tea, wishing it were alcohol. “That’s where the money is.”

  He raised his eyebrow, but didn’t contradict her. She wanted to stop the conversation there, with him thinking she charged exorbitant amounts to new mothers because she could. She wanted him to think less of her.

  Seconds ticked away before the ice-blue of his eyes softened. “Okay.”

  “Because the memory of babies at that moment—before they know the world can betray them—is precious. Because mothers and children should have that moment to hold on to, later, when neither of them can remember what innocence looked like.” She couldn’t lie to those eyes.

  “Do you have a picture of your daughter?”

  “Yes.” Her photograph wasn’t the careful rendering of joy into art, but was, beneath the ravages of birth still evident on mother and child, innocence just the same.

  “Do—”

  “Can I take your plates for you?” the waitress asked, interrupting whatever Miles was going to ask.

  They were silent as their waitress took their plates away, but even when Renia closed her eyes and tried to pretend she hadn’t been so honest, she could feel him sitting next to her. He wasn’t touching her, but awareness of him buzzed through her entire body. She couldn’t let the night go any further. This man could hurt her and she still hadn’t recovered from her last emotional jolt.

  “Rey,” he said.

  She opened her eyes to an empty table and the sight of concern on Miles’s face.

  “Have you ever been to a birth mothers’ support group or therapist or anything?”

  “What?” His question jolted her back to the noisy, throbbing restaurant. She didn’t have time to build a layer of calm over her face before she answered. “No. It’s not like I got pregnant in 1960 and had to go to a home while everyone told my friends I was taking care of a sick aunt. Relinquishing my baby was my choice. I didn’t, don’t, need therapy.”

  She hadn’t been sent to a home with other unwed mothers, but she was sent to live with her aunt. At the time, her mother had said she was sending her to Cincinnati because Aunt Maria would take better care of her, maybe would get her back on track to graduating from high school. Renia hadn’t believed it then, and she didn’t believe it now.

  “Okay.”

  Okay? He was going to ask her invasive questions, then respond with “okay”?

  Anger built in her chest, making her ribs press against the seams of her dress. “I made the right decision for me and my baby. I don’t need you judging me.”

  “I’m not judging you.”

  She looked at the honesty in his eyes and remembered what he’d said at the door. He wouldn’t say or do anything he didn’t mean. This relationship wasn’t going any further, so she could choose to believe him. For tonight she could live in a world where someone like Miles existed to ask her questions without condemning her choices.

  He slid out of the booth and came around the table to stand before her. “Let’s dance,” he said, holding out his hand for her to take.

  Tonight, she would be Cinderella. She’d put on the pretty dress and let a handsome man look at her with heat in his eyes. She’d not close herself off, or try to hide from him. On the ride home, she’d tell him she wasn’t interested in a relationship. Until then, she could just dance.

  She put her hand in his. “There’s just one problem.”

  “What?” He gave a tug, pulling her out of her seat and flat against him, the piney scent of his cologne overpowering the smell of garlic, parsley and steak on a tray a waitress was carrying past them.

  Tonight was her fairy tale, where people didn’t leave, where words like relinquish didn’t exist. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the feel of his chest against hers. Her nipples puckered against her lacy bra and desire consumed her. This night could only last until he dropped her off at her apartment. It could go no further.

  When she opened her eyes, he was looking down at her, amused. “I don’t know how to dance,” she confessed.

  * * *

  MILES LAUGHED. He should have known a woman as closed off from people as Rey wouldn’t voluntarily learn to dance. “I know well enough for both of us.”

  After leading Rey out to the dance floor, he positioned her facing him and kept hold of her hands. “Salsa is an eight-count dance, so let’s listen first to the music.”

  When the deejay put on a new song, he pulled Rey in close to
him and moved his hands to her waist. “One, two, three, pause, five, six, seven, pause,” he whispered into her ears, pulsing his fingers against her back with the rhythm of the music. He loosened his stance, relaxing his knees and continuing to count. She was going to break before she bent—he could feel her stiffness against his hands. “Relax your knees and you’re going to swing your hips so your dress swings against the backs of your thighs. Feet hip-width apart.”

  The tension in her hips eased and she started to bend her knees in rhythm with his. He took one step away from her, the memory of her heartbeat against his chest still throbbing through his veins.

  “The basic salsa step is simple.” The music and crowds drowned out his words, but her gaze was fixed on his lips. “One, you’ll step backward with your right foot when I step forward. Two, you’ll shift your weight from your back foot to your front foot. Three, bring your right foot back and four, pause. Ready?”

  Her long neck pulsed when she swallowed away whatever objections she had been planning on voicing and she nodded. With the seriousness of her face, he doubted she even noticed all the people on the dance floor moving around them. Her eyes never left his.

  “One...”

  She moved her foot back as he moved his forward and her hips swayed against his hands as she shifted her weight from side to side. They moved together, more slowly than the music, until she had her feet back in neutral.

  “Now you move your left foot forward on five, shift your weight back on six, come back to center on seven and pause on eight. Ready, five...

  “Ow!”

  She had stepped forward and landed the stiletto of her high heel hard on his instep.

  “Sorry, sorry, sorry.”

  She tried to step away from him, but he clamped his hands on her hips. “We’ll try this again, the whole movement from one. Ready, and one.” He stepped back, counting softly, and she stepped backward. “Pause and step forward.”

  He smiled to cover up his apprehension of her foot stomping on his again, but she stepped forward, shifted her weight and stepped back.

  “Pause. Right foot step back again. Good.”

  The music sped up, but he kept his hands on Rey’s hips to keep her slow, letting her body’s movement echo through his, feeling her weight shift and the silkiness of her dress slip around his fingers. He kept his focus on her face, even as she looked down to check their feet. “You’re doing great.”

  They kept doing the same basic step, forward and back, forward and back, not getting anywhere but staying connected.

  “Keep your knees relaxed, but don’t bounce. Your upper body and head should remain stable. Let any extra energy from your step flow out your hips.” He pulled back, his fingers falling off her hips and capturing her hands, keeping them close. He’d prefer to keep his hands on her waist, but salsa was not a dance where you kept your partner close against you. You had to leave them free to move and shift.

  “We’re going to do this step until you feel comfortable, then we’ll add a right turn.”

  She nodded, her eyes still on her feet and concentration on her face.

  He smiled. She wasn’t thinking of how she hung up on her daughter this morning. She could think about that tomorrow. Tonight, she could just lose herself in music and movement.

  “Look up at me,” he said, dropping her hand and lifting her chin up so she gazed into his eyes.

  “I might step on your foot.” Her chin was heavy against his fingers as she spoke.

  “You already have and I survived. I’ll survive a second, third and fourth stomp just as well.”

  “I didn’t stomp.” Her indignation threw off her rhythm and Miles started counting again until she was back on one, with her right leg stepping backward. “How did you learn to do this?” she asked when she was back in rhythm.

  “Dance, or salsa?”

  “Both, I guess.”

  “Ready to learn the turn?”

  “Yes, but...”

  “I’ll tell you after the turn.”

  She stopped moving to watch his feet.

  “Don’t stop. While I explain, I want you to think about the step you’re taking now.”

  “Okay,” she said, moving but looking at his feet again.

  “Look up. Now, when you step back, I’m going to lower our hands so our elbows are straight.” He lowered her left hand and let go of her right, keeping them moving in step. “When you pause, before you step forward on your left foot, I’m going to lift our hands up, so our palms are pressed. You’ll need your hands free to move and you’re going to pivot against this hand,” he said with a tap of his right thumb against her left palm. “Instead of stepping forward with your left foot, cross it over your body. Step to the back with your right foot, and you’ll spin yourself back to face me. Pause on step four. Ready?”

  She nodded and he swung their hands out and up, so their palms were facing, and she twirled around while he danced in place. When she was back facing him, her smile was wide enough to be called a grin and all the seriousness had left her face.

  “This is fun,” she said with girlish cheer.

  “Of course it is.”

  When the music stopped, Rey looked around expectantly. “What are we learning next?”

  The music started back up and he waited for the right beat before initiating their movement again. “Let’s keep trying the basic step and the turn. When those get easy, we’ll do something new.”

  “You didn’t answer my question. When did you learn to dance?”

  He didn’t answer her question because the answer was embarrassing. Learning to dance was something men never wanted to do. They wanted to know how to dance, but learning was another pickle entirely. He lowered their hands and swung them up, palm against palm. She took the lead and spun around, triumph on her face when he grabbed onto her hands again.

  He smiled when she transitioned smoothly back into the eight-count salsa step. “I learned how to dance in high school. I was, as you so nicely put it, a dork, and thought learning how to dance would improve my chances with girls.”

  “Did it?”

  He raised an eyebrow at her. “What do you think?”

  She giggled. “Teen girls are dumb. I know, I was dumber than most.”

  The lightness in her face extended through her entire body as she released her burdens and danced with him. Music and couples pulsed around him, but they could all fall off the face of the earth and he wasn’t sure he would notice, not in a world where Rey giggled.

  “Teen boys are dumb, too, but it finally worked.”

  They came together in a pause. “What?”

  “The girl I really wanted to impress was you.” He smiled to suppress a snort at the improbability of the entire night. “Eighteen years later, I finally get to dance with you.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  RENIA THOUGHT ABOUT Miles’s words the entire car ride home. What did he mean when he said he had wanted to impress her? She rolled down the car window, the freshness of the late summer night air cooling the heat she’d built up in her body. It wasn’t just dancing, but dancing with Miles. He looked at her like she completed his world—that look was dangerous.

  He pulled his car into a parking spot near her apartment. This was when she needed to break off any ideas he might have about the night, or the future of their relationship. She put a restraining hand on his thigh before he could open his car door. “Tonight goes no further.”


  “I can’t walk you to your apartment?”

  “Don’t deliberately misunderstand me. Thank you for dinner and teaching me to dance. I had a nice time. But we can’t do this again.”

  The disappointment in his eyes echoed the disappointment her body felt knowing they would never make love. Her body—she—knew it would be indulgent and sensuous. They would take the time to learn the intricacies of each other’s bodies until all secrets were meaningless.

  All the more reason not to repeat this night. He weakened the resolve she had built over the years.

  “Let me at least walk you to your apartment door. I won’t try to cop a feel, I promise.”

  “Okay.” She opened the car door and a breeze covered her body in goose bumps. He walked next to her down the street and around the corner, but didn’t reach for her. Her feet were sore from dancing, her body was chilled from the wind and she missed Miles’s touch.

  They stood at the door to her apartment building. “Thank you for a nice evening,” she said, meaning every word. “I’ll treasure the memory.”

  “But you still won’t come out with me again.”

  “No. It’s better for the both of us if we end this relationship now.”

  He sighed and reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a business card. “I don’t understand and I wish you felt differently, but I won’t argue. If you need to call me...” He pressed the card into her hand, the corner nicking her palm. “Don’t hesitate. If I can do something for you, I will. If I can’t, I’ll listen.”

  The card stock crinkled when she closed her hand. “Okay.” She turned and let herself into her building. The door banged shut behind her, but she didn’t turn back. She might change her mind.

  * * *

  MILES CURSED WHEN Rey stuck her key in the second foyer door and opened it. His cursing got truly colorful as she walked toward the elevators without even a backward glance. The entire night had gone just as he’d hoped, up until she denied his unexpressed desire for another date. When the elevators closed behind her, he knew she wasn’t coming back down.