Page 27 of In Step

I pulled a face. “Well, it’s not entirely in the bag, but I’m hoping so, if I don’t scare them off. So, what do you say? Will you help me?”

He looked ready to bolt and I didn’t blame him. “Look, it’s not a problem. Let’s just forget abo—”

“Yes.” He blinked like a startled owl, as if surprised to hear the word come out of his mouth. Then he closed his eyes and sighed. “If it would help, then sure, I guess.”

Help?I almost laughed. It was gonna get me into a shitload of trouble was what it was going to do, and the anticipation surging through my body did nothing to allay that fear.

“Oh. Well, great. I’ll get some music queued and we can start.”

“What, now?” His eyes widened in panic.

“You want to wait?”

His gaze darted around the studio. “No. Well, maybe?”

I shrugged. “Sure, we can do that. I just thought that since Judah and Morgan are away tonight, it might be a good time.”

“Oh, right.” Kane visibly relaxed. “Of course. They’re in Auckland.” He looked straight at me. “Okay then.”

My hands opened. “So that’s a yes?”

He nodded, drawing a decidedly shaky breath. “But I feel the need to apologise in advance for what will no doubt be a very painful experience for you.”

I snorted. “We’ll see about that. Now get your shoes and socks off.”

“My shoes?”

I waved at my own bare feet, and he stared at them until I cleared my throat and his gaze shot back up. “No shoes on the floor,” I explained. “And get rid of the jacket. Also, you’ll want to roll up your jeans a little so I can see the position of your feet.”

“Um, okay.” He took a seat on the bench and followed my instructions.

While he was busy, I bit off half of an energy bar from my stash, queued a loop of tango music on Judah’s sound system, and cursed myself for being the total bonehead that I clearly was. Having just fantasised about practically fucking the man on the dancefloor, I was now about to actually have Kane in my arms. And I somehow was expected to just walk away and forget about him after? Yeah, nah. I was in deep, deep shit.

From the dwindling common sense remaining in my head, a voice reminded me it wasn’t too late to shut the whole impending disaster down. I even considered it for a few seconds. But no. Apparently, my brain had scarpered, and my balls were running the show. Story of my fucking life.

“Okay, I’m ready.” He stood. “Will I do?”

And Jesus, there were so many, many answers to that question. I sucked in a breath and tried not to stare because, damn, he looked fucking delicious. Nervous, but with a shine in those beautiful eyes I hadn’t seen before.

“Perfect.”Too perfect. “Now head to the middle and I’ll join you in a second. I’m not exactly spring fresh after an hour of practice,” I apologised. “But I can at least have clean hands for you.”

He glanced to where I indicated but didn’t move, that look of panicky unease returning to his face. He was going to run.

“Hey,” I said softly. “I’m just gonna walk you through a few basic steps. Nothing tricky. And at this stage the music is just to give you a feel for the dance, something to practise the rhythm with. Don’t worry. I’m not expecting you to dance a tango with me start to finish, okay?”

Kane still looked skittish, but he blew out a long, slow breath and his shoulders relaxed a little. “Okay.”

“I’ll flick the lights up so we can see better.”

He spun to face me. “Do you have to? I mean, I’d feel less... awkward in the semi-dark, if that makes any sense?”

I watched him for a moment, noting the way his gaze darted on and off me. He was blushing so brightly I just wanted to kiss it right off his beautiful face. Except that would be bad. Very bad.

“Sure.” I smiled. “Let’s do that.”

The complex to and fro of Kane’s moods was doing my head in. I’d fucked a lot of men. A. Lot. And I’d been fascinated by more than a few of them over the years, but nothing like this. And fascination had never run to straight or potentially closeted guys, no matter how achingly beautiful. I didn’t need that kind of complicated pain in my life. Self-flagellation wasn’t my thing.

And Kane Martin was about as easily read as a locked diary. The sensible option was still to shove him right back on the bookshelf, but instead, I was breaking all my fucking rules by pulling at his cover and searching for the key to crack him open.

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