Page 26 of In Step

Deep breath. Shoulders back. Spine straight. Arms boxed. Eyes shuttered closed. A man in my embrace.Dear God.Kane. Of course it bloody was.

In my fantasy, Kane cocked his head and smiled, blond, tanned, deep-blue eyes fierce on mine.

And then we danced, slow, salon style, cheek to cheek, his lithe body pressed hard against mine. Catlike steps on the four-four time—caminada,cadencia,giro,latigo—sharp and syncopated, then slow and languid, leg curled around mine—lift and down.

He filled my frame, arm wrapped around my shoulder, fingers threaded with mine, moving as one, step for step as I drove the dance forward. My body strung tight with sensation, my cock thrumming to the image of the two of us spinning in my head. Thenresolucion, the finish, the longing fade of the music, and the empty space in my arms suddenly cool against my chest—the fantasy gone, disappointment standing tall in its place.

My arms fell to my side, my chin on my chest, breathing ticking down, my heart not even close.What the fuck?

A slow clap shot my eyes wide to find the man in question leaning against the wall, a flush to his cheeks and a huge smile on his face.

I blinked furiously, wondering if I’d somehow conjured him.

He continued clapping. “That was amazing,” he said, a rough note to his voice that caught somewhere in my balls.

And I was suddenly aware how I must look: skin-toned dance tights wet with perspiration and clinging to every nook and cranny, my singlet tied in a knot at the front, my skin and hair slick with sweat.

“How long have you been standing there?” It came out sharper than I’d intended, and his flush paled. I walked past him to grab a towel, his eyes two points of fire on my back.

It wasn’t that I was upset he was there. I was just struggling to reconcile the reality of the man himself with the fantasy of the last few minutes. And yeah, my cock hadn’t forgotten either. I hung the towel over my arm to hide my semi.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he flustered. “It was only that last dance. I didn’t want to disturb you. But you did say if I saw the lights on—” His cheeks lit up. “I’ll go. It was stupid to come.”

I grabbed his wrist as he turned to leave, the warmth of his skin sending a shot of lust to my already addled brain, which was apparently all for extending the fantasy. “No, stay. Please. I’m sorry. I just wasn’t expecting an audience.” He stared at where my hand held his arm, and I dropped it immediately, adding, “Ididinvite you, and youarewelcome. I was just surprised, and I was still...” I waved my hand in the air.

“In your head?” He finally smiled, and I nodded. “You dance with your eyes closed,” he observed softly.

I shrugged and carefully wiped my hands on the towel, relieved to note my cock had softened and was tucked innocently into my rehearsal tights, the little shit. “It helps sometimes,” I explained, reaching for my water. “If it’s supposed to be a partnered dance, I close my eyes and imagine the guy I’m dancing with. The tango is a good warm-down. I don’t often have the luxury of someone to share it with, so an imaginary partner is as good as it gets.” I glanced sideways and caught his gaze running over me.

He quickly looked away. “It was... strikingly beautiful.”

Our eyes locked and there it was again, that look. “Thank you.”

“Do you get to dance like that a lot? I wouldn’t have thought there’d be many places offering that kind of music. Tango, right?”

“Not as often as I’d like, although I can usually find a guy in whatever ballet company I’m working with at the time who can at least hold his own on the floor. There are a few bars in the bigger cities who specialise in tango, if you know where to look. They’re not usually inclusive, but two guys dancing together is less scandalous than it used to be. Having said that, there’s always arseholes. But to be honest, I don’t really give a fuck if they do or don’t like two guys on the floor. It’s not gonna stop me dancing.”

“Oh, right.” His cheeks blazed, and I bit back a smile. He was too fucking cute.

“And tango has a sneaky advantage as far as two men dancing together. It has a history of same-sex partners right back to its roots when men dominated society and women weren’t allowed into clubs. So, if women weren’t around or in short supply, men often danced or practised tango together. One of the first-ever photographs of tango was of two men dancing.”

Kane nodded thoughtfully. “That’s pretty cool.”

“It is. You said your mother danced?”

“Yes.” Kane’s lips quirked up at some memory. “She was pretty good, I think. Not the tango. My dad would have nothing to do with dancing. She just danced with me in the kitchen when he wasn’t around.” He shrugged and looked away. “It was just kids’ stuff.”

There was something deeply sad in his expression, and before I knew it, I’d blurted, “Would you like to dance with me, now?”

“What?” His gaze jerked back, a deep frown carved into his forehead. “No, I can’t—”

“Remembering, of course, that men historicallydiddance this together.”

He stood wide-eyed.

“Straightmen,” I quickly added. “And to be honest, it would be nice to have an actual partner for a change—help keep my teaching skills sharp. We’ve decided to do a tango demonstration after the recital, and I could do with the practice since I’m going to be teaching Leroy and Fox, the mums, and maybe Jon and his wife.”

Kane was still staring, open-mouthed. Then he blinked and his brow notched. “Wait up. Leroy is gonna dance? In public?”

---