Page 30 of In Step

I snorted. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

He shot me a look full of... something.

“Okay, remember to straighten your back and... now.” We began again, and then again, and again, until finally we had something close to a rhythm going, and the war in my arms became a gentle battle.

A smile broke over my face. “That’s it,” I said softly. “You’re getting it. Well done.”

He immediately stepped the wrong way and groaned. “You really need to do something about those low standards of yours,” he grumbled, missed another beat, and swore.

I bit back a laugh, paused, and started again. “Concentrate.” I whispered the word into his ear and his head shot up from staring at his feet, putting our lips barely a breath apart. His wide eyes lingered hot on mine for just a second before he turned away.

Dear god, the man was killing me. Masochist was right. I was scarcely registering the music as it was, running on autopilot as the imagined Kane and the actual man fused weirdly in my brain and in my arms.

The fantasy had been hot, but it paled against the real deal in my arms. Kane. Dancing with me. Awkward and halting and uncoordinated, but dancing with me. And my balls were locked in this slow, exquisite torture. The thin cotton of his T-shirt failing to hide the slide of lithe muscle under hot, tanned skin. The tingling weight of his hand above my bicep. The seductive brush of our chests. The slide of my thigh between his. The relentless crawl of heat and hunger through my blood.

I chanced a sideways glance and found Kane’s lips caught between his teeth in concentration, his forehead creased in a frown, eyes flicking a constant triangle—floor, hands, my shoulder. He caught my look and rolled his eyes in apology.

I smiled, resisting the urge to just stop and kiss the fuck out of him. “You’re doing great. Remember, the tango is about passion. Stop watching your feet. Stop trying so hard to get the steps right and just feel the music. Lift your head, step out bravely, and trust. You’ll make mistakes. It’s not about perfection, it’s about connection.”

“Easy for you to say.” Kane managed a few more halting steps before he tripped over my foot and fell against me. Hard.

We both froze.

I swallowed, trying to keep still with his blond hair pressed against my lips, the scent of him storming my nostrils, his hips achingly aligned with my own. I blew a shallow breath and willed my body not to respond as I waited for him to catch his balance.

“Shit, I’m so sorry.” He pushed off, finding his feet, his eyes darting everywhere, landing on my groin and then straight off again, cheeks blazing. But when he tried to step away, I tightened my hold.

“It won’t be the last time,” I said, wincing at the telltale croak in my voice. “It gets easier.”

He threw me a sidelong look and I wondered what he saw. Me, two seconds away from throwing him on the floor and getting kicked out of Painted Bay, no doubt. Because no matter what calm expression I’d somehow managed to plaster in place, my threatening semi was doing a fine job of letting him know it was all lies.

His expression flattened, like he was sizing me up, and all of a sudden, shy, flustered Kane was gone and something a lot more predatory flashed in those blue depths. Then as fast as it appeared, it was gone, leaving me wondering if I’d imagined it.

He shook out his arms, blew out a slow breath, and returned to the hold. “Ready?” He arched a brow and eyed me cheekily. And—Fuck. Me.—feisty Kane was back.

I grinned and turned my head, bringing his hot breath to my lips. “I believe I am.”

His gaze dipped as if he couldn’t help himself, then shot back up just as quickly before he flushed and looked away. And if I had any remaining doubt about whether Kane’s sexuality stretched to men, it disappeared in a smoky puff of unresolved sexual tension with that one heated look. It was a miracle the rest of me didn’t join it.

Over the next thirty minutes, Kane and I worked on putting together longer chains of steps, landing the beats as he got comfortable with the music, and me, and the idea of letting go of control. He didn’t give in easily, not many men did, but I finally started to feel that hesitant surrender as he began to trust me. Trust that Ihadhim, that I knew what to do, that I would lead him where he needed to go, that all he had to do was give in and follow. And the taut muscles in his back and shoulders slowly relaxed and he softened into my embrace. And finally, finally the jerking movements started to flow.

I switched the embrace to a more intimate one, forcing him to look over my shoulder or to the side, our chests pressed lightly together. He turned his head with a raised brow but didn’t pull away.

“I want your eyes off the floor,” I said by way of explanation, one that barely excused my desire to draw him close. “Try and keep your weight on the balls of your feet.”

I swore he bit back a smile just before he turned away. I also swore he stepped just a fraction closer than he needed to. And as we moved, there was no escaping the occasional brush of our groins or the slight shudder in Kane’s body each time my thigh slid between his, and I was two seconds away from losing my shit completely and making my attraction to him very, very obvious.

But that wasn’t the plan. If Kane wanted me, he was going to have to take it from there. And so, at the end of the next sequence, I brought us to a stop, barely able to breathe, every square centimetre of skin ablaze where Kane touched me, the silence between us stretching as thin as the edge of a blade. A question waiting on an answer.

His palm sat flat against mine, his breath hot on my neck, his hips a tiny lean away from mine. But he didn’t break the hold. His gaze stayed focused over my shoulder, his breathing sharp and shallow in my ear.

CHAPTERTEN

Kane

Was I breathing?

Because I sure as fuck wasn’t thinking. Nothing north of my neck was operational, while everything south of it was spinning off a cliff, lost to the moment, to everything Abe fucking Tyler.

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