Page 36 of In Step

Abe’s expression brightened. “Really?”

I nodded.

He practically beamed. “Everyone will be here for a lesson on Friday, so maybe you and I could do Tuesday and Thursday at eight? We should exchange numbers.”

I handed him my phone. “It’s just dancing, right?”

“If that’s all you want?” Abe entered his number, sent himself a text, and handed the phone back. Then he slid a hand up my jaw, startling me, that warm, easy smile sliding back into place. “But just to put it out there, itcouldbe more if you wanted it to be.” He licked his lips. “You’re a good man, Kane. A. Good. Man. And you’re damn sexy.”

He leaned in, his breath hot against my lips, and my heart fluttered in my chest, my cock rising in my jeans just at the thought of that thick tongue sliding back into my mouth, his hard-muscled body pressed against me. I wanted it, wantedhimmore than I could say. I wanted everything he offered, and it would be so easy to close that tiny gap between us and just take it.

I pressed my hand against his chest. “Just the dancing, but thank you.”

He slow blinked in obvious disappointment, then nodded. “Your call. You, me, and a tango? How hard can it be to keep that seemly? I can see a lot of cold showers in my future.”

I rolled my eyes at his ridiculousness, and he surprised the shit out of me by taking my hand from his chest and pressing his hot lips to the palm, his scruff rough and sexy. “Until Tuesday, then.”

I swallowed hard and cleared my throat, the imprint of his lips like a brand on my calloused palm. “Right. Tuesday.”

I barely remembered the walk back up the hill to my bedsit. But when I fell against the closed door with my heart slamming in my chest, every fibre in my body zeroed in on my palm, on that burning patch of skin where Abe had pressed his lips and fucked my head completely.

CHAPTERTWELVE

Abe

Jam’s Collectibleswas a treasure trove of curiosities with not a mothball, dank smell, or scrap of dust in sight. My planned ten-minute lunchtime excursion to scout a few props for the recital had turned into an hour of chatting with the owner while perusing a range of antique furniture, old books, stage posters, vinyl records, vintage clothes, and a myriad of other fascinating objects. I’d even found an exquisite glass perfume bottle to add to my own small collection, which I kept in a tiny lock-up storage unit in London.

Benjamin, Jam, the thirty-something owner that I’d first met at the homestead Sunday lunch, was hot in that cool, hipster way, sporting ear gauges, a saucy angular cut beard, and a glimpse of two intricately designed tattoo sleeves that made you want to strip him down to get a proper look at the rest. He’d also spent a great deal of our hour together flirting and eyeing me up like I was the dessert to the ham and salad sandwich that he’d finished for lunch.

Judah had given up on our chatter about perfume bottles and Chintz armchairs and gone to annoy Terry—the two of them currently occupying the bench outside Terry’s hardware store, eating ice creams and chatting. I watched through the store window and smiled, still amazed at how well Judah fit back into a place he’d never had anything good to say about. But when he suddenly threw back his head and laughed at something Terry said, an unexpected ache filled my chest, and I was brought up short.

It wasn’t that I didn’t have friends, because I did, but my nomadic life meant they lived in a strange, sporadic, all-or-nothing way. When I wasn’t in town, I might not talk to a friend for months, even years, and then when I returned, I could see them every week, sometimes every day if they were in the dance company I was working with.

There were none of the normal ups and downs of regular visiting that cemented those deeper bonds, the lifetime ones. I was acutely aware my friends could live without me, and me without them. My throat thickened and I cut the train of thought. It was just the cost of doing a job I loved. It had rarely mattered before, and I wasn’t sure why it should now.

But as I stared at Judah, I knew the lie for what it was. Ididknow why. I wasn’t thirty anymore, or even forty. It didn’t mean I wanted to stop what I was doing, but I couldn’t pretend I didn’t feel the occasional pang of loneliness either. I was way, way past drinking and clubbing every night, and the thrill of cruising for random men in a dozen different cities was long gone.

Judah had almost pissed himself laughing when I’d told him that my current idea of an exciting night typically included a wine, a sports or arts channel, and my right hand, if necessary. Or, if I was really busting out, a selective swipe right. But even that had become fraught with new perils, my profile pic and age tending to bring out the barely legal daddy lovers and silver-fox groupies, who frankly scared the shit out of me. Nothing against it, but that wasn’t me.

When some random hook-up in Berlin asked if I minded spanking and calling him baby boy, my erection had spontaneously withered into a thousandhell nos, and it had taken some sustained effort on the guy’s part to reverse the trend. It had been a close call and one I wasn’t keen on repeating, but it did answer a question. I was never going to bethatguy.

“It’s great to see him happy, right?” Jam appeared at my shoulder, his eyes on Judah and Terry. “He worried a lot of people when he first got back.”

I glanced sideways. “He’s worked hard to turn things around. I’m hugely impressed at what he’s achieved.”

Jam nodded. “I don’t know how he does it, sometimes. It’s a hell of a disease. I know Morgan had a lot to do with helping him rediscover that strength. You know? A belief in himself as more than just a shining-star ballet dancer.”

More than just a dancer.Even the thought scared the fuck out of me. “That’s very deep for one o’clock on a Tuesday afternoon,” I commented drily.

Jam waggled his eyebrows. “Well, I happen to like it deep, any time of day.”

I laughed and shook my head. “You’re incorrigible.”

“What can I say, I try.”

And I was struck again by just how very attractive he was, and I knew if I reciprocated his flirting even a little, I’d have a welcoming bed as long as I was in Painted Bay. And yet nothing stirred at the thought. Not a single thing. It seemed that particular response was saved for a certain blue-eyed, blond-haired set of tempting contradictions who had been filling my head, not to mention other bodily parts, all too frequently over the last couple of days. Not that I’d spentallmy time thinking about Kane, because, well, sleep, right? But yeah, enough said.

Jam considered me, then smiled in obvious defeat. “Boyfriend?”

---