Page 2 of Forbidden Dance
But somehow I feel naked when this man looks at me.
His chiseled jaw is shadowed with just the right amount of scruff. He’s outrageously handsome. I can feel the pull of his sex appeal all the way across the room. I’m not scared of it. I knew it once. Knew it better than anybody.
But now that is forbidden.
“I’m only a student here,” I say. “Practicing.” I don’t want him to know my name. I can’t have him saying it out loud to someone. No one can know we met.
He seems extremely pleased with the situation. “You do ballet beautifully,” he says. “It was a pleasure to watch.”
The way he rolls out the wordpleasure, his voice a rumble, wakes up parts of me I’ve forgotten about. He pushes away from the wall.
I take an uncertain step back, glancing at the open door. I’m ready to bolt.
And yet, I’m riveted to his face, his glittering mischievous eyes. He’s larger than life, pure charisma.
His approach is graceful and predatory in equal measure. I’m frozen in place now, finding it hard to believe that I’ve come to this moment after so long in hiding.
“Can you show me anarabesque?” he asks. “I’ve never taken ballet. My father thought it was too feminine. He didn’t want me to take dance at all. I had to force it.”
My shoulders relax. I definitely know all about that. “My father didn’t want me to take dance either,” I say.
“So we have something in common.” His smile draws my eyes like a hypnotist’s charm. His mouth is beautiful. I can already feel his lips on mine.
I shake that thought away. “I’ve only had two years, but I’m happy to show you anarabesque,” I say. I gesture to the oversized photographs on the walls. “The perfect examples are all around you. It’s a beautiful extension, but fairly strenuous to hold for long.”
“Try me,” he says.
I move into anarabesque, my belly quivering a little as his gaze travels along my body.
I return to standing. “You try,” I say. “Keep your chest high and lift your back leg.”
He leans over too far, and I touch him lightly to lift his chest. He is muscled and hard. He must work out a lot.
“Now your arms,” I say.
He lifts them, and I adjust his form. The touch is electric, sizzling through me. I’ve forgotten what this feels like.
“You’ve got it,” I say.
He straightens. “I want to do more of this. I haven’t had a chance to take an actual class in years.”
“Well, we have a few adult classes, but I think you’ll find they are mostly older women. It might move too slowly for you.”
“How about you teach me?” He moves into a lunge, one leg behind him, his arm outstretched as if he wants me to take his hand.
His form is perfect on this. He obviously has a lot of training in something. Jazz, maybe, judging by the outfit. Possibly contemporary.
“Who are you again?” I ask.
“Benjamin,” he says. “And I am so glad to meet you…”
He pauses, expectant for my name.
I relent. “Livia,” I say. “But I really think you’ll be better off with Betsy. She does the advanced ballet here.”
He stands up from his lunge. “All right, Livia. Well, thank you for that recommendation.” He bows at the waist, a gesture so old-fashioned and charming that I almost regret turning him down.
“Suze is at the front desk,” I tell him. “She can help you with that.”
