Page 16 of Forbidden Dance
My hand is on the door handle. “Hello, Blitz,” I say.
“You practicing with them?” he asks, gesturing at the window where Cassidy and Allen are still doing a tango.
“Oh, no, I don’t know ballroom. Just ballet.” My face heats up at my ignorance.
“I could show you.”
Now my heart is racing. “We’d all crash into each other.”
“We can check with Danika about this room.” He points back to Studio 4. “I don’t think anyone’s in it.”
He’s right. It looks like we’re about to hit a lull in the schedule. Aurora has another batch of tiny ballerinas headed into Studio 1, but nobody is coming to any of the other rooms. And Studio 4, the Dance of the Shades room, is where we met.
“Okay,” I say. “But I’m not a very quick study.”
“Oh, I bet you are.” Blitz holds out his hand, and maybe because of where we are, or my promise to myself to be bold, I don’t hesitate in taking it.
His expression is earnest, as serious as I’ve ever seen it in real life or on what I saw of his show. It’s like he’s another person entirely, as if there is Blitz and then there is this man, Benjamin. Maybe that’s why Danika insists on calling him by his real name. Maybe she sees it too.
As soon as my fingers brush his, he grips my hand and somehow, without my knowing a single step of couples dancing, he whirls me into a perfect turn.
I stop just inches from him, my face outrageously close to his, and he spins me out again. It’s effortless, like we’ve practiced this a thousand times.
He reels me back in, and this time, moves his hand to my back, where the pressure there must push some button, because I’m taking steps with him, long strides to the door of Studio 4. I feel like Ginger Rogers, rushing across the movie screen with Fred Astaire in one of the few movies my parents allow me to see at an art theater.
“See, Princess,” he says as we break our dance hold to pass into the room. “I knew you were a natural.”
“How did you do that?” I ask. “I’ve never danced with a partner, ever.”
His grin is wicked and sets my pulse jumping all over again. “Then I am honored to be your first.”
I blush furiously as I follow him into the room. I never can tell with Blitz exactly what we’re talking about. Every word out of his mouth feels like a sexual innuendo.
My gaze darts to the mirrored window. Anyone could watch us and we wouldn’t even know. But that makes it safe, more so than the storage closet. And I do want safe. As much as I’m a moth to his flame, I’m afraid too. This man could charm the panties off a nun.
He heads to the corner where the sound system is stored. I close the door and turn away from the window. Despite knowing no one is out there, I feel on display.
I set down my string bag and kneel to switch out shoes. Blitz is on the other side of the room. There are a half-dozen unfurled ribbon sticks piled near the door, so once I have my shoes on, I roll them up. It keeps my nervous hands busy as Blitz fiddles with the music, scrolling around looking for something in particular, I guess.
I focus so hard on making the bright ribbons a perfect coil that I don’t notice he’s come close until I see his jazz shoes beside me.
“Ready?” he asks.
When I look up, I feel dizzy. It’s like a dream. Blitz Craven isn’t just someone on the television set. He’s here. And extending his hand to me.Me. A nineteen-year-old homeschooled wallflower.
I have to swallow over the lump in my throat. He looks so handsome, so devilishly roguish, that I’m momentarily stunned. I take his hand and allow him to lift me up.
“You look devastatingly beautiful in pale blue,” he says.
I glance down at my leotard and matching skirt. It’s now officially my favorite outfit.
“What are we going to dance?” I ask.
“We’ll take it easy,” he says. “A waltz, like the name of your academy.”
“It’s named after a waltz?” I ask.
“One of the most famous ones there is.”
