Page 9 of Forbidden Dance
He pats my shoulder. “All set, Princess.”
I inhale a deep breath and realize he hasn’t cinched it too tight. I can take in air.
“I need something more formal,” he says. He rummages through the rack again and comes up with a jacket with tails in the back. When he slips it on, my heart speeds up. He’s really something in the formal getup, even with the jazz pants. Or maybebecauseof the jazz pants, tight around his waist and thighs, loose around the ankles. Black as night, a complement to the jacket.
But he knows it. He whirls in a circle, his shoulders a blur, the tails flying, then halts, arm out, hand reaching for me.
“I only do ballet,” I say. I don’t know steps for contemporary dance, or jazz, or anything else. I’ve never danced with a partner.
“And you’re amazing,” he says. He takes three running steps forward, arm still outstretched, and takes my hand.
The world spins as he turns me around, then suddenly I’m in his arms, leaning on my back. He holds me inside the crook of his elbow.
I look up, and that’s it. I get it. His star power, why he has his own show. It’s that look. That grin. God, he’s sexy. You can forget everything when somebody holds your gaze like that. As if you’re the only woman in the world. The most beautiful. And he has eyes for no one but you.
Except I did that before. I fell just like this. And it was more forbidden than this. The most forbidden thing that exists. It destroyed my family, wrecked my carefree life.
I swallow hard, my grip on Blitz’s arm like a vise.
He recognizes the change in me and lets me up. “The corset really suits you,” he says. His eyes drop to my cleavage.
I look down. I do actually have cleavage. That’s not usual. I’m sort of slight, but the boning pushes out what little is there so that it seems to be overflowing. The sight of it sends another zing through me. Blitz is admiring me.Blitz Craven. Me.
Now that I’m vertical again, I unfasten the hooks on the corset as fast as my fingers will let me. My family expects me home to check in before doing a volunteer shift in the church office. I can get away with a small delay, but I’ve used it up.
“I can’t really do a tour right now,” I say. I fold the corset nervously. “I’m expected somewhere.”
Blitz takes off the top hat. “Can I take a rain check on that?” He holds his arm out for the corset and I pass it to him. But his eyes never leave mine, keeping me in their gravitational pull.
I have to look away before I can force my feet to move me toward the door. “I — I won’t be here again until Friday afternoon,” I say. It’s only Tuesday. “You’ll know your way around by then.”
He carefully sets the costumes back on the rack and shrugs out of the jacket. “I’ll save myself for you.”
“O—okay.” He can’t mean that. And he can’t be interested in me, of all people. There are tons of beautiful dancers here. Suze is single. And Betsy. He can have flings with them. I can’t afford to lose the little freedom I’ve gained by being caught with him. Even the storage closet was a bad idea.
So I don’t even say good-bye. I just turn and jerk open the door to fly home.
Chapter 5
I spend lunch with my parents, trying desperately to shake free of the feeling of being in Blitz’s arms. By the time I start the short walk down the block to the church for my volunteer work, I’ve given up trying to change the subject in my head.
I’ll just have to mindlessly file papers and obsess about him.
The weather is warm and beautiful, a perfect fall day. San Antonio has been a good home these past four years, away from the memories of Houston and all that happened there. I give in to the urge to spin in a circle, arms outstretched.
An elderly lady walking her dog smiles at me, probably amused by my energy and youth. I feel young today, like I’m supposed to, despite the heaviness of my life.
I have very little contact with the outside world. Even now, walking down the street to the church with fewer than one hundred members, my father is undoubtedly out on the porch, ensuring that I don’t bump into some miscreant boy on the way, as if someone could impregnate me with a greeting.
But I can’t be contained. I’m happy, excited, charged up by my encounter with Blitz. It’s so rare I meet someone new. I half walk, half skip as I circle around to the side of the building and go straight into the church office.
The secretary is the only person in the building on a Tuesday afternoon, as it’s the day the priest visits shut-ins, mostly elderly parishioners in nursing homes or who no longer leave their houses. I’m in charge of much of the paperwork, and I know from filing it that we have as many members who can’t make services as we do those who actually show up on any given Sunday.
When I arrive, Irma is digging through the bottom drawer of her desk, her chestnut hair in a sloppy topknot. She’s forty or so and always dresses in paisley pastel dresses. I know her entire wardrobe.
She rolls her chair back the moment she sees me and says, “I’m forwarding the phone to the back, I have to run to the dentist!” She shoves the drawer closed with her foot. One thing Irma has going for her, she always looks busy, even when there is absolutely nothing to do.
“That’s fine,” I say. “I’ll hold down the fort.”
