One Last Dance (4 page)

“It isn’t, and I’m not.” Hot
blood bloomed in her cheeks. She was not flirting with Henry Medina.

“Soph,” Darren pleaded. “You saw
that apartment! There’s no way we’re going to find something anywhere near as
nice in our price range.
Please
. It’s just one dance!”

Just one dance with the gorgeous
Henry Medina. In broad daylight, in a skirt, where her scars and faults would
be on full display. Her mouth went dry. “Dar, I’m sorry. But you saw me
yesterday, my knee is no good.” It wasn’t a total lie, she was nervous about
collapsing in front of Henry the way she’d collapsed in front of her students
and further exacerbating her injury. But she also didn’t want him to think she
was the kind of girl who was easily swayed by money.  

Darren clutched her arm. “Soph—”
But she pulled free and took the few steps back toward Henry. She heard
Darren’s heavy sigh from behind her and winced.

“Henry,” she began. From the
corner of her eye she caught Wayne rubbing a comforting hand up and down
Darren’s back. She bit her lip. “We, don’t have any music.” She said, deciding
that she could risk one dance for the sake of her best friend’s future.

Henry turned to Darren, a twinkle
in his obsidian eyes. “You seem like a music lover. Have anything on your phone
Ms. Becker and I can dance to?”

Her friend was already nodding
and fishing around in his shoulder bag. He brandished his iPhone in triumph.
Darren scrolled through his phone. He gave a soft ‘aha!’ and handed the iPhone
to Henry.

“We’re not going to dance in the
hallway, are we?” Sophie asked, hoping to minimize the humiliation.

“Of course not. We’re dancing on
the roof,” Henry said. He hit the elevator button and ushered the group inside.

When they arrived at the
building’s rooftop Henry swiftly plugged the iPod into a dock set up near the
pool area, and Sophie scowled at Darren as the opening notes of the music came
over the speakers. She turned to Henry, who was ready and waiting, his hand
extended toward her. With a tremulous sigh she laid her hand in his.

He pulled her into his embrace,
his arm curving low around her back. His eyes sparked like flint as she leaned
into him. The beat was more up-tempo than it had been during their first dance,
but Henry was clearly up to it.

The sun felt hot on her head,
shining bright off the white umbrellas shielding the rooftop tables. Henry’s
arm was hard against her back, his palm warm through the thin silk of her top.
She couldn’t help it. Her hips were already swaying to the rollicking rhythm of
the song. She fell effortlessly into the dance. Henry was an excellent leader,
spinning them around the open expanse of the roof, feet gliding smoothly over
the stone.

When he lifted her against his
chest for a calesita, delight burst inside her belly like fireworks. She threw
back her head and laughed up at the sky as he danced around her. Henry’s eyes
twinkled as he gazed down at her. When her feet touched the ground again, she
kicked up and hooked her leg high on his thigh.

They moved as one, steps in
perfect time. She was panting, breathless, giddy at the playful brush of her
skirt against her thighs, Henry’s big hand at her back, the press of his chest
against her own. His foot stopped hers, pushing it along, pivoting her off her
axis. His movements were strong, clean, and fast.

The dance in her half-lit studio
had been deeply sensual, erotic. There was still an element of passion today.
She could hardly be pressed so closely to such a gorgeous man, their bodies
moving together, and not find it so. But whereas last time was serious, today
was exuberant. The difference between the two dances was like the difference
between a fall-into-bed-tearing-at-each-other’s-clothes voracious sexual
encounter, and a light-hearted afternoon frolic between the sheets. Both sexy,
but the mood was different.

She kicked out her left leg,
twisting her torso the slightest bit, saucy and defiant as the singer crooned.
Henry laughed, deep and low, as he pulled her back in, his hard thigh pressing
between her legs. She gasped, eyes widening at the sensation. It was a dance
move, she knew it was. Hell, she’d taught it a hundred times. But somehow, when
he did it, it was so much more than that. As intimate as a kiss.

She bit her lip at the throb of
her moistening sex, disappointed that the last few notes of the song faded. She
stared up into his handsome face. His grin was wide, eyes sparkling, his
dimples and straight, white teeth on display.

Sophie was breathing quickly,
chest heaving, the hard buds of her nipples pressing through her bra and blouse
to rub exquisitely against his chest. The entire length of her body was pressed
to him. Her right leg was hooked around his hip while her left arm was wrapped
around his neck, fingers curled in the thick silk of his dark hair. Only her
pointed left foot anchored her to the ground.

All her weight, the portion of it
that Henry wasn’t bearing, rested on her left leg. Her
bad
leg. And she
hadn’t felt a thing but exultation. She could feel the smile stretching her own
cheeks, the flush of blood in them as her heart pounded. Slowly, the rest of
the world came back to her.

Darren was hooting and whistling.
Wayne was clapping enthusiastically and even Cindy was grinning.

Sophie blinked up at Henry. “Who
are you?”

His dark eyes bore into her. “A
man who enjoys dancing with you.”

She shook her head at his
mystery. He could cut the price of a luxury New York City apartment in half
with a word to the leasing agent and wore Hugo Boss and Ferragamo casually.
Maybe he hadn’t been propositioning her. Maybe he had offered her all that
money for private lessons because money was no object to him. A trivial thing
to get in the way of what he wanted. She lowered her leg, moving to step away
from him, but he tightened his arm around her waist slightly as she did so.

“Wait.”

She paused, raising her brows.
“Yes?”

“Reconsider the lessons.” His
voice was low but fervent.

She’d known he was going to ask
again, the minute he’d made a dance the condition of his generosity. Then, she
was going to renew her refusal. But now? With the hum of the dance in her
veins, and the zing of triumph in her heart? Was she really willing to give up
the chance for another dance like today’s out of fear that she might fall?

“No,” she said, the word out of
her mouth before she’d realized she was forming it. A shutter fell over Henry’s
eyes.
What the hell am I doing,
she thought. “I mean yes.” Her stomach
flipped. “Yes. I’ll do it.”

His expression turned. “Thank
you,” he said.  He looked up to Darren and Wayne. “Let’s get your lease
sorted, shall we?”

Was he just a generous man, happy
to help Darren and Wayne, or just a ruthless negotiator? Sophie watched him as
they walked back to their recent audience. Either way, she was going to find
out.

Sophie stared up at the apartment
building in shock. She checked the address Henry had given her for a third
time. Just like the last two times, it matched. West 56th Street. The massive
grey stone and glass building rose an impressive seventy-five stories into the
air. And, according to the directions he’d given her, Henry’s apartment was at
the very top. The top
three floors
, to be exact. The penthouse.

He didn’t just have money. Henry
Medina
was
money. She wondered again what he did for a living. Darren
had urged her to Google the sultry businessman, but Sophie found that somehow
seedy and dishonest. Whatever happened to learning about someone for yourself?
Still, looking up at the imposing structure, she did wish she’d had some
advance knowledge of what to expect.

She felt suddenly frumpy in her
soft, stretchy black yoga pants and a loose, white V-neck t-shirt. She’d
considered wearing one of the many kicky hemmed, flirty skirts that languished
in the back of her closet, like the one she’d worn to apartment hunt. But that
had been a rare instance, and she didn’t want to give Henry the wrong idea. Her
only concession to typical dance attire was the black heels strapped to her
feet. Dancing with Henry, alone, in his apartment could lead to who knows what.
Especially given the sexual tension that arose between them each time they
danced.

She hoped her outfit sent the
message that she was not at all interested in doing anything other than dancing
with him. Really hoped. Because if it came down to it, Sophie was pretty sure
she wouldn’t actually be able to voice those words. Her body wouldn’t let her.
She wasn’t even in the stupid building yet and already her nipples had
tightened into sensitive points and her blood was beginning to heat. Just at
the thought of being in his arms again.

Sophie took a deep, slow breath
and forced her feet toward the building’s wide, glass front doors. A doorman
stepped up to open them for her, and she blinked at him in surprise. She didn’t
miss the way his eyes flicked down to her outfit and the skin around his mouth
tightened fractionally. She plastered on a smile and nodded in thanks, ducking
quickly inside.

The lobby was cool and quiet, the
sound of her high heels on the marble floor loud. She glanced around,
self-conscious, but she was alone. She hurried toward the elevator, clutching
the code that Henry had given her.

“You have to hit the button for
seventy-five, and then enter the code quickly, or it will lock you out. If that
happens, just call my cell.”

She tucked a stray hair back into
her ponytail, and studied the button panel. The floor buttons for seventy-three
to seventy-five were separate from the others, and beside them was a smaller
keypad that looked like a more hi-tech version of the one the alarm company had
installed in her place. Sophie pressed the “75”, which made the keypad chime
and light up red. She hastily entered the seven digit code, which she’d been so
nervous about losing that she’d actually memorized it.

The keypad went green and the
elevator doors slid closed. She breathed a sigh of relief and leaned back
against the metal box’s rich wood paneled walls. Her hands trembled. She flexed
them, smoothing the t-shirt over her belly. The muscles there twitched.

Sophie closed her eyes, hoping to
calm her nerves—and hormones. But the minute she did, the darkness behind her
lids filled with images of Henry Medina tugging her shirt over her head.

She snapped her eyes open,
staring instead at the electronic panel that ticked off the floor numbers in
amber. She focused on the classical music straining softly out of the speakers
and forced her shoulders to relax. Though she barely felt movement, the numbers
flipped quickly by on the display. There was a faint click and hum as it
switched from seventy-two to seventy-three and continued upward.

The elevator drew to such a
smooth stop at seventy-five that Sophie didn’t even sway. The doors glided
soundlessly open. Henry was waiting for her. All the calm she’d managed to
gather about her on the elevator ride fled, along with her breath, at the sight
of the man. And the apartment behind him. He was dressed in charcoal grey
slacks and a white button-down that was open at the throat, revealing a dusting
of dark, wiry hair on his chest. His normally immaculate hair was slightly
rumpled, as if he’d been running his hands through it.

“Sophie. I’m glad you came.”

She nodded, looking past him to
the penthouse beyond as she stepped out of the elevator. To her left was what
could best be described as a gallery, the muted gold of the walls adorned with
what looked like very expensive artwork. Given where she was, she had no doubt
that’s exactly what it was.

Henry motioned her to the right,
toward a sliding glass door that led out onto a terrace, and a truly amazing
view of the city. She could see all the way to the river and the lights of the
boats there as the evening dimmed. “Henry, my goodness. It’s lovely.”

“It’s one of my favorite things
about this apartment.” His smile was deep as he looked out over the New York
skyline. She could see the genuine admiration shining in his ebony eyes as he
looked out at the city.

“I can see why.” Views like this,
with all the lights glittering like stars below them, were partially
responsible for making Sophie fall in love with New York City.

He placed a light hand on the
small of her back, ushering her around the corner with gentle pressure. Sophie
shivered slightly as the warmth of his hand seeped through her shirt. She
should have worn layers.

As they rounded the next corner,
Sophie gasped. She knew where she was, and yet, the view was still
breathtaking. All of Central Park was laid out in the near distance, more
lights flickering there like fireflies. On a small cafe table near the terrace
wall, Henry had arranged a carafe of wine, two glasses, and a plate of fruit
and cheese. He motioned her to have a seat. “Please. Let’s have a glass of wine
before we begin.”

She nodded, folding herself into
the wrought iron chair with its plush velvet cushion. Henry poured them each a
glass and handed her one. “I hope you like Malbecs.”

He toasted her. Sophie returned
the toast, sipping delicately at the rich wine. Flavors of blackberry and cocoa
unfolded on her tongue and warmth trickled down her throat. “Mmm,” Sophie
murmured.

“Not the finest vintage, but it
reminds me of Argentina.” Henry sat opposite her, popping a raspberry into his
mouth before taking a sip of his own wine.

Sophie tilted her head, studying
his features. “Are you from there?”

He chewed the fruit slowly,
shaking his head. “I was born here, but my parents are both from Buenos Aires.
They moved here a couple years before I was born.”

She plucked a piece of crumbly
cheese from the plate on the table before them and nibbled it, enjoying the
contrast of the tangy creaminess of the cheese with the intense flavor of the
wine. “Did you ever think about moving there? Argentina, I mean.”

Henry rolled the stem of the wine
glass between his blunt tipped fingers. “My father has a house there. I suppose
I could, if I wanted to. But no, this is my city.”

Sophie smiled. “I know what you
mean. I’m from upstate but, more than anywhere else, this feels like home.”

She sucked the last of the sweet
juice of a strawberry from her thumb, slowly becoming aware that Henry’s eyes
were intent on her mouth as she did so. Intent and scorching. She licked away a
smear of sticky juice on her lower lip and saw the muscle in his jaw jump. He
slowly raised his gaze back to hers, taking a deep draught from his wine glass.
“Where upstate?” he asked, voice husky.

“About two and half hours north
of here, in the Catskills.” It was her turn to stare as he bit into a fig. She
imagined those teeth closing gently over her nipple, those sensual lips sucking
the hard bud, and shuddered. Moisture flooded the already slick folds of her
pussy. Why couldn’t she control herself around this man?

“That’s lovely country,” Henry
said.

Sophie blinked at him, trying to
remember what the last thing she had said was. It took a minute. She sipped her
wine to cover the lapse. “Oh, yes,” she answered, remembering. “It is. I miss
it sometimes.” She shrugged. “So how did you get a place like this?”

He rubbed his thumb idly over a
rough spot on the table’s surface, glancing briefly up at her through his
lashes. “I work in real estate. The company is my father’s,” he said. His voice
had gone dead.

His answer was brief, conveying
the barest minimum of information. Best to move on. “Do you have music you
prefer? I’ve brought some, if not.” She raised her iPod. Henry’s eyes flashed
up to her, and she read surprise in their inky depths.

He drained the last of his wine
and stood. “You can play what you like. I’ve got a dock in the sitting room we
can use.”

Sophie took his extended hand,
letting him draw her up out of the chair. “Well then,” she said, “shall we
dance?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he led
her through another set of sliding glass doors, into what he’d called the
sitting room. It was a rectangular room, with a fireplace taking up nearly an
entire long wall. A pair of loveseats had been pushed back, clearing a wide
space on the floor, and a rug that was surely Persian was rolled up against the
fire’s immaculate grate.

The wood floor beneath was a deep
cherry color and polished to a high shine. The iPod dock Henry had mentioned
was on one of the matching cherry end tables, small and discrete. Sophie set
down her bag. She took out her water bottle and drank a long sip before
plugging her iPod into the sound dock. She keyed up a song and turned to Henry
as the first beats drifted out through his speakers.

When he took her hand and drew
her against him, his hold was even more intimate than it had been in the past.
His hand on her back slid from her shoulder blade to rest against the small of
her back, just above the curve of her ass. He pressed her so tightly against
his body that she could feel the hard round outline of his shirt buttons and
the cool metal of his belt buckle touching the flat plane of her belly.

Neither one of them added any
space as they began to dance. Their hips and torsos twisted, their legs and
feet moved to the beat, but they remained touching from shoulder to groin.
Their previous two dances had stuck almost entirely to the accepted, classical
form of tango. But not this time. This would be sensual.

Sophie gripped the hair at the
nape of Henry’s neck with curled fingers, her face pressed into the warm length
of his throat, her right arm dangling gracefully at her side while he dragged
her forward, one big hand wrapped around her left thigh, holding it to his hip.

He pivoted, turning, supporting
her entire weight as he bent over her, his breath ruffling against the hardened
peaks of her breasts as he dropped his head. She slid her right hand over his
chest, clutching at his shirt. His strength was the only thing keeping them up
as she hung elegantly in his grasp. Sophie’s heart sank low into her belly,
beating like a frantic butterfly between her thighs. She bit her lip as he spun
her upright, swallowing her gasp as he moved into a calesita, like he had the
other day. But this one felt different. That had been a bit of play, silliness.
Today, he moved around her like a big cat stalking prey, his dark eyes hot on
her face.

Henry pulled her into his chest,
his cheek pressing against her hair. She could hear the rasp of his breath in
her ear. His hard thigh slid between her legs, rubbing deliciously against her
heated sex. Sophie undulated herself, stroking the length of his body with her
own. Never before had she danced quite like this—a vertical expression of a
horizontal desire, indeed. Horizontal, vertical, at an angle, she didn’t care
how so long as she could express it.

She wasn’t the only one. Sophie
felt the fleeting brush of Henry’s rock hard cock against her hip as he twisted
and shuddered. His eyes snapped sparks at her, setting her skin aflame anywhere
they rested. Pure, powerful want blazed through her veins, incinerating every
other thought she might have had.

And then he leaned her back into
a colgada, and her bad knee buckled. Sophie slipped, and would have fallen,
heavily, onto her back if Henry hadn’t caught her and righted her. He made to
move them seamlessly into a molinette, but her knee trembled unsteadily beneath
her. Sophie wrenched herself from his arms, stumbling blindly to the nearest
loveseat, eyes filling with stinging tears.

“Sophie?” Henry’s voice was rough
with desire and worry. She couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze. Instead,
she desperately massaged her aching knee where the muscles were beginning to
knot and prayed for them to loosen. This was what she had feared. The weakness
and ugliness of her injury bringing her low in front of Henry. Her shoulders
shook with silent sobs as the tears spilled over her lashes and ran down her
heated cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “It’s
my... I’m sorry. I’ll go.” She knocked the dock over in her haste to snatch her
iPod as more tears poured down her face, wetting the front of her t-shirt as
they dripped off her chin. She shouldered her bag hastily, trying to tuck her
face against her shoulder so he wouldn’t see her tear-stained and blotchy.
“I’ll just go,” she repeated, standing quickly. But her knee seized again and
she cried out in pain, pitching forward. Henry’s strong hands caught her
shoulders, cupping firmly, and pressed her back into the loveseat. She went,
unable to stand on the knee anyway.

He touched her damp chin.
“Sophie, stop. Look at me,” His voice was quiet, but firm. She obeyed, raising
her face to his. He nodded. “Good. Now, tell me what’s wrong.”