says the word hips, his hands press just a little harder into mine. My breath catches because I like the feel of them there.
“Does that make me crazy?” The song asks.
“Possibly,” I answer.
Beau gives me an amused frown. “Let’s just give it a try. Put your hands on my hips like this.”
I jolt like he’s told me to put my hand in his pants. But then I obey, and, oh God. It’s like taking the wheel of a revving sportscar. My hands hum with the power rolling off him. The steady rocking of his narrow hips is mesmerizing. I resist the urge to dig my fingers in or slide them back and grip his ass.
“Just move with me,” he urges.
I let go a breath and try to bounce. Just bounce to the rhythm. It’s all wrong.
“Who do you? Who do you-who do you-who-do you-think you-are? Ha-ha-ha.” Gnarls Barkley laughs.
I stop.
Beau shakes his head. “Keep going, but this time, keep it out of your knees and let go here.” He squeezes my hips again, and a shock of pleasure arcs between his hands. It’s so strong my stupid knees nearly give.
But I brace them and close my eyes. I don’t want him to see this effect he’s having on me, but with my eyes closed, the feel of my hands on him and his hands on me becomes everything. I feel the rhythm in his hips like a pulse, and his hands on my hips match that pulse.
The rhythm washes all around me. Not just in my hands and hips, but in my ears and eyelids. In my chest and thighs. Something clenched tight loosens.
“Ever since I was little, it looked like fun and it was no coincidence I’ve come.”
“That’s it,” Beau says, praise lacing his voice. I don’t dare open my eyes. I’m just moving from a place I don’t even understand. I don’t know what to call it, but maybe its name is Freedom.
I’m grooving out in this place, trying it on for size.
And the song ends.
I snap my eyes open and freeze. I have to. I can’t possibly move. Because Beau Landry is smiling like I’ve just shown him heaven’s driveway. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. And I’ve met Henry Cavill. It was in the lobby at Shin Sushi, but still. The Man of Steel’s got nothing on Beau.
Down, girl, my inner voice cautions.
He’s not interested, and it wouldn’t matter if he were. This other voice sounds suspiciously like Moira’s, but that doesn’t make her wrong. Beau Landry isn’t interested. And what if he were? Like I have time to explore anything right now.
Like there’s ever been time.
It’s this sobering thought that allows me to drop my hands from Beau’s hips and step back.
“Good. That was good,” Beau says. “Loosening up—even just a little—always helps.”
I manage a nod.
He moves us through a short round of breathing exercises, and then partnering with me, Beau leads me through the Two-Step slowly a few times without music, counting out each step.
As he does, I finally admit I was wrong about him. I had assumed, because we didn’t hit it off the day we met, that taking lessons from him was going to be a nightmare. That he couldn’t possibly be as good as Mr. Hebert. Or as patient.
Turns out he’s both.
“Let’s start with a nice slow rhythm before we pick up the pace.”
He must notice when my eyes widen at the thought of trying to do anything on the dance floor faster because he shakes his head.
“Don’t think about that. You do a lot better when you don’t think.”
I’m stuck on his words—thinking obsessively about them—when he starts the same Cajun song we used during our first lesson. The one that I actually liked. But I tune out the duet, the only one I’ve heard with a female vocalist.
Instead, as though it’s a curse now, I think about thinking too much.
“What do you mean?” I ask, frustration curling in my gut. “I have to learn the dance, and to do that, I have to think about the steps.”
A little line forms between his brows, but his eyes glint with humor. “But it’s just two steps. What’s there to think about?”
I gape at him. “Which one comes next,” I say with exasperation, and then I promptly trip after cutting my left steps short.
Beau rights me as if on instinct and gives me a mystified expression. “I know it’s not the same thing, but how does it work with your