“I don’t want to do anything here. What I do want is to go home. I can’t believe you thought this would help us with our cover. It’s a stupid idea.”
“No, it’s a great idea. By the end of the night, we’ll be so comfortable with each other it will be obvious to anyone who sees us. Gotta stop that gossip, Rachel.”
She wasn’t buying that ‘we’ rubbish. He meant her. She was the one who jerked away every time he moved to touch her. It wasn’t deliberate. She just wasn’t comfortable with public displays of affection, especially ones coming from colleagues. And as much as he might want things to be different between them, she couldn’t get past seeing him as purely a colleague.
No, that wasn’t true.
She definitely noticed Harvard as a man. But she didn’t want to. Because every instinct told her that if she were to give the man an inch, he’d take everything. And Rachel couldn’t allow herself to be that vulnerable with anyone. She’d been vulnerable once, and it had been devastating.
“What will it be?” he said. “Drink or dance?”
Oh, she wanted the drink. But if she asked for one, it would only extend their time in the club. How bad could this be, really? She’d survived formal dancing in high school; she could get through this. Right?
“Dance,” she said determinedly. “Let’s get this over with.”
“That’s the spirit,” he said as he nodded to a few faces he recognized and dragged her onto the floor.
The music thrummed through Harvard’s veins, the vibrations and rhythm making him sway. He loved to dance. He loved the darkness of the clubs, the beat of the music, the mass of bodies on the dance floor. It was his happy place, and he’d relaxed as soon as they’d walked through the door. Rachel, on the other hand, looked like a rock at the edge of the ocean with waves crashing over it.
“This isn’t going to work.” She raised her voice to be heard over the music. “I studied ballet as a child, and I can waltz. But I don’t know how to do this. I don’t even know what they’re doing.” She pointed to a couple in the middle of the dance floor. “I think they might be having sex.”
Trying not to laugh, he held out his hands for her to take. “Don’t panic; I’ll teach you.”
“I never panic.” Her eyebrow arched. “Do you actually know how to dance like this?”
He reached forward and took her hands in his. “Why would I bring you here if I didn’t?”
She looked genuinely perplexed. “I did wonder.”
“I think this evening will go much better if you don’t talk. Now watch my feet. We’re gonna go left to right in a straight line. Two small steps, keeping your legs under your body, don’t stretch them out, then tap and repeat it in the other direction. Got me?”
“I think I can manage to move side to side.” She could also manage a quick stamp on his toes for pissing her off.
“Okay, let’s go then.” They moved together flawlessly. “That’s great. Now loosen your hips. Look around you. See the sinuous way the other women are moving?”
Her hands tightened in his as she glanced around. “I’m not sure that’s physically possible. Are you sure these people are English? Because the English weren’t born to move like that. We have different joints. They’re stiffer. Like our upper lips.”
Man, she was funny. “I’ve seen the way those hips of yours sway when you’re walking away from me. You were totally born to move like that. Give it a try; see how it feels.”
They stepped side to side some more while Rachel focused on loosening her hips. And it was focus. She looked like she was sitting an exam—in a subject she hated.
A woman twirled close to them and beamed at Rachel. “Lo estás haciendo genial, cariño,” she said, and then she was gone again, dancing into the crowd.
“She said you’re doing great,” Harvard told her.
“You speak Spanish?” Again, she looked surprised that he wasn’t all brawn and no brain. It was just as well Harvard wasn’t an insecure man because Rachel would rip one of those to shreds.
“Yeah. Now, we’re gonna try moving back and forth together. You ready?”
“It’s walking, Harvard. I’ve been doing it for thirty years.”
“Okay, three steps forward, then back, tap behind your foot with your other toe when you stop. I’ll lead with my left, so it’s right foot forward for you. Here we go. And don’t forget those hips.”
Rachel frowned in concentration as they moved together.
“Not bad,” he encouraged. “Now let’s try some turns.” He took his time, talking her through some more basic moves. “I’m gonna spin you and bring you back against me, and then we’ll move together. Your back to my front. Okay?”
She hesitated, then nodded. Harvard spun her out and drew her back quickly. With her back pressed to his front, their hips moved in rhythm together. He flattened his right hand on her stomach while his left still held her left hand against his chest.
Her long sleek hair brushed against his arm as she gazed up at him. “What do I do with my free hand?”
“Whatever you want.” He lifted his chin toward a couple close to them, who were dancing the same way. The woman’s hand covered her partner’s on her stomach, as her face turned into his throat. They moved in perfect sensual movement, lost in each other and the beat of the music.
Slowly, tentatively, Rachel rested her hand on his. He resisted the urge to tighten his hold, to pull her even closer. Instead, he quietly talked her through some other moves, feeling the loss when they separated.
But it wasn’t for long. Harvard pulled her into his arms, in the classic hold used for a waltz, only closer, and rested one hand on her hip while the other held hers against his chest. Their bodies touched as they moved, repeating the footwork they’d already learned, but this time, fully together.
It was perfect. Rachel’s ballet lessons came back to her, and she moved easily with the music, gradually relaxing in his hold. Harvard gently tugged her closer, resting his cheek against her hair as the music engulfed them. The tension eased from her body as she sank into the beat, her movements gradually becoming more sensual and lyrical.
Feeling her soften, watching her let go, was one of the best experiences of his life so far. For the first time since they’d met, he felt like she was allowing him to see a part of her that people rarely—if ever—saw. The honor of her trust made his chest swell with pride.
Harvard was realistic. He knew that the sarcastic, cutting, painfully smart woman who tormented everyone around was who Rachel truly was. He didn’t have some misguided savior complex. There was no believing that with the right man to love her, she’d transform into someone lighter and more forgiving. No, he liked Rachel exactly as she was, bitchy tendencies and all. But he suspected there was more to her than met the eye. A soft little underbelly that she never exposed to anyone.
And he wanted to be the man she trusted enough to let him see it.
Which meant baby steps. Because you didn’t win the trust of an alpha female overnight. That took time, patience, and an ego made of Teflon.