Chapter Five
Mason was standing at the door of the Legion Hall, finishing his coffee and watching the morning traffic, people arriving at work or headed for the bakery or diner for breakfast.
He was struck once more by how much had changed in Cotton Creek in the time he’d been away. The day he left, it was a sleepy little Texas town where families had lived for generations. Now there were more new people than all those generational families combined.
There were new shops and businesses, housing developments, restaurants, and even another bar, one that catered to a quieter crowd than Honky Tonk Angels. Now it was a town that boasted of coffee shops, boutiques, and even a movie theatre. The dichotomy of the old and new should have been jarring, but somehow whoever had been in charge of things had managed to create harmony between the two.
He noticed a Mercedes Roadster cruise by. That was something you didn’t see every day in Cotton Creek. Cars with a price tag of more than two hundred thousand dollars were not common here. Curious, he continued to watch as the car parallel parked a block down on the other side of the street.
He was surprised to see Savannah Harper get out of the car. He’d been told that she was a successful novelist, but he had no idea she was that successful. What in the world was she doing in Cotton Creek, anyway? Working on a book with Annie Morgan? Didn’t people do that via phone, Skype, email, and text?
As he watched, she waited for traffic to ease up, and then hurried across the street. Mason noticed the capri leggings she wore and the way they clung to her. Her legs were shapely and appeared strong, and her physique was appealing.
Yes, she was certainly easy on the eyes, and built much like a dancer, slender with no excess weight at all. Her hair was loose this morning. There wasn’t a bit of curl to it, but it was thick and golden highlights shined in the deep chestnut color. When a breeze lifted it to blow around her head, he wondered what it would feel like to run his hand through those long tresses.
Savannah Harper was more than just easy on the eyes. She had the kind of looks that got to him. Mason rarely spoke of what he liked or didn’t like in a woman. While eight out of ten men would immediately cite big breasts and a full booty as top turn-ons, Mason favored slender women with little excess body fat. He didn’t care about the size of a woman’s breasts. He liked long, strong legs, a body that was lithe and flexible, and eyes that conveyed emotion.
He wasn’t sure if it was a blessing or a curse that Savannah Harper possessed all those attributes. Mason knew from experience that even the most alluring woman could turn out to be the most unattractive if her nature was mean, bitchy, or supercilious.
What Savannah would turn out to be was still a mystery. He remained at the door, watching her approach. She didn’t notice him until she grabbed hold of the door handle and looked up.
Why did it surprise him that she jumped, blushed, and looked down? He stepped back and she opened the door.
“Am I late?”
“No, I was just people watching.” He gestured for her to enter.
“I do that all the time.” She looked at him and then averted her eyes. “So, do you want to do the interview first?”
“How about we do both at once?” He watched her closely, the way she looked around, at the walls, the floor, everything but him.
“Both?” His question had her suddenly looking at him.
“Unless you need to keep notes.”
“Oh, no. No. I can remember. But I— Well, you know, I…” She blew out a breath. “Look, I have two left feet and I’m probably unteachable. Even Annie gave up on me and my friend back in Manhattan says I have no rhythm. At all.”
“Like I said, I’m a good teacher. Tell you what, why don’t you put your stuff down and I’ll put on some music and we’ll just warm up.”
“Okay.” Savannah hurried to put her leather messenger bag and purse on one of the chairs that lined a wall.
Mason chose something sexy, not too fast, but with a defined beat. He motioned to Savannah as he walked to the center of the room.
“Okay, so let’s start just stretching. You can stretch, right?”
“Oh yes, sure.”
Mason bent forward and put his hands on the floor in front of him, and she did the same. He straightened and with his hands over his head, bent backwards. Every move he made, she mimicked, and it was clear that she was very flexible.
“Do you practice yoga?”
“I do. Every day for an hour.”
“Is that all?” He took her hands and just rocked back and forth from one foot to the other.
“Uh, well, I run and I do Pilates.” She watched his feet and then fell into step with him.
She wasn’t telling a lie about her rhythm. If she didn’t watch him, she lost the beat entirely. Mason found it odd, a bit comical, and a whole lot sad. With a body as flexible as hers, she had all the right physical attributes to perform some great moves.
Maybe she was just nervous. “Okay, so what do you want to ask me?”
She stopped moving entirely, and he shook his head. “Don’t stop. Keep moving.”
“I—” She frowned and tried to get into step with him. He could tell she was getting frustrated.
“Okay, how about we do this? Lead me through your yoga routine.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Can you talk and do that?”
“Absolutely” She smiled for the first time and started to step over beside him, but he stopped her.
“No, face me and do it. I’ll mirror you.”
“Okay.”
She started with a simple sun salutation. “So, you’re writing a book with Annie Morgan?” he asked, as he followed her movements.
“Not exactly.” She brightened, and he could tell from the way she smiled she was excited. “We’re writing a series, two books each. I still can’t believe it.”
“Why?”
“Well, she’s Analise. I mean, I’ve read her books ever since she started writing and I never dreamed I’d even get to meet her, much less be in an anthology with her.”
Talking while moving through the pose didn’t compromise her breathing, which impressed him. He wondered if she realized she was moving in time with the music.
“And you want to write about a dance studio?”
She missed a beat at that question and cut him what he perceived to be a nervous glance. “Actually, it’s more about the person who owns the studio.”
Mason made no further comment. He just continued to follow her through the yoga routine. She seemed to deliberately not look at him, and he started to wonder why. He wasn’t a movie star, but he wasn’t a troll either, so what made her so determined to look everywhere except at him?
“So, I heard that you danced professionally.” She finally spoke again, but without looking at him.
Mason was caught up in admiring the effortless way she flowed from one pose to another. Why couldn’t she dance?
“Mr. James?”
He jerked to attention. “Sorry, what?”
“I heard that you danced professionally.”
“Oh, yes.”
“Why did you stop?”
“It’s a long story.” And one he had no desire to reveal to a woman who was looking for material with which to write a book. His life could not be used as fodder for fiction.
“I wasn’t trying to pry,” Savannah commented.
Mason didn’t see any need to respond, and he was once more captured by the skill she had over her body. Exacting poses seemed to come effortlessly and she changed the tempo of the routine with the music.
She was dancing. It hit him just then. The reason she couldn’t dance had nothing to do with her physical abilities. It was all in her head. “You’re wrong.”
Savannah actually stopped moving and looked at him. “Pardon?”
“You’re wrong. Your problem with dancing isn’t that you have no rhythm, and it sure isn’t with your body.” He tapped the side of his head. “It’s up here.”
“Does it matter where the problem resides? The result is the same. I can’t dance.”
“Yes, you can.”
“No, I can’t.”
“Yes. You can.” He grabbed her and twirled around with her in his arms, before she had time to think about what he was doing.
She didn’t stumble; she didn’t lose balance. Not even when, at the end of the spin, he dipped her back so low to the floor that her long hair brushed along its polished surface.
Mason spun her again after he pulled her upright and when they came to a stop, her eyes were wide with surprise. “What— I— How did you do that?”
“Like I said, your problem is in your head. When you’re not thinking about it, you follow the rhythm of the music. We did the yoga routine to different tracks, all different rhythms, and you changed the tempo with each one. It’s when you think about the beat that you lose it.”
“Really?” She seemed to brighten. “Why do you think that is? I mean, I’ve never been able to dance.”
“Even as a child?”
He saw the way the brightness faded, and the closed and guarded expression that came over her face. “No, not even then.”
“Okay.” He wasn’t about to push. He was the first to understand the desire to keep certain things private and respected her need to do the same. “So, what do you say we just talk and I’ll direct you—just like learning to do a yoga routine. Are you game?”
“Sure.” She didn’t seem as vibrant as before, but she smiled, so he proceeded.
As they moved around the floor, he opened the conversation. “I have to admit that I haven’t read your book, but I know it was made into a film and I hear that your upcoming series is being adapting for a television series. That must be pretty exciting.”
“Well, so far, no. As I understand it, the producers are trying to cast it.”
“Do you think you might have an issue with who they choose? I’m always curious about what the writers think of films made from their novels.”
“You know, I don’t know how I’ll feel. I mean, I have an image of the characters in my head, but who’s to say the director will have the same image. I imagine he or she will want to put his own spin on the tale and the actors have to be allowed to breathe their own life into the characters, so I don’t think I will take offense. It’ll just be another take on the tale, so to speak.”
“That’s a generous attitude. I’ve read about some writers who criticize the screenwriters and actors for screwing up their stories.”
“Oh, no. I couldn’t be that way. I mean, a film—it’s—it’s like a collaboration. They take the foundation, which is the book and then they infuse it with their life energy, they become the characters, and it’s an amazing thing to witness. I feel honored. I could never be resentful or disapproving.”
“So, you love what you do?”
“Oh, I do. It’s…incredible. I still can’t believe it’s real at times. I get to live in my imagination and get paid for it.”
Mason smiled. “Well, tell me what your imagination has cooked up for this second book in your anthology with Annie and what it has to do with a dance studio.”
“On one condition,” she replied.
“What kind of condition?”
“Twirl me again like you did at first with that dip thing.”
“With pleasure.” Mason twirled her around not once, but across the floor in an old-school Fred Astaire move. He finished with a dip that had him in a low lunge with her in his arms, her back bowed, head back and hair spilling over the floor.
“Oh my God, that was heaven.” She lifted her head and for the first time actually looked him in the eye. “You’re right. You’re a wonderful teacher.”
“And you’re a good student as long as you don’t think about it.” He straightened, pulling her with him. “Now, the answer to my question is…”
Savannah extricated herself from his hold and walked to the front of the room where two big windows looked out onto the street. They were actually large window seats. Old-fashioned wooden blinds covered the glass and at present were closed. She sat, leaned over to lift a slat, and looked outside.
“I think the idea came when I saw you rehearsing for the musical you’re in.”
She turned and looked at him, drawing her legs up to sit cross-legged. “When Annie told me about the community theater and what the plan was for a show, I was curious. It’s…” She paused and cleared her throat.
Mason walked over, grabbed one of the wooden chairs, and turned it around in front of her so that the chair back was facing her. He straddled the chair and propped his arms on the top rail.
“It’s…?” he prompted.
“It’s ambitious. I mean, most women over forty and a lot under that age see that particular film as the all-time, make-you-yearn movie.”
“How so?”
“Well, think about it. You have a girl—no, correction, that girl. You know, the one who has always played by the rules. She’s good in school, follows rules, doesn’t rock the boat, makes mama and daddy proud. She’s never loud or boisterous, she doesn’t curse or wear inappropriate clothing, wouldn’t think of smoking or drinking, and will become exactly what her family and society think she should become.”
Savannah lifted her hands to sweep her hair over one shoulder. As she talked, her fingers divided the tresses and started to braid. He found it fascinating and sensual to watch.
“So, you have the girl. The good girl. And she goes somewhere with her parents where they’re all wrapped up in their own thing and own relationship, and she’s left on her own. And what does she discover?”
“What?” Mason asked, curious how she would answer.
“Him.” Her voice lowered, became husky and so sexy it surprised him.
“Him?”
“Him. The bad boy. She sees him dance and…” Savannah closed her eyes and inhaled. “God, she sees him and suddenly all the things a woman can feel and want and hunger for are right there. All that desire and yearning just rioting through her and it’s nearly overwhelming. She’s never seen anything so divine, so purely male and so perfectly sensual in her entire life. She can’t help but want him. He’s what all women want.”
“What?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean what do all women want?”
“Him.”
“Why?”
“Because…because when he moves, it’s seduction. It’s the promise of sensuality like nothing you’ve ever experienced. They dream of him, of his body moving against theirs. As they dance, they make love. He’s the forbidden fruit, the man who won’t stay, but who will give you something that will make it impossible for any other man to ever measure up. He’s sex personified and there’s not a woman alive who can resist his lure.”
“And our poor rehearsal made you think all that?”
Her blush told him quite clearly that it wasn’t the rehearsal at all. Savannah’s hands stilled, then started pulling apart the braid. “Well, yes. I mean, that’s what the story is all about. Well, partly. There’s also the man’s tale.”
“And just what is his tale?”
“Fear, anger, the longing to prove himself and not be bound by the opinions of others he considers above himself. He’s young, strong, so talented it’s heartbreaking and here he is, teaching the wives and daughters of rich men to dance while the men play poker or golf, drink and…and be men.
“He’s treated like a sex toy because he’s all the things I described and every one of those women wants him, but their wanting makes him feel cheap. He sees them as better than he is because they have education or status or money—the things he doesn’t.
“He’s so close to giving up and believing what others say about him…until he sees himself in her eyes—the good girl. Because of what he sees in her eyes, his are finally opened and in the end, he has the strength and enough belief in himself to cast off what others have said. Now he’s ready to use his talents and take the world by storm.”
“So, she saved him.”
“In a manner of speaking, yes.”
“And what did she get for all that?”
“A summer she’ll dream about for the rest of her life.”
Mason thought about it. “That sounds like a sad story.”
Savannah looked surprised. “Sad?”
“Yeah. If it’s something she’ll dream about for the rest of her life, then it’s something she didn’t want to lose but did, so it’s not a happily-ever-after for her.”
She was quiet for a minute and for the first time she seemed to be looking inside him the way her gaze locked with his. He saw her pupils dilate and the flush that rose on her skin.
Her expression suddenly changed, as if she was surprised. He was shocked when she jumped up “I have to go.”
“But your time isn’t up.”
“It’s okay. I have to go. Get to my computer. I have to—to go, I have to go. Can we do this again?”
“Sure, how about Friday at four?”
“I’ll be here. Thank you so much. Thank you.” She hurried across the room, grabbed her bag, and fished out her billfold. She returned to him and handed him a hundred dollars. “Is that enough for today?”
“Too much.” Mason wouldn’t take the cash. He stood and waved it away. “I didn’t help you like you asked.”
“But you did. You did.”
“Then believe me when I tell you, that’s not what I charge. It’s twenty an hour and you only had one hour today.”
“But I booked two, so that’s what I should pay for. And I’ll advance pay for the next session.”
“Fine. Just leave it on the window seat.”
“Friday at four?” She asked.
“See you then.”
She gave him a parting smile, rushed to place the money on the window seat and then literally ran from the studio. Mason followed her as far as the door and watched as she ran across the street and down the sidewalk to her car.
This had to go down in the books as one of the strangest dance lessons of all times, and the most intriguing. Before she showed up, he thought of her as a sexy woman who wrote books.
Now he thought of her as something entirely different. A woman who actually intrigued him.
Not to mention that she’d lit a hunger he definitely wanted to sate.