Gina had claimed the foxtrot was similar to walking—one foot after the other. It wasn’t. Hours of learning moves like the promenade, ad lib, and Park Avenue step left Stone once again rethinking his decision to join this stupid show.

Dancing was hard. The basic steps had been one thing, but learning choreography was a whole different beast. His muscles ached from staying in hold, his feet hurt from the shiny black shoes, and he was starving. When he complained that he was hungry, Gina tossed him a protein bar and told him to “take it from the top.”

And it was all being filmed. Every stumble and misstep, Stone’s curses when he slipped, Gina’s innocuous touches.

How was he supposed to concentrate on learning to dance with Gina’s light, capable touch a constant source of distraction? Quick touches, barely there and then gone. A fingertip on his chin to change the angle. A nudge with her wrist to raise his elbow. Even her small feet kicking his to get them to move the right way.

Were all dancers like this? Whose brilliant idea had it been to stick him with someone so touchy and talkative? This wasn’t what he’d signed up for.

And despite her earlier assurances, he still felt bad about scaring her in Alaska. It hadn’t been right. Pretending to see a bear in the woods was a dick move, and he shouldn’t have gone along with it.

Worst of all, the producers interrupted him for interviews left and right. On Living Wild, his family and the crew knew he was a terrible liar, and he participated in fewer individual interviews than his siblings did. The Dance Off was supposed to be about dancing. Why did they want him to talk so much?

Stone stepped wrong again, nearly losing his balance. “Sorry.”

The corners of Gina’s mouth turned down and she threw her hands up. “Don’t be sorry. Be serious.”

He narrowed his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

She strode over to the cooler and grabbed a bottle of water. “You’re not taking this seriously.”

The accusation burned in his gut, and the words spilled out before he could think them through. “How much more seriously do you want me to take it?” He followed her and grabbed another protein bar from the box next to the cooler. “I’m here, wearing these ridiculous shoes”—he lifted one foot and gave it a disgusted sneer—“and doing everything you’ve asked of me.”

“Everything,” she said, in a tone that sounded suspiciously agreeable, “except take it seriously.”

“I come from a survival background. In the grand scheme of things, dancing has ranked low in priority. I’m doing the best I can.”

“Aren’t you lucky you don’t have to hunt and chop wood in LA? Now dancing can be your number-one priority. Do better.”

Before Stone could come up with a reply, someone knocked on the door. Stone ripped open the protein bar and took a big bite.

A woman poked her head into the room. “Hey there,” she said. “Who’s first?”

“Ah, the spray tan magicians are here.” Jordy turned to Stone. “Time to strip.”

Stone choked. “What, here?”

The woman entered the room with a team of young, attractive assistants and began constructing something that looked like half of a black nylon tent, with a large, egg-shaped opening.

No longer hungry, Stone tossed the bar onto his gym bag. “I thought we’d do this somewhere more . . . private.”

A list of instructions had awaited Stone when he moved into his hotel room the day before. Exfoliation techniques, tips on spray tan maintenance, and instructions to wear dark underwear and use the dark sheets and towels they provided. What the list had not mentioned was that he’d be doing this with an audience. The room was full of people. Jordy and his assistant conferred over a tablet, and the camera crew took a break while the spray tanner and her assistants checked their equipment.

Gina sat on the stairs leading up to a low stage. Leaning back on one hand, she chewed on her own protein bar and eyed him thoughtfully.

“Don’t be modest.” She waved a hand in dismissal. “I’ve already seen most of what there is to see, and I’ll see the rest before we’re through.”

Her words—and flippant attitude toward his privacy—didn’t comfort him. Sure, she’d already seen him naked from the waist up, but that didn’t mean he was ready to drop trou in front of her on their second meeting. Or in front of the others.

He put his hands on his hips. “Is this really necessary?”

Gina shrugged. “Fact of life around here. You’ll get used to it.”

She was still fully dressed and didn’t seem in a hurry to be sprayed. Her skin already had a beautiful golden hue, so maybe she was exempt from this fresh form of torture. He tried another tactic.

“I’m already tanned,” he pointed out. Living Wild made him use a self-tanning lotion since he was so often shirtless, but he would never admit that out loud.

The spray tan lady sputtered out a laugh. “Not tan enough. Get in here.” She switched on the gun with a low buzz.

Stone cursed his tendency to blush as his cheeks grew warm. Gina’s accusation nagged at him. The need to prove his commitment shoved him into action. He toed off his shoes and grabbed the back of his t-shirt, yanking it over his head. From the corner of his eye, he caught the way Gina’s lips parted, the slight widening of her eyes.

A hot rush of pure male satisfaction swept through him. So, she wasn’t completely immune to him. At least there was that.

No longer annoyed at having to strip, he bent at the waist to tug off his socks. When he straightened to his full height, he flexed his abs and dropped his hands to the waistband of his shorts. Gina’s eyes followed his movements. Even with everyone else in the room, the moment was just for her. He kept his attention on her as he drew the shorts down his legs and stepped out of them. Standing in the middle of the rehearsal space in nothing but a pair of navy blue briefs, he met her gaze head on.

Her eyes narrowed, then she raised an eyebrow and mouthed, “touché.” Then she looked away. Satisfied, Stone strode over to the egg and stepped inside.

He lost track of Gina when the spray tan lady stepped in front of him.

“Have you ever been spray tanned before?”

Stone shook his head.

The woman explained the procedure as she worked, coating him in layers of tanning solution. Apparently spray tans made everyone’s bodies look perfect on stage, adding definition and shine. On The Dance Off, the tanner, the better.

The entire process went faster than Stone expected. Each layer took about five minutes, and he was given four layers.

“You’ve got some great definition in your muscles,” the lady told him as she lined his pecs. “The tan will add to that and make you look even more amazing.”

Stone ducked his head, muttering his thanks. He turned to face the inside of the egg-shaped tent while the woman outlined his back muscles. When he turned around again, the door opened and Gina walked in wearing nothing but a strapless purple bikini.

Stone nearly swallowed his tongue.

When he’d entered the rehearsal space that morning, the Gina who’d awaited him might as well have been a completely different person than the one he’d met in the woods. Teacher Gina wore her hair up in a high ponytail and her face free of makeup. Her eyes still sparkled. Her smile still drew him in. But she looked more approachable, more touchable. More real.

Dangerous thoughts for a man who’d convinced himself Hollywood girls were a bad idea.

The purple bikini was bringing up all kinds of dangerous thoughts now. Extra dangerous considering he was clad only in a pair of briefs, and the spray tan fairy had just yanked at the waistband over his hip.

To make matters worse, Gina stood nearby, hands propped on her hips, watching him with open interest.

“See?” she said. “Spray tanning isn’t so bad, is it?”

Stone grunted. If he looked at her, he’d risk embarrassing them all.

“All done,” the spray tanner said. “Gina, you’re up.”

Stone made a beeline for his shorts.

“Wait!” The shriek made him freeze. “Are you crazy? You can’t get dressed yet. Stand still and wait until you’re dry.”

Torture. This was torture. Perhaps he’d done something in a past life to deserve the exquisite pain of watching Gina climb into the egg and turn in slow circles while being coated with tanning solution. When Gina turned to face the inside of the egg, Stone’s gaze dropped to her ass, firm and round, barely covered by the purple spandex of her bikini bottoms. When she tugged the waistband down an inch so the tanning woman could spray under the fabric, Stone ground his teeth against the fresh wave of desire that slammed into him, his blood pumping hot and pulsing through his veins. His mind supplied images of Gina’s slender fingers drawing the fabric down further, inch by tantalizing inch.

Shit. No. He couldn’t think that way. She was his partner, his teacher. They had weeks of work ahead of them, work that required close contact and intimate touch. He’d never survive if he let himself entertain such thoughts.

He’d never survive if he got a hard on in the middle of his first rehearsal—on camera.

Instead of Gina, he focused on how disgusting the whole reality TV circus was. He’d thought Living Wild was bad—hello, shirtless wood-chopping—but this was ten times worse. The manipulation, the utter lack of privacy, and the obvious efforts to throw the dancers off-balance. At least in Alaska, his producers were up front with him about their machinations.

“Stone!”

His head snapped up. Gina beckoned him from the egg. “Come on. Let’s take a selfie.”

Sighing, he trudged over barefoot and leaned into the egg next to her, as she directed. Gina stretched out a hand, holding her phone sideways. Their faces appeared on the screen.

“Smile!” Gina said.

Stone bared his teeth in some approximation of a smile. Gina’s closeness, the sweetness of her scent, her warmth hovering next to him in the curve of the nylon egg, shot tension into his muscles. He got out of the egg as fast as he could, but Gina followed. “You want to grab food?” she asked, shaking her arms while the spray tan crew packed up. “After I’m dry, of course.”

All he could do was stare as her words went in one ear and out the other. Her arm movements made her breasts jiggle above the purple fabric cupping them. He wanted to replace the fabric with his hands.

Damn it. Stop thinking about her breasts. “No. I’m, uh . . .” He grabbed his shorts and yanked them up his legs. “I’ve gotta go work out.” It was the first excuse he thought of, but it was a good one. He had to burn off some of this tension or he was going to explode during their next rehearsal.

“Oh, no, you’re not.” The spray tan fairy paused on her way out the door and wagged a finger at him. “No sweating, swimming, or showering for the next six to eight hours. You’ll wash off the tan before it has time to set.” She gave him an appreciative glance. “I think you can skip this one workout. And don’t put your t-shirt on, if you can help it.” And then she was gone.

Fuuuuuck. Stone stuffed the t-shirt into his gym bag.

“So . . . food?” Gina asked, popping up beside him in that damned purple bikini.

He shook his head. “No, thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Running out before she could say another word, Stone inwardly cursed The Dance Off and everything associated with it. He was on fire, and now he had no way to cool the flames.

* * *

After Stone left, Gina waited for her tan to dry, then put on a lightweight beach cover-up so as not to put fabric lines into her tan.

Maybe she shouldn’t have accused Stone of half-assing it, at least not on the first day. But if they were going to begin as they meant to go on, she couldn’t let him get away with anything less than 100 percent. He was going through the motions and doing what she said, but his lack of enthusiasm was obvious. It happened sometimes with the bigger male celebs when they were asked to move in ways that were uncomfortable for them. If they felt silly, they didn’t try.

If she and Stone were going to win, he had to do more than try. He had to want to win, too. The trick was finding the key that would unlock his competitive spirit.

As Gina was packing her bag, Jordy flagged her down. “Donna wants to speak with you,” he said. “She’s in her office.”

Dreading whatever Donna had to say, Gina headed downstairs and into the office wing. Donna ushered her inside and invited her to take a seat in the dark, cramped room, little more than a closet.

Donna was wearing her smarmy smile. This was going to suck.

“How are you getting along with Stone?” Donna waggled her eyebrows. “You gotta admit, he’s handsome.”

Ugh. Gina took a deep breath. “As you saw, we’re focusing on the dance and figuring out strategy. I think—”

“Yeah, we saw that.” Donna frowned. “It looks like you’re holding back, though. You’re usually friendlier with your celebs. And Stone seemed frustrated. Is there some tension between you two?”

Gina shook her head and smiled broadly. “Nope. No problems.” Aside from Stone’s gigantic, distracting muscles and reluctance to do more than the basic steps. She’d lost track of the number of times he’d asked, “Is this really necessary?” And it was only the first day.

Donna leaned in with a conspiratorial smile. “Maybe you could warm things up a bit. It would make him feel more comfortable, I’m sure.”

What the hell? Lips pressed together, Gina sucked in a breath through her nose. She counted to five as she let it out, then spoke clearly and evenly. “As we’ve discussed in the past with my agent, I have a hard stop on the fake romance narrative.”

Donna rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on, Gina. Look, we know you’re not a lesbian—”

“Excuse me?” Gina’s eyes went wide, her lungs swelling like a balloon. Disbelief surged through her, raising her hackles. Who did this woman think she was?

“I’m not sure what your problem is.” Donna barreled on, ignoring the outraged objection. “Stone’s hot. Just flirt a little more, give us a few soundbites to imply there’s something brewing. Viewers love sexual tension. It will get you tons of votes, and possibly even the trophy.”

Low blow. Donna knew how much Gina wanted to win, but she also knew Gina was adamantly opposed to pretending she was sleeping with her celebrity.

“Don’t worry.” Gina got to her feet. “We’ll get lots of votes, and we’ll get them the old-fashioned way—through killer choreography and strong technique.”

“But will it be enough?” Donna pressed.

“It’ll have to be. Because I’m not going to pretend I’m fucking Stone.”

Donna shrugged, unoffended. “You should. I’d fuck him.”

Gina opened her mouth to make some retort she’d probably regret later, but Donna’s next words left her speechless.

“I’m just looking out for you, Gina. The fact of the matter is, if you don’t make the finals, I’m not sure we’ll have a place for you next season.”

Gina’s mouth snapped shut. Her skin prickled like she’d jumped into an ice bath.

“What do you mean?” The words came out raspy.

Donna lowered her voice. “I like you, Gina. You’re smart and you know how to play the game, even if you refuse to do the one thing that would almost assure you the win. But you’ve got to make the finals if you want to stick around.”

“Donna, my nieces watch this show.”

With a shrug, Donna flipped open her laptop. “Figure it out, Gina. And make sure those promo shots are sexy as hell.”

Gina walked out.

She seethed all the way to her car, using a pair of giant black sunglasses to shield her from the crowd of paparazzi hanging out across the street from the parking lot. Once inside, she gripped the steering wheel hard. She wanted to scream, but those assholes with the cameras would hear her.

For years, she’d worked her ass off to build a name for herself in an industry that was cutthroat and unforgiving. She’d done it through talent, skill, and determination. She continued to take dance classes, along with singing and acting lessons to make her a triple threat.

It burned to have all of that reduced to the lure of her sex appeal. As if that were her only worth, the only reason viewers might vote for her and Stone. Not that she was a qualified teacher, accomplished choreographer, and had a good personality. Donna’s statements implied that all the viewers cared about—all the producers cared about—was who she was screwing. This was exactly why Gina had insisted her agent tell The Dance Off upfront that she was not willing to be used for romantic storylines.

She pulled out her phone and called her sister. It was well after work hours in New York, so Araceli would be home, probably making dinner for the kids.

Araceli picked up on the second ring. “Hey, Sis.”

“They want me to fuck him.”

“Who?” Celi’s outrage and disbelief blasted through the speaker.

“My partner.” Gina rubbed her eyes under the glasses.

There was a long pause. “You mean, they want you to pretend to be involved with your partner.”

Gina groaned. “Doesn’t matter. I’m not doing it, and I’m not going to act like I am, either.”

“You got this.” Gina could hear the smile in her big sister’s voice, and it made her grin. If the grin wobbled a little bit, who cared? She was allowed to miss her family. “Don’t let those Hollywood assholes change you. We don’t need more oversexed Latina stereotypes on TV.”

“Thanks. I’ve worked too hard to screw it up now.”

“Today was your first day?”

“Yeah.”

“You’ll have to call Ma. She’s going to want to hear about it. How did it go?”

“Pretty well. He’s not a bad dancer, just reluctant.” Gina paused, then voiced the hope that had been steadily growing all day. “I think . . . I think if I can get him to take this seriously—ignite his competitive spirit, so to speak—we can go far.”

Celi snickered. “Lucky for him, you have more than enough competitive spirit to spare.”

“Ain’t nothing wrong with being ambitious. This is just one step of many.”

“You’ll get there. No rush.”

But there was a rush. Dancers didn’t have long careers. They were hard on their bodies, and injuries were an ever-present concern. In show business, age and looks mattered, too. Gina wanted to build a career that would stand the test of time, one that would allow her to continue growing her skill set and wasn’t completely reliant on the smoothness of her skin or how she managed her weight.

“I don’t want to be a TV dancer forever. Even if I did, I can’t. I’m already twenty-seven.”

Celi scoffed. “Damn, you say that like it’s old. I’ve got five years on you, and three kids.” A crash in the background punctuated her words, followed by an indignant claim of “You ruined it!”

Gina snorted as her sister let out a long-suffering sigh. “You better go see what that is.”

“Yeah, but I really don’t want to.” Araceli rustled around, probably moving through her house to get to the kids. “Don’t worry. You’ll get through this the way you always have, by being an amazing, hard-working dancer. Keep it up.”

“Thanks, Sis.”

When Celi gasped and yelled, “Look at this mess!” Gina hung up.

The call had done the trick. Her big sister believed in her. What else did she need? Gina started the car and headed home.