The next time Dimitri spun Gina out, she came face to face with Natasha and Stone.

“Dimitri, I need Gina back.” Natasha cut in to the dance and grabbed Gina’s arm. “Go dance with Lauren.”

Dimitri gave Tasha a long look, then shrugged and headed to the bar.

“Stone, are you going to dance?” Gina’s thoughts were fuzzy and confused. Shit, how many shots had she sucked down? Three? Four? She couldn’t remember.

“We’re going to teach him to salsa,” Natasha said. “Come on, you be the woman, and I’ll maneuver him.”

“Good luck.” Gina moved closer so Natasha could put Stone’s right hand on her back. “He weighs a ton.”

“I can hear you,” he said with that delicious growl. She shivered, then mentally slapped herself when she realized her shiver was visible.

Yup. She was drunk.

No matter. She was a professional. She could teach salsa in her sleep.

Her thoughts turned to Stone in bed, and she shook her head to clear them.

“Hey, are you okay?” He leaned down so she’d hear him over the music.

Too close. He was way too close. And handsome. And delicious-smelling.

“I’m fine.” She had to hold it together. She put her left hand on his shoulder and gripped his left hand with her right. “Listen to the percussion. Stone, you’re going to step forward on two, the second beat of the music.”

“This is closed position,” Natasha said from behind Stone, kicking his feet to get him to step where she wanted him. “You do this when you’re dancing close, facing each other, like in the New York style.”

“New York style?” he repeated. “I didn’t know there was more than one.”

Natasha gripped his hips to shift his weight while Gina tugged on him with her hands. “In salsa clubs, unless you’re really trying to show off—like Dimitri always is—New York style is the way to go. The dancers use their momentum to create elegant movement. It’s all about precision and control.”

“And the man leads,” Stone said, Natasha’s words seeming to resonate with him. His gaze cleared, and he nodded. Gina stopped pulling on him, and he used his hands to direct her movements.

Natasha kept up a running commentary, helping Stone move and learn the footwork, while Gina gave herself over to the dance. Dancing in the arms of a man who could lead was thrilling and sensual. She could turn off her mind and just move. To be in the moment like that, fully inhabiting her body, filled her with a sense of beauty and excitement.

Stone released her back, trailing his big, hard hand down her bare arm to grip her fingers. His hands dwarfed hers, and she followed his guidance into a spin.

It was unbelievably sexy.

Gina lost herself in the music, in the movement, in the heat of Stone’s body and the warming of her own muscles from physical exertion. She kept her eyes trained on his, the clear blue reflecting the purple of the club’s lighting. He trapped her with his gaze, with the simmering, banked heat that made her heart thump erratically in her chest. The now-familiar scent of Stone’s Alaskan freshness lulled her into forgetting everyone else around them, and it was a while before she realized Natasha had disappeared.

They danced, his hands gentle but strong. His rhythm and footwork weren’t perfect, but his masculinity and dominance in the dance were really doing it for her. She edged in closer as she followed the steps she knew by heart, felt the tightening of his hold in response.

This. This was what she adored about dance. To dance like this with a man as handsome and virile as Stone, to be this close and intimate without words, to let their bodies do the talking . . . it was the most perfect thing in the world.

Time lost its meaning. The beat changed, and she used her own body to communicate the shift to him. After a week of dancing in hold together, he figured it out without her having to say it.

God, she loved that.

With each song, they moved closer. Their bodies touched and rubbed, hot sweat-slicked skin, her red dress vibrant in the changing lighting, his white t-shirt turning red, then purple, then blue, and back to red.

She arched and rolled, aware of every inch of her skin, and his. She wanted to climb him like a tree and wrap her legs around his waist. He’d cup her ass with those massive hands—something he was very careful to avoid doing, although tonight they wandered just a bit more than they ever had during practice.

He was so respectful of her. He knew he was big and burly, and since their first meeting, he’d done everything in his power not to frighten her again. Sweet, sweet man.

She just wanted his hands all over her.

The music changed again. They were barely dancing salsa now. Their bodies were too close, as if he were also reluctant to put space between them. His chest heaved, and god, she just wanted to dig her fingers into those impressive pecs, and no, she wouldn’t stop there. The man had abs for days, leading down to those sexy, sharp indents at his hips . . .

Sticking around for his spray tan earlier in the week had been a terrible idea. She knew everything under his clothes—well, almost everything—and it had fueled her daydreams all week.

But they weren’t at work now. There were no cameras, no nosy producers. She indulged herself and sank her fingertips into his shoulder, trailing them down to feel the muscles outlining his upper arm. He flexed, and she closed her eyes.

He was just holding her now, not moving. One of his arms was wrapped around her waist, pressing her against him. Somewhere along the way, she’d reached up and thrown an arm around his neck, the height difference forcing her to arch her back. Her breasts pressed against his chest and her leg—what the hell?—one of her feet was on the floor where it belonged, but her other leg was bent and hitched up on his hip, held in place by his hand gripping the bare skin of her thigh.

Gina opened her eyes. Stone’s face was close, his nose touching her cheek, his open mouth just to the side of hers. Her body trembled in his arms, urging her to close the remaining distance. Her chin tilted a fraction of an inch, bringing their lips that much closer. His lower lip brushed the corner of her mouth. She breathed him in deep and let out the breath on a moan.

The song ended. In the moment of silence, Stone’s eyes met hers. They stared at each other, breathing hard, breathing each other’s air. He was so close, close enough to kiss.

Except Gina didn’t fuck around with her dance partners.

“I have to go home.” The words fell out of her in a rush, her voice low and breathy.

He nodded and released her immediately. She untangled herself, her body already going into shock from the loss—cold sweat, rubbery legs, trembling nerves.

How much had she had to drink again? Too much. Way too much.

She stumbled off the dance floor and found Natasha at the bar.

Tash took one look at Gina’s face and grabbed their purses. Without even saying goodbye, they hustled out of the club and into the lot for Gina’s car. Natasha fished the keys out of Gina’s clutch and slid into the driver’s seat. Gina sank into the passenger side and blinked slowly.

“You’re okay with that?” Gina gestured at the wheel.

Natasha shot her a look. “As soon as you took that first shot, I knew our designated driver roles had switched. Kevin was drinking my shots.” She gave an evil grin as she started the car. “He’s going to have a wicked hangover tomorrow.”

“Good.” Gina shut her eyes. “He deserves it for winning the trophy so many times.”

Natasha chuckled and pulled out of the spot. “You’re probably going to have a wicked hangover tomorrow, too. You want to tell me what that was all about?”

Gina leaned her overheated head against the cool window. Her ears still pulsed from the music, despite the quiet car. Stone’s scent clung to her.

“No.”

She didn’t have an answer anyway.

* * *

After Gina got home, the first thing she did was change out of the sexy red dress she’d borrowed from Natasha. She was never letting Tash dress her again. While she changed, Natasha yelled at her from the kitchen.

“I’m mad at you.”

Gina’s heart sank. “Uh-oh. Why?”

“Come back out and I’ll tell you. I’m making guac.”

Sure enough, when Gina entered the kitchen, Tash was smashing avocados in a silver mixing bowl.

“Why are you making guacamole?” Gina glanced at the clock. “At one in the morning?”

Natasha shot her a look. “Are you ready to sleep?”

“I guess not.” She was amped from dancing and buzzed from those fucking tequila shots.

“The real question is why am I mad at you.”

Gina sighed. “Fine, why are you mad at me?”

Natasha stuck the masher in the lump of avocado and turned with her hands on her hips. “Pero coño, you didn’t tell me he looked like that.”

“Oh my god.” Gina pulled out a chair from the kitchen counter and perched on it. “I told you he was hot right after I met him.”

“Nuh-uh, girl.” Tash wagged a finger at Gina before turning back to her snack-making. “Mira, get the cilantro and stuff from the fridge.”

Grumbling, Gina pulled out the necessary ingredients and started chopping.

“That man is more than hot,” Natasha said, adding diced tomatoes to the bowl when Gina passed them over. “I think we can safely say he’s muy caliente. Like, for real.”

“That’s why you’re mad at me? Because I didn’t make a bigger deal of how hot he is?”

“No. Yes. That’s part of it.”

“Okay, what’s the other part?” Gina dumped in a handful of cilantro and took a deep breath. The smell reminded her of her mother’s kitchen.

“You said he’s on a TV show?”

“Yeah. It’s called Living Wild.”

Tash let out of a frustrated sigh. “Have you even watched it?”

“No.” Gina pursed her lips as she smashed a clove of garlic with the side of her knife. “I’ve been busy teaching him to dance.”

“Sinverguenza.” Natasha shook her head. “I cannot believe you. This has to be fixed immediately.”

“It’s one in the morning!”

“No me importa. We’re watching that show now. And then I won’t be mad at you anymore.”

When the guac was ready, they bypassed the counter and bar stools and carried it over to the sofa with a bowl of tortilla chips. A few episodes of Living Wild were available on demand, so they picked one from the middle of season two, settling in to watch.

There was something voyeuristic about watching Stone on TV, almost like she was spying on him, but Gina couldn’t turn away. Contrived as it must be, the drama and setbacks drew her in. During that one episode, Stone hauled lumber with his brothers—to disastrous results, built a greenhouse with his sisters, and patched up his dog’s injured foot. Around him, the rest of the Nielson family attended to other tasks that were deemed necessary to “living wild.” Over it all hung the constant threat of oncoming winter.

It shouldn’t have been a surprise that Stone was the “hot one” of the brothers—probably why he’d been picked for The Dance Off over Reed, Wolf, and Winter. They were all good-looking guys, tall and strapping from manual labor, but Stone stood out from the pack. He was also the quiet one, the serious one—as they called him. The look of intense concentration he wore while making the greenhouse was one she’d seen a few times when they rehearsed.

In spite of herself, she was impressed. Stone had skills, real skills that meant the difference between life and death in the Alaskan wilderness—the “bush,” they called it.

She and Natasha had grown up in the same neighborhood in the Bronx, and moved to LA together as soon as they could. They giggled and goggled through the episode, amazed at what it took to live like the Nielsons. Why on earth would anyone want to live this way?

At the end of the episode, Natasha hit “play” on the next one.

“How many are we going to watch?” Gina asked, polishing off the last of the guac.

“I want to see if they manage to build that treehouse or not.”

“Spoiler alert: they do. I’ve seen it.”

“You’re such a pendeja. I’m watching anyway. The description says they do something with a boat.”

Halfway through the next episode, Tash was swooning over Stone’s younger brother Wolf.

Gina glanced at Tash out of the corner of her eye. “Really? Wolf?”

Tash shrugged. “He’s a weirdo. I like him.”

“I didn’t meet any of his family while I was there. They were filming somewhere else.” What must it be like to have such a huge family? Gina missed her own, so she could only imagine how Stone must feel. At least she had Natasha with her.

At the moment, Tash was giving her a dirty look. “I can’t believe you aren’t going to make a move on Stone.”

Gina huffed and leaned back into the sofa cushions as the man himself appeared on the TV. Shirtless, of course. “I’m not interested.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No.” Gina crossed her arms. “I’m not getting involved with anyone in the industry. Been there, done that, got bitten on the ass. I don’t care to repeat the experience, no matter how hot he is.”

“Or no matter how much he wants you?”

“He hasn’t made a move either.” She wasn’t going to count whatever the hell had happened on the Club Picante dance floor. That was just dancing. And tequila.

“Come on.” Natasha rolled her eyes. “You’re not gonna try to tell me you haven’t noticed his reaction to you. Dwayne barely has any interest in me as a person and he’s still semi-hard every time we get too close.”

“Ew, Tash.”

“What? It happens. They’re new to this. You’re telling me Stone has never . . . you know what, the innuendo is too easy with a name like that. I can’t even go there. He’s never sported a stiffy while you’re dancing?”

Gina sighed. “Not usually.”

“But he has?”

“Well . . . he was kind of hard during our photoshoot, but I think that was because Donna was there and she told the directors to have us do extra sexy poses. We were closer there than we’d been in practice.”

Tash smirked. “You were certainly close tonight.”

Gina covered her face and groaned. “I hope I didn’t give him the wrong idea.”

“That you want his body?”

Gina whacked her with a throw pillow. “Yeah, basically. I was a little drunk. And in the moment. That’s all. Anyway, our lives are too different.”

“You’re both on reality shows,” Natasha said. “Not that different, from where I sit.”

“Different enough for it to never work. Besides, he’ll be gone in a few months.”

Natasha held up her hands in defeat. “Whatever you say, chica.”

* * *

“Mr. Nielson, we have a message for you.”

Stone glanced at the nametag of the guy behind the concierge desk. “Thanks, Omar. My mother?”

Omar smiled. “Yes, sir.”

“I’ll call her.” Without a cell phone, Stone received messages from Pepper at the front desk. He called her back from his laptop once he got upstairs.

His mother’s face popped up on the screen immediately.

“Hi, son,” she said, smiling when she saw him. “How’s everything going?”

“Ah . . . fine. Everything’s good.”

No point in telling her about the tension underlying his rehearsals with Gina. Gina was all business, as if their near-kiss at Club Picante had never happened, which was fine with Stone. He didn’t need the distraction. The cameras wouldn’t pick up on it, but he could feel the difference. While he missed her easy warmth and joking manner, it was for the best, all around.

“I hear you’re off to New York to do that morning news show?”

Stone didn’t ask how Pepper knew. She could make anyone spill the beans about anything. “Yeah, I am. We’re one week away from the premiere. Can’t talk long—I’m leaving for the airport soon. We’re taking an overnight flight on The Dance Off’s private jet to do the cast reveal.”

“That’s what I want to talk to you about.”

He held back a sigh. Here it goes.

“Your father and I just want to remind you how important it is that you not say anything that could jeopardize our show. We’re relying on this, and we’ve all worked hard to build this image.”

“I know, Ma. I won’t.”

“Okay, then. Have a great time in New York City. Safe travels.”

Once her image disappeared, Stone scrubbed his hands over his face. This was a nightmare. He had no idea what to expect the next day and his whole family was counting on him not to mess up.

He glanced at the clock. Shit, he had to pack.