For the first time since high school, I was nervous before a date. I had been out dancing before—even if it had been a while—but I doubted that Dante was intending to do the sort of dancing I was accustomed to. Gyrating in one spot with a drink in my hand had gotten very old, very fast in college, and I couldn’t visualize Dante participating in that sort of boring cliché.

I still had the recording of our first date, and replayed the part of the conversation in which he had discussed dancing. Women too old or too young for him—definitely not the kind of party I was used to. I almost backed out, but managed to push through my nerves.

By five o’clock, I had decided that if it was too overwhelming, I would feign a headache. It wasn’t the most original excuse in the world, but having an out in mind allowed me to relax regarding my inexperience.

“Ready?” he asked when I answered the door.

“Wow,” I breathed, looking him over.

He wore dark slacks and a fitted jacket over a V-neck shirt. A thin gold chain glittered invitingly over his chest, drawing my eye to the sharply defined muscles there. I looked him over twice, and his eyes crinkled at the corners with barely-disguised amusement.

Dante offered me his arm and I took it. His scent hit me—some sort of very subtle cologne clung to his natural aroma, spicing the air, enticing me.

“So, where are we going?” I asked breathlessly.

“The Dancehall Revival,” he said warmly. “It’s a great place. You’re going to love it.”

His excitement was infectious, and the last of my nerves settled to give way to my own heady anticipation. He kept the radio on in the car again, and this time, it didn’t bother me. He seemed to live with rhythm in every movement, every breath; it only made sense for him to live with music, too.

I watched the late afternoon sun ignite the buildings around us, turning the whole world a vibrant orange. Tiny moments like this were enough to make the most mundane things feel magical. I sighed happily as he wove through the city.

“Where are we?” I asked after he had taken the winding surface streets into a neighborhood I didn’t recognize.

“Almost there,” he said cryptically. “Don’t worry, the neighborhood looks worse than it is. It used to be an industrial block, but then there was a revival movement. This whole area is repurposed factories. That one over there—the one with the big silo on top—that used to be a cereal plant. Now, it’s apartments.”

“Huh. There must be some interesting people living in there.”

“I’ve met a few,” he said, nodding. “They’re definitely interesting. Mostly just broke, though. Those apartments are huge, but they aren’t very well designed. You’ll have six, seven people living in one of them, splitting the rent. Reminds me of my college days.”

His nostalgic smile tugged at my heart. I had forgotten that—once upon a time—I had ached for someone to look that way when they talked about me. It seemed silly now. What strong, independent, career-oriented adult wanted somebody to pine over them?

This one, I answered myself with an amused twist of my lips. There was once a time when I’d thought I could suppress my inner hopeless romantic with a big workload and lots of casual sex, but apparently, she had gone dormant for a while. Dante had a way of bringing it out of me.

“Here we are,” he said happily, pulling into the parking lot of a long, single-story building.

I could feel the music pulsing in the air the moment I stepped out of the car, and felt a tingle of excitement race down my spine. Animated chatter floated under the music as small clusters of women, girls, and the occasional man streamed in through the re-purposed truck bay door.

“You go to all the strangest places,” I commented as I took his arm.

“Of course! Otherwise, you’re stuck doing normal things,” he said with a boyish grin.

I smiled back up at him, more comfortable on his arm with every passing moment. I was sure it would be distressing to me later that I could go from wanting to scratch his eyes out to being so utterly at ease on his arm, but I wasn’t going to dissect it just then. I had been analyzing him for so long; it was a relief to simply enjoy his company for once.

The factory-turned-dance-hall took my breath away. Track lighting snaked over the ceiling in a rainbow of soft colors, creating a cartoon-romance haze in the air. Everything smelled of cupcakes, which puzzled me until I saw the old, faded paint on the wall: Cissy’s Cupcakes, LLC. The new owners had not only kept the original paint, they had capitalized on it. Along that same wall were tables filled with refreshments—including a mountain of cupcakes.

Dante paid for our tickets while I ogled at the scene, then took my arm again. The massive dance floor was virtually empty, except for a few stray people wandering around. The music cut off just as I was about to ask why; then, the DJ spoke.

“Welcome, everybody! Tonight’s program calls for a foxtrot followed by a waltz…and then a tango. You know our instructors, Katie, David, Rose, Donna, Henry, and Jane; if you’re new here, they’re the ones hovering around the edges of the dance floor wearing orange. If you don’t know what to do, go ask! They’ll be happy to show you the ropes.”

“Maybe I should start with David,” I said nervously, eyeing the spry, elderly man. His white beard streamed over his orange shirt, giving me a sudden craving for ice cream pops.

“Jilting me for another already?” Dante said in mock distress, clapping a hand over his heart. “You wound me!”

“I’ll wound your feet,” I laughed. “The last time I tried to foxtrot, my grandpa was limping for a week.”

“I’ve had worse than your little feet try to take me down,” he teased, his eyes glittering. “Come on—you can do it. I’ll show you how.”

My heart raced as he led me onto the floor. I told myself that nobody was watching me, that they were all focused on their own thing…but there was a reason I had abandoned my childhood dream of being a world-famous ballerina. I was much more comfortable performing through words, behind a screen.

I didn’t know where to put my hands, my eyes, and oh, God, my feet…

Then, Dante brushed his fingers against my cheek, and I looked up at him. His eyes, warm pools of safety, beckoned my gaze. His hands gently showed mine where to go.

Five, six, seven, eight, and we were on our way. I stumbled, tripped over my feet, and found myself stiff and shaky in his arms. That ‘headache’ was beginning to sound like a good idea. I caught the amused glances of the dancers around us—they were definitely reacting to me. My palms turned clammy. I couldn’t catch my breath.

“Relax,” he murmured in my ear. “It’s a dance, not a thesis.”

“Very funny,” I grumbled, and he kissed my cheek.

“Let me lead you,” he told me in that smooth, authoritative voice which made me melt every time. “Don’t try to predict it. Just move with me.”

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes for a moment, feeling his body, finding his rhythm and matching it. I opened my eyes to find him smiling down at me with obvious delight. It made me laugh, which nearly made me trip. But he was right; as long as I relaxed, I could do no wrong. He had more than enough skill for the both of us.

“Is this how you train your teammates?” I asked flirtatiously. “Did I miss the ballroom skating part of the training this morning?”

He threw back his head, punctuating the music with his booming laugh.

“Now there’s an idea I’ll pitch,” he said, still chuckling. “Hey, Coach, what do you think about Tango Thursdays?”

“Waltz Wednesdays,” I giggled.

“Mambo Mondays!” He broke off in laughter once more, then kissed my forehead. “You know, they might actually go for it.”

“Why wouldn’t they? Seems to me they’d want every idea you could come up with.”

A flicker of sadness crossed his face, but was gone again before I could comment on it. I realized that I hadn’t thought about how to move my body for several minutes; he guided me expertly around the floor, and the glances we were getting now were more jealous than amused.

I felt a rush of pride at being with him, which was immediately tempered by the sharp reminder that he wasn’t really mine. One date with pretense, one booty call, and one date without pretense made us…what? We weren’t friends—not really.

“Cheer up, buttercup,” he soothed, kissing my cheek.

“Cheesy,” I said, forcing a smile.

“You like cheese? I can get cheesier. You have the most beautiful eyes…”

“Oh, shut up,” I laughed, shoving him with a playful lightness.

He grinned at me, then suddenly twirled me away and spun me back into him, leaving me breathless. Gasping with delight and surprise, I touched his face, guiding him down to meet my lips. The people around us seemed to fade away.

I melted into his kiss, into his strong embrace, opening my mouth for his. His hands roamed respectfully over my back, and I ached for him to break the barriers of propriety. I couldn’t help myself around him; I needed his touch the way I needed water when I was thirsty, the way I needed to stretch in the morning, the way I needed to breathe.

A whoop went up from the crowd around us, and I suddenly remembered where we were. Embarrassed, I hid my face in his chest, listening to his rolling laughter echo through his muscular torso. Mortification fell away, and I found myself laughing along with him.

We stayed at the dance hall for a long time, moving through one style after another. He didn’t teach me, exactly; it was more that he made it unnecessary for me to learn with my brain, focusing instead on molding my body. My body and I were both completely satisfied with the arrangement.

“My feet are crying for mercy,” I told him with a laugh when he tried to pull me onto the dance floor once more. “Let’s sit this one out.”

His eyes ran over my face, and he tilted his head analytically.

“You’re hungry,” he observed.

“I am?”

My stomach growled audibly, making his lips twitch.

“I guess I am,” I laughed. “Maybe we should get out of here before the DJ starts checking his subwoofer.”

“Excellent idea,” he said as he scooped me up off the floor into his powerful arms.

I shrieked just a little, clinging to his neck.

“What are you doing?” I asked, suppressing a bubble of nervous giggling.

“Carrying you to the car so your feet won’t scream,” he said matter-of-factly, kissing my ear.

“Remember when you used to do that?” an older woman asked, slapping her husband gently.

“Remember when you used to weigh what she did?” he shot back.

Dante walked past them, so I craned my neck to see. After a moment of tense silence, the woman began to laugh. The man laughed with her, and they leaned on each other, clasping hands and pressing their thin lips together.

“That’s nice,” I sighed wistfully as I watched them. “I wonder how long it took them to get that right.”

“Get what right?” Dante asked.

“Their communication. They just picked at each other, and ended up kissing before any tears were shed or anybody shouted. That’s a rare thing, I think. At least, from what I’ve observed. I mean…it always seems like one person gets their feelings hurt over and over, and the other one doesn’t have any idea because banter is just how they function.”

“Which side of that do you usually fall on?” Dante asked with a thoughtful frown.

“Oh, I’ve been on both sides,” I said with a sigh.

Dante gently set me down by the car door and took my face in his hands.

“Good,” he said. “I wouldn’t want to be walking on eggshells trying to contain my sense of humor. That being said, if I ever cross a line…”

“Trust me, I’ll let you know,” I assured him firmly. “And vice versa.”

“Deal,” he breathed, leaning in.

I stopped noticing the pain in my feet when his mouth was on mine. His body became my whole world, his breath my only air. Every moment I stood there, pressed between his body and the car, was exquisite torture. I never wanted it to end.

His breath came faster, his kisses more insistent, and his hands slid over the darkest, most inappropriate places of my body. I whimpered into his mouth, ground against his body, and he held me tight against him until I could feel his hard heat against my belly.

“Let’s go somewhere,” I murmured.

“Yeah,” he breathed, opening my door for me.

He closed it, jogged around the car, and slid inside as I fell liquidly against the seat.

“Where to?” I asked, my voice dripping with lust.

“Dinner,” he said cheerfully.

I blinked at him. Twice. “What?”

“You’re hungry,” he said. “I’m not about to put you through a workout on an empty stomach.” He turned and gazed intently at the road. “And I am definitely putting you through a workout.”

He turned the radio on and revved the engine, making my seat vibrate. He grinned at me and winked as I writhed against the heat pooling in my loins. I shook my head and cursed him under my breath with a smile.

The ache subsided during the ride, and I was more hungry than thirsty for Dante by the time we pulled in to a fancy-looking restaurant with valet parking and potted trees around the entrance.

“No Thai Palace tonight?” I asked, mildly disappointed.

“Oh, now you want it?” he asked, gently sarcastic.

“You won the bet, remember?”

I grinned at him.

“Oh, right. Ah, well, we’re here now. Might as well live like I’m rich while I still am, right?”

The comment stunned me briefly, and I was still trying to come up with a response when the valet opened my door for me. The moment passed without a reply from me, and I took Dante’s arm as he led me into the restaurant.

“Good evening, do you have a reservation?” the breathy girl with incredibly big eyes asked.

“Yes, two for Drake,” Dante said with that smooth authority.

I suppressed a delicious shiver and passed the girl my coat in exchange for a ticket. We were shown to a booth in the farthest, darkest corner of the restaurant, and I thanked the dating gods for the privacy, but it disappeared quickly.

One server brought sparkling water. Immediately after, another brought out wine samples. We tasted, talked, and chose a bottle. Before the wine server even made it back out, we were asked for our order. I was getting overwhelmed, and Dante sensed it. He squeezed my hand under the table and addressed the waiter.

“Give us ten minutes,” he told the server with a smile.

The waiter bowed slightly and moved away to a different table.

“Thanks,” I said, looking over my menu. “I thought they were going to help us to shreds.”

Dante chuckled, and I nearly lost my temper at the wine server who showed up again just as I was beginning to relax. Off he went again. We still had a few minutes before the waiter was due back, and I was determined to bury my nose in my menu until I knew exactly what I wanted and was confident that I could pronounce it.

I settled on something that hit all of the major comfort food groups without being too heavy, repeated my order half a dozen times in my head, then set the menu down with a sigh. I met Dante’s eye unexpectedly; he was watching me with a bemused twist of his lips.

“You all right?” he asked.

“I’m pretty good with crowds and strangers most of the time,” I explained. “But when I’m hungry or hurting, it’s like I have no buffer anymore. Like all of my defenses have been stripped and everybody’s eyes cut right through to brush my raw nerve endings.”

“Well, then remind me not to let you get hungry,” he said affectionately, stroking a single finger over the back of my hand.

It was the perfect amount of touch in that moment, and I nearly blurted out how much I liked him.

Get some food in you, now, I told myself firmly. You always say stuff you regret when your blood sugar’s low.

I had been trying to avoid the basket of mini croissants in the middle of the table, but desperate times call for appetite killers. I ate it as slowly as I could; then, the waiter returned to take our order.

“There,” I sighed as he walked away. “Are they going to leave us alone after they bring our food?”

“They’d better,” Dante said, his brow crinkling in concern. “Otherwise, I’ll never get around to telling you what I brought here to ask you.”

My eyes widened and my heart jolted with anxiety. “You said no ulterior motives—just a date,” I reminded him.

“Yeah, I know,” Dante said with a warm smile. “Dating is what I want to talk to you about. Among other things, but that’s sort of…primary.”

“Oh,” I breathed.

Dinner arrived, then, interrupting us before Dante could elaborate. I wasn’t too upset about it; I could almost guarantee that I would listen better on a full stomach.