Dead On The Dance Floor. Heather Graham

a charter service down in the Keys.”

      “Fishing? Diving?”

      He smiled slowly. “Yes, both. Why? Are only certain men involved in certain lines of work supposed to take dance lessons?”

      She shook her head, annoyed to know that her cheeks were reddening. She stared down at the paper. “No, of course not, and I’m sorry. We just try to tailor a program toward what an individual really wants.”

      “Well, I guess I just want to be able to dance socially. And I’m not kidding when I say that I can’t dance.”

      Those words were earnest. The dimple in his cheek flashed.

      She smiled. “Doug came in with the movement ability of a deeply rooted tree…Quinn.” His name rolled strangely on her tongue. “He’s made incredible progress.”

      “Well, he just kind of fell in love with it, huh?”

      Her smile deepened, and she nodded. “You don’t think you’re going to fall in love with it, do you?”

      He shrugged, lifting his hands. Large hands, long fingered. Clean and neat, though. Of course. Fishing and diving. He was in the water constantly. Face deeply bronzed, making the blue of his eyes a sharp contrast. “What about you?”

      “Pardon?” she said, startled that they had suddenly changed course.

      “When did you fall in love with it?”

      “When I could walk,” she admitted.

      “Ah, so you’re one of those big competitors,” he said.

      She shook her head. “No. I’m an instructor.”

      He arched a brow, and she felt another moment’s slight unease as she realized he was assessing her appearance.

      “I bet you would make a great competitor.”

      She shrugged. “I really like what I do.”

      “I guess competition can be dangerous.”

      His words sounded casual enough. She felt herself stiffen. “Dangerous? Dancing?”

      He shrugged again. “Doug told me someone had a heart attack and died at the last big competition.”

      She shook her head. “What happened was tragic. But it was an isolated incident. I’ve certainly never seen anything like it before. We’re all shattered, of course…but, no, competition isn’t usually dangerous.” She was tempted to say more but pulled back, telling herself not to be an absolute idiot. She certainly wasn’t going to spill out her own discomfort before a man she’d just met, even if he was Doug’s brother. Doug was a student, a promising one, but even he was far from a confident. “I would assume, Mr. O’Casey, that boating and diving are far more dangerous than dancing.”

      “I wasn’t worried,” he said. “Just…well, sorry about the loss, of course. And curious.”

      Obviously, people would be upset. And yes, curious. In the world of dance, Lara had reigned as a queen. Though most people might not have known her name—any more than Shannon might have known that of the leading Nascar racer—such a death still made the newspapers and even a number of news broadcasts. Several stations had been there filming when she had died.

      Sure, people were going to be curious.

      Gordon had given a speech to her; she had given one to the teachers, and she’d also written up a little notice for the students. She didn’t know why she felt annoyed at explaining the situation to this particular man.

      “We were all curious,” she said evenly. “Lara Trudeau was amazing. She wasn’t into alcohol or drugs, prescription or otherwise. None of us knows what happened that day. She was brilliant, and she, and her talent, will be missed. But dancing is hardly dangerous. Obviously, it’s a physical activity. But we’ve had a number of heart patients here for therapy. It’s dangerous to sit still and become a couch potato, too.” She was suddenly angry, feeling as if she was personally under attack, and didn’t understand why. She was about to get up and assure him that she would return Doug’s money for the guest pass, but then he spoke.

      “Rhythm,” he said.

      “Pardon?”

      “I think I said the wrong thing. I’d like to be able to go to a club like Suede, the one right below you, and not look like a total horse’s a—idiot. Salsa, right?”

      “They do a lot of salsa. Mambo, samba, merengue…Tuesday nights they have a swing party.”

      “But they waltz at weddings, right?” He gave the appearance of seriously considering his options.

      “Yes.”

      “Do I have to pick certain dances?”

      “No, but it would be nice to know where you’d like to start.”

      “Where do you generally start?”

      She rose. “At the beginning. Come on. If you’ve no real preferences, we’ll do it my way.”

      “You’re going to be my instructor?” He was surprised, but she didn’t think he was pleased.

      “Yes. Is there a problem?”

      “No, I just…Doug said you didn’t take new students.”

      “I don’t usually. But the way it works is, unless there’s a problem, the teacher to sign on a new student becomes their regular instructor.” She hadn’t meant to actually take him as her student, but now…she meant to keep him. There was just something about him that…

      A voice in her ear whispered that he was the most arresting man she’d met in a long time. Best-looking, definitely most sensual, man.

      Yes, yes, all acknowledged from the start.

      But that wasn’t the point. It wasn’t his appearance, which was, admittedly, imposing.

      There was something else.

      It was ridiculous that she was feeling so paranoid.

      But the man bore watching. That feeling of wariness would not go away.

      

      Maybe.

      That was her thought thirty minutes later.

      Maybe she hadn’t been teaching enough lately. Maybe she couldn’t teach and keep an eye on him at the same time. Her patience just wasn’t where it should be. There was no chance of anyone stepping in and actually leading him—placing a hand on his arm had assured her of that. It was like setting her fingers on a solid wall. It didn’t help that he was stiff, no matter how much she tried to get him to relax.

      He actually seemed to be confused between left and right.

      They were doing a box step, for God’s sake. A simple box step.

      “No, Quinn, your left foot goes forward first. The same foot we’ve used the last twenty-five times.” Was her voice showing strain? Once upon a time, she’d been known for her patience.

      He hadn’t lied when he said he had two left feet.

      “We’re just making a square—a box. Left foot forward, right side…a box.”

      “Yeah, right. A box. So how many teachers are there here, actually?”

      “Are you afraid that I can’t teach you, Mr. O’Casey?”

      “No, no, I just wondered. You’re doing fine. I was just curious as to how many teachers you have.”

      “Ben Trudeau is teaching full time now.”

      “Trudeau?” he said.

      “He used to be married to Lara. They’ve been divorced for several years. He was mainly doing competitions and coaching, but he decided a few months ago that he wanted to take up residence