Love Tango. J.M. Jeffries

      She blew a strand of hair out of her eyes. “I’m going home and curling up on the floor.” She stood and stumbled. “Ow. Ow. My feet hurt, my legs hurt, my skin hurts and my eyelashes hurt.”

      Nick smiled at her performance as she limped across the floor barefoot. “Walk it off,” he said.

      She glared at him. “Twenty hours a week in rehearsal, I’m going to be skin and bones when this over.”

      “You’re going to be skin and bones with muscles you didn’t even know you had.” And considering how good she looked now, the extra muscle tone would make her look even sleeker and sexier.

      She groaned again.

      He’d had a lot of dance partners, and Roxanne was the most inexperienced he’d ever had. He was going to enjoy the challenge of whipping her into shape. And he was enjoying her. And he was thinking of ways to enjoy her more. Even though he shouldn’t be. She made him laugh.

      She grabbed her tote and purse from her locker. She looked down at her feet. “My ankles are swollen. My pinky toe doesn’t look right. Is it broken?” She pushed her foot toward him.

      “It looks a little pinched from being in those shoes you brought. You might want to look for a wider size.”

      She grumbled. “Tomorrow I’m bringing my slippers.”

      She slung her tote and purse over her shoulder and headed out the double doors to the parking lot. Nick followed her. From the way she was hobbling, he felt he needed to get her safely to her car.

      The parking lot was mostly empty. She limped toward her white Prius and Nick frowned at the huge black Escalade with tinted windows parked next to it.

      As she approached her car, the doors to the Escalade opened and a man and woman stepped out.

      Roxanne groaned. “No. Not now.” She stopped and Nick stood next to her, every muscle tense in response to her moan.

      The woman approached. She was tall and slim and dressed for success in a ruby-red pants suit and black blouse. She wore dark glasses, but even from a distance, Nick could see Roxanne was related to her. The man was also tall, with dark curly hair threaded with gray. He was a little more casual in designer jeans and a white button-down shirt.

      “Darling,” the woman said as she air-kissed Roxanne.

      Roxanne stepped back, avoiding her mother’s outstretched arms. “Mother.”

      “You look...a bit disheveled, dear.”

      Roxanne glanced around. “What are you doing here?”

      From the resemblance, he knew this man was Roxanne’s father. He stood back slightly. He removed his dark glasses and studied Roxanne.

      Her mother laughed. “Darling, you’ve become so cynical.”

      “I wonder why.” Roxanne’s tone was dry and tart.

      Roxanne mother smiled at Nick. “Hello, I’m Hannah Deveraux, Roxanne’s mother and this is Eli, her father. And you’re Nick Torres. I know all about you.” Hannah smiled pleasantly, but Nick knew he was facing a barracuda. A big hungry barracuda.

      “What do you want?” Roxanne’s voice was strained.

      “We haven’t spoken much the last few years, but we wanted to congratulate you for being chosen for Celebrity Dance. Such a coup. So much better than playing a corpse.”

      Hannah’s voice was smooth and gracious on the surface, but Nick felt an underlying subtext meant for Roxanne alone.

      Hannah turned her dark eyes on Nick. “And you, Nicky, you are so lucky to have Roxanne on your show. She’s always wanted to learn how to dance, but her feet never cooperated.”

      “I prefer Nicholas.” Nick ground his teeth together at the passive-aggressive performance by Roxanne’s parents. “And Roxanne is going to be great.”

      Hannah glanced at her daughter’s bare feet. “Where are your shoes, sweetie? You shouldn’t be walking around barefoot.”

      “I have to go,” Roxanne said, taking a step toward her car. “Nice to see you. Bye.”

      “But we need to talk,” Hannah sidestepped to cut off Roxanne’s attempt to escape. “We can put you back on top, sweetie. You’d be on every A-list in town.”

      “I don’t want to be there.”

      Her mother frowned. “Then why are you doing Celebrity Dance?”

      Roxanne said nothing, staring her mother down.

      Hannah broke the stare down first. “Did you look at the script I sent you? Your father and I own the rights to it. Starring in it could be an opportunity to mend fences. Clear the air.”

      “No, I haven’t read it. Nor do I intend to read it.” Roxanne skirted her parents, unlocked her car with the remote in her hand and was in her car before her parents could object.

      Nick stood back, half admiring as Roxanne deftly maneuvered her Prius out of its parking space.

      Hannah’s mouth tightened. “You must pardon my daughter’s rudeness.”

      Nick’s eyebrows rose. “She wasn’t rude to me at all.”

      “I hoped she would talk with us,” Hannah said with a sad little sigh. “She’s so very stubborn. We’ve only ever wanted the best for our daughter. I don’t understand what her problem is. We’ve done everything for her.” She gave Nick a coy, sideways look that contained an invitation to unburden himself in some way.

      Nick edged back. He needed to get out of here. Confession wasn’t going to be good for their souls and he had a sense they were trying to enlist him.

      “I have to get back.” He took another step away from them.

      “We need you to help us,” Hannah continued. “Will you talk to Roxanne for us? Tell her we love her and only have her best interests at heart.”

      “I don’t mean to be rude, but that isn’t my job. We’re coworkers and that’s all. So you have a nice day.”

      When he glanced back, Hannah and Eli stood in the middle of the parking lot. Hannah’s gestures were sharp and angry. Eli’s gestures matched hers. Nick wondered what they were arguing about. After a few minutes they climbed back into the black Escalade and peeled out of the parking lot with a squeal of tires and burning rubber.

      Once they were gone, Nick pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed Mike’s number. “We need to talk. I’ll be at the office in thirty minutes.” He disconnected and walked toward the locker room to get his stuff.

      * * *

      Nick opened the door to Mike’s office. His wife, Nancy, sat on the sofa, her legs crossed, hands fluttering as she laughed at whatever Mike had said.

      Mike looked up. He sat at his desk, one hand poised over a stack of papers. “How did the first rehearsal go?”

      “She stepped on my feet eight hundred times. She tripped over her own feet at least four times. She’s a challenge.”

      “You love a challenge,” Nancy said.

      “You’re right, I do. And she is that.” Nick perched on the corner of Mike’s desk.

      “Last year, you took over an overweight, over-the-hill actress...”

      “Ouch,” Nick said.

      “Those were Mia’s words, not mine... And you made her a dance champion and resurrected her career. She’s going to be in the next Joss Whedon film playing a superhero.”

      “Roxanne,” Nancy added, “is young, fit and easy to look at. She’s got a lot of personality.”

      And she was a delight to hold, Nick thought. Her skin was soft and