Chapter 20 #2
‘I’ll pick it up faster if you show me,’ says Theo, moving to the side.
Mark looks at me like I’m an irritation he doesn’t need. I’m a traffic warden about to write him a ticket and he can’t decide if he should argue or just suck it up.
I’m not crazy about this either, but we’re going to get steamrollered into it, so our best bet is to get it over with quickly.
Mark must come to the same conclusion because he opens his arms and waits for me to step into them. We’re not going to dance, I remind myself. We’re simply going to show Theo how to get into hold.
I walk into his broad frame, my gaze drawn to where his T-shirt sleeve hugs the swell of his bicep. The hair on his arms is gold, which is confusing because the hair on his head is so dark. His left hand takes my right, and his other hand settles on my back.
I thought I’d be most conscious of our joined hands – it’s the only place we’re skin-to-skin – but it’s the hand splayed across my shoulder blades that demands all my attention.
Its span covers the width of my back, and even though it only grazes me, the power thrumming in the pads of his fingers is palpable; a hand as deft at cracking open walnuts as it is with a scalpel.
Without thinking, I exaggerate the natural arch in my spine and lean back, exposing my throat. The whole point in tango is not to face each other, but when I glance at him, his attention is laser-focused on the hollow of my neck.
His intensity makes my breath quicken.
‘Oh, that really helps,’ says Theo.
His voice sounds like it’s coming from far away, but then Mark lets go of me and everything comes rushing in at once.
He turns to Theo, bypassing my eyes entirely. ‘You try.’
Mark stands back, and the room feels cooler.
Theo replaces him, and when he takes me into hold, the improvement is noticeable, even if his arms don’t have the steadiness of Mark’s.
‘I knew that would do it!’ announces Yan, like this was all down to him when all he’s done is laugh and point from the sidelines. ‘On another note,’ he continues. ‘You and Nella look good together. I’d pay money to see you dance.’
What the fuck, Yan?
I’m going to give him hell later.
‘We’re not a good match,’ says Mark brusquely. ‘She’s too short for me.’
Okaaay. That was needlessly rude, even if it’s factually correct. I’m the shortest person in my family, and although I’m not short short I don’t love it. Why are tall people so insensitive about this?
I catch myself. It’s not the fact Mark’s tall that makes him insensitive, it’s the fact he’s Mark.
I glance at Theo, wondering if he’ll jump to my defence, but he’s Team Brigitta all the way, so suggesting his mate might dance well with another woman is a big no-no.
Brigitta, I assume, is an .
‘Why don’t you guys try the basic step?’ asks Mark, oblivious.
‘Fine by me,’ I assure him.
He’s not getting the satisfaction of knowing he’s hurt my feelings.
Mark stands next to Theo and counts us in. We begin, but Theo starts on the wrong foot and stomps hard on mine.
I wince.
‘Fuck’s sake,’ says Mark.
‘He’s allowed to make mistakes,’ I say, trying not to show I’m in pain. ‘Snapping at him isn’t going to help.’
‘I’m so sorry, Nella,’ says Theo.
‘One more fuck-up, and we stop for the night,’ says Mark.
‘I’m fine,’ I say, ignoring my throbbing foot.
Mark circles to stand behind me. ‘Keep your eyes on me, Theo. I’ll point you in the right direction so you don’t break Nella’s metatarsals.’
‘Okay, thanks,’ says Theo, looking sheepish. ‘Just give me a second to practise this by myself.’ He moves towards the sofa to give himself space away from other people’s body parts. Yan, whose suggestion this all was, is frowning at his phone. On one of his dating apps, no doubt.
‘Are you sure you’re fine?’
Mark’s low voice startles me. He’s leaning forward so the others don’t hear.
‘Don’t worry about me.’
He’s frowning, but he quickly rearranges his expression when Theo returns.
Once Theo has psyched himself up, we try again, and this time he remembers to lead with his left foot.
We continue slowly walking through the four steps – Theo in front of me and Mark literally breathing down my neck.
I feel like ham in a sandwich.
Theo’s beginning to relax when Mark reaches across and taps the underside of his forearm to stop it from sagging.
The contact makes Theo lose count, and he steps forward when he should step back.
His momentum propels me into Mark. The top of my head collides with something suspiciously nose-like. The crack is alarmingly loud.
‘Fuck,’ Mark mutters, in pain.
‘Shit, sorry!’ exclaims Theo. ‘Is it bleeding?’
I spin round. ‘Yep.’
Yan jumps up. ‘Watch the carpet. I’ll never get blood out.’
Mark lifts the bottom of his T-shirt and brings it to his nose to stem the flow of blood. I stand back so I’m not quite so close to his exposed skin.
Yan was right about the rock-hard abs.
‘Let me have a look,’ says Theo, but he doesn’t get a chance because his phone starts ringing. ‘It’s Tig,’ he says, panicked. ‘She’ll get suspicious if I don’t answer.’
Yan is back from the kitchen with a wet towel, which I assumed was for Mark, but instead, he drops to the carpet and starts dabbing the fibres.
‘For God’s sake,’ I mutter. ‘Is no one going to help the man who’s actually bleeding?’ It’s a rhetorical question. ‘Let’s get you to the bathroom.’
Mark’s holding his head up, so I guide him along the corridor and into the bathroom.
‘Should I run the cold tap?’
He nods, then leaning over the sink, peels off his T-shirt and dunks it under the cool water.
‘Oh, I was going to get you a towel or something.’
‘No point getting blood on something else,’ he says, holding the wet shirt against his nose.
I stand there, not sure what to do. My eyes skim his back, taking in each well-defined muscle, then my gaze moves to his stomach, to where the sharp lines of his hip bones jut out from his ripped abdomen, leaving a V-shaped groove.
His body is spectacular; no wonder he’s so nonchalant about stripping off.
He catches me watching him in the mirror, but instead of looking away, I hold his eye.
You wanted me to look, right? I silently challenge. Why else take off your shirt?
‘How does it feel?’ I ask after a long beat. When he doesn’t answer, I specify. ‘Your nose – does it feel broken?’
He moves the shirt away from his face and tears his gaze from mine so he can examine his nose in the mirror. ‘It got broken once before. This feels different.’
He throws the wet shirt into the bath, then rinses his hands in the sink.
‘How did you break it?’ I ask, as he closes the tap. ‘Did you get caught with another man’s girlfriend?’
His eyes flash, lingering on my mouth.
I take a step back, but he leans forward, trapping me against the towel rail.
‘I know what you think of me.’ His voice has a hard edge. ‘But what I can’t work out is whether you want to be proven right or wrong.’
His eyes search mine, waiting for an answer.
If he didn’t have so much skin on show, I’d be able to think of a comeback. But he’s so close, and the heat rolling off him is frying my senses.
He brings his hand towards me, and I flinch.
My reaction must shock him because he freezes, and when I look up, I realise he was simply reaching for a towel from the rail behind me.
‘Sorry to disappoint you,’ he says, moving back, his expression unreadable. ‘But no angry boyfriends were involved. Just a drunk Giovanni and his angry fist.’