Chapter Seven #2
Shaking herself, Anna set the bowl in front of her daughter. ‘Sorry, miles away.’ She really had to pull herself together. It was as if her hormones, after so long in hibernation, had suddenly gone into overload.
‘Do you wish you were dancing with Dad instead of Dan?’
Bam. Maisie’s words pierced the silly fantasy bubble she’d been stuck in and Anna leant against the worktop as a wave of emotion hit her.
Chris, solid, stable, dependable Chris. Her anchor, her rock.
Tears pricked her eyes, reminding her it had been a while since she’d last cried.
A while since she’d allowed herself to wallow in the memories.
He was the man she should be dancing with tonight.
Life wasn’t bloody fair. First it had snatched him away from her.
Then it had made sure the only man to wake her hormones up in the five years since was a dishy, out-of-work actor.
Drawing in a deep breath, Anna bent to kiss the top of Maisie’s curly topped head. ‘Yes, darling, I wish it was your dad.’
‘But he’s never coming back.’
When’s Dad coming back? Had been a question Maisie had asked over and over again in the early days after Chris’s accident. Now her daughter’s recollection of her dad was dimmed. She’d known life without him longer than life with him. ‘No, he’s not.’
‘So you need to dance with Dan. He’ll make you laugh.’
‘You think so?’
Maisie grinned. ‘He makes me giggle loads. He did this thing today in class where he was Thor, kind of to shut Riley up. It was well good.’
Anna could see him as Thor. Not quite so broad, sure, but he had the height, the confidence.
The fair hair and dazzling blue eyes. ‘I wonder if he can dance as well as he can act,’ she mused as she took her bowl of spaghetti bolognaise and sat down opposite her daughter.
‘He seemed keen to go to the lessons, so maybe he wants to learn, too.’
Maisie licked the bolognaise sauce off her spoon before giving her a sly look. ‘Or maybe he just wanted to dance with you.’
* * *
Anna felt her pulse race as she stood opposite Dan in the school hall under the too-bright lighting. Bridget Hammond, dance instructor and teacher of year one, was scrutinising where Dan was about to put his hands. The anticipation was going to kill her.
‘Perfect,’ she said finally, beaming at Dan as if he was her star pupil.
Of course it was likely that he was, because in the fifteen minutes since they’d been here, it was obvious Dan hadn’t come to learn how to dance.
And she wasn’t going to wonder why he had come, because that led to thoughts of him feeling sorry for her, which was mortifying, or him liking her, which was terrifying.
The warmth of his hand on her back burned through the thin red top she’d changed into. If she looked straight ahead, she could see the tanned skin of his neck, the hint of a collarbone. If she looked up, she could see the strong jaw, the curve of his mouth. The bright blue of his eyes.
If she looked over his shoulder, she was safer. Except there was the cool, sophisticated tang of his aftershave that sent her insides fluttering.
‘You’ve come to show off,’ she muttered, desperate to bring this back to the ordinary.
She was standing so close she could feel the laughter rumble in his chest. ‘Of course.’ He dipped his head, his next words a warm whisper of breath against her ear. ‘I’ve also come to dance with you.’
There was no time for second-guessing, or stressing out, because the music started and Bridget was telling them to move again.
Oddly it didn’t seem to matter that she was hopeless, or that everything she’d learned from fifteen years of addiction to Strictly was of no help now she was dancing for real.
Dan was good enough to propel her across the floor, kind enough not to wince when she stumbled over his feet, and funny enough with his little side comments — I don’t believe you’ve stepped on my left small toe yet — to relax her.
And if she closed her eyes, the fluorescent lighting and the other dancers melted away.
It was just her, almost gliding across the floor in the arms of a tall, strong, divine-smelling man.
By the end of the hour, Anna felt energised, almost buzzing.
‘Did you enjoy that?’ Dan smiled down at her as they walked out, clearly able to read her expression.
‘You bet I did. When I shut my eyes I was in Blackpool.’
‘Riding the big dipper? Eating greasy fish and chips on the pier? Playing the slot machines?’
She gave him a gentle shove. ‘I was in the Tower Ballroom, wearing a sparkling dress. Craig Revel Horwood gave me a ten.’
‘He clearly hadn’t seen the bruises on my feet.’
A giggle escaped her. ‘Sorry. Next time I’ll wear slippers.’
‘There will be a next time then?’
They were nearly at her car and Anna suddenly didn’t want to go home. She wanted to keep talking to this man who was awakening places in her she’d long forgotten existed. ‘That’s rather up to you. If your toes can’t hack it, I understand.’
He halted when she did and gazed into her eyes, his breath visible against the dark night. ‘My toes do as I tell them.’
‘So it’s a yes from you?’
He laughed softly. ‘It’s a yes from me.’
‘You did cause a bit of stir mind,’ she added, remembering the shocked faces when they’d turned up. And the way every single female, irrelevant of age, had checked her reflection in the hall windows. ‘Bridget might not allow you to come next week.’
‘I’m her star pupil. She’ll allow me.’ He frowned. ‘You know I mentioned the class to Sid today and he nearly bit my head off when I suggested he join us.’
‘Really?’ Anna thought back to the last time she’d seen Sid and Bridget together. ‘I think Sid has a bit of a thing for Bridget.’
‘Ah.’ Understanding bloomed across his delectable face. ‘He’s at that I want to, but I’m scared to go there stage.’ Suddenly his eyes found hers. ‘I know the feeling.’
Anna felt the breath woosh out of her. Did he mean .
. . was it possible? Or was he thinking of a different woman, a sophisticated one who lived in London and moved in the same circles?
‘Are you hungry?’ she found herself blurting.
‘I have some bolognaise left over from our tea. I could easily boil some pasta, or do you a baked potato with it.’ Shit, she was rambling.
Who on earth offered anyone, never mind a celebrity, a flaming baked potato?
‘Thanks.’ His eyes looked almost black, but no less mesmerising.
‘But I’m trying to be good. I’m trying to ignore this need I have to bury my hands in your hair, bring your mouth to mine and kiss the living daylights out of you.
’ With her heart pounding away, her knees trembling, he gave her a wry smile.
‘If I say yes, I might forget to be good.’
Turning the collar of his coat up against the cold, he once again gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek. ‘Thank you for the dance. And for the toe crushing. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
Wordlessly she nodded and climbed into her car, all fingers and thumbs as she tried to put the key in the ignition.
I don’t want you to be good. The words she’d not been brave enough, not ready enough, to say.
But she’d thought them.