Dancing Shoes and Honky-Tonk Blues (11 page)

I don’t know what he said but it sure sounded nice even though he might have just said shut the hell up. Why are foreign languages so much sexier than English? I’m touched when he wipes the tear away with his thumb. Then to my utter surprise Rio lowers his head and brushes his mouth across mine. He pulls back slightly and I think he means to end the brief contact, but with a low groan he suddenly captures my mouth in a head-swimming kiss.

The Rut Is Officially Over

The touch of Rio’s tongue to mine sends liquid fire through my veins and I wrap my arms around his neck to steady my trembling legs. He pushes me back against the cool wall and kisses me with a wild, hot hunger that has me melting. I thread my fingers through his hair and press my body to his, crushing my breasts against his chest. In my heels we are almost the same height, making his hard body mold to mine in all the right places. I move sensually against him, making desire flare and begin to build. Rio moans and kisses me even more deeply.

I’ve never been kissed like this . . . with so much heat and passion. When he tugs on my bottom lip with his teeth a warm ripple spreads out to my fingertips and down to my toes. Then his moist lips, hot mouth, discover the sensitive side of my neck and with a soft sigh I angle my head to give him better access.

Needing to feel his bare skin, I tug his silky shirt from his pants and then slide my hands up his back, loving the supple ripple of muscle beneath my palms. “My God, Rio . . .” My voice doesn’t even sound like my own and I’m wondering how I suddenly became this sultry, sex kitten. It occurs to me that I’ve really blown my being in a rut all to hell in very short order. I chuckle at the thought and even
that
sounds low, sexy, and inviting . . . Wow, who knew that this could be so easy?

But then Rio suddenly goes very still and I’m thinking that maybe my laughter must have been a mood killer. “Rio . . .” I begin but he shakes his head and then takes a giant step back.

“¿Mi Dios, qué hago yo?”
he mutters as he threads his long fingers through his hair.

I don’t know what that meant but it didn’t sound good. I’m really gonna have to invest in a Spanish dictionary. He looks confused and I’m thinking vulnerable. “Rio?” With my hand outstretched I start to close the distance between us but he stops me in my tracks when that damned eyebrow shoots up.

“Well,” he begins in a smooth and emotionless tone that is void of all the earlier heat. “That was a plus.”

“What?” Color me confused.

“There’s a bit of a spark.”

A bit?
More like an inferno. I know I’m blinking at him in total confusion but I can’t help it.

“We’ll need that passion in our routine. Now that I know you can pull it off we’ll use it to our advantage.”

My heart plummets to my toes like a fast-moving elevator making my stomach lurch. “So, that was a little . . .
test
?”

He avoids looking at me but says, “Yes, and you passed with flying colors. Good for you. Now let’s put some of that heat into the cha-cha. What do you say?”

I open my mouth to say just what I’m thinking of him and his little test but I’m so pissed that all that comes out my mouth is a feeble sputter. I want to put some of that
heat
into a slap right across his handsome face. Okay, I’ve never even come close to slapping a guy before . . . not even in the diner when Cooter Buckthorn pinched my butt, but boy oh boy, I’m thinking that a loud smack would be mighty satisfying right about now.

This isn’t the first time that I’ve been made a fool of by a guy, but for some reason this one really has me seeing red. While I’m thinking maybe a swift punch in the nose might be an excellent follow-up to the slap Rio points a small remote at the boom box, turning on the music. “Do you remember the basic steps from this morning?” he asks smoothly as he takes me into the closed position. Maybe he wouldn’t be so calm if he knew he was about to get his butt kicked. One, two, slap, slap,
punch.

“Of course,” I tell him in a clipped tone while racking my brain to recall the first sequence. Slide basic, cross over, walk around, underarm turn . . . or was it the open break? And do I go right or left in the solo turn?

“Now remember that the dance is a sexual pantomime. I’m seducing you and you’re pushing me away.”

“No
problem
,” I tell him through gritted teeth but if he notices my sarcasm he chooses to ignore it. In fact, I’m
so
ticked off that I dance to the music while following his lead without even thinking about the steps because I’m so busy fuming. I guess there’s something to the muscle memory theory. My anger makes my steps short and crisp, but despite my anger I still have to try my damnedest not to be affected by his nearness, the heat of his body, and the possessive feel of his hand on my back. When he cha-cha-cha-chases me I retreat with a haughty lift of my chin and fire in my eyes. I wouldn’t be surprised if smoke was curling out of my ears.

“Abby, stop.” He ceases dancing and mutes the music with the remote that was in his front pocket.

Oh, so
that’s
what that was. I was wondering. “What?”

“This isn’t the tango.”

“I know that.” This means nothing to me but I nod. “Your point?”

“You need to be bubbly . . . flirt with me.
Tease.
”

I look down at my fancy shoes that are beginning to hurt and shrug my shoulders. Just when I was feeling proud of my dancing he has to go and ruin my moment. Hanging my head I say rather glumly, “I’m not very good at flirting.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

I snap my head up at his tone. “Why do you say that?”

“Look at you,” he says with a wave of his hand. “Surely you have to fight guys off with a stick. Those legs alone are enough to—”

When he suddenly ceases my heart begins to pound. “To what?”

“Oh, come on, Abby.” He sounds a little irritated. “What game are we playing? You must know your appeal.”

I laugh without humor. “My appeal? Rio, my whole life I’ve been a gangly, clumsy geek. I’ve never even had a steady boyfriend. And I don’t know how to play games unless you count poker, which I’m pretty good at, but I don’t think that’s what you mean.”

Rio frowns at me for a second. “Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack.”

“Come on. You look like you should have been . . . what do they call it? . . . prom queen or whatever.”

“Didn’t even get asked to go.” I chew on the inside of my lip and then blink away the moisture burning behind my eyes. “Doesn’t matter anymore but it still hurts to be played like a fool.”

“Abby, I wasn’t playing you for a fool. About before—”

I halt him by putting both palms up like a cop directing traffic. If I had a whistle I would have blown it too. “Forget about it, Rio. It ticked me off but I get what you were doing.”

“Mi Dios.”
He runs his fingers through his hair and looks at me for a long moment before giving me a slow smile. “Okay, who cares about being prom queen? You’re going to be the Redneck Ballroom Dancing Queen.”

“Ya think?” I joke but I was secretly hoping that he was going to say something different . . . like he found me irresistible and couldn’t stop himself from kissing me, but I force a smile, anyway.

“Yes,
I think.
After all, you have me as your teacher.” With a teasing wink he jams his thumb toward his chest.

“Oh, how lucky can I get?” I tease back while I’m thinking
not nearly lucky enough
but then mentally chastise myself.
Don’t go there, Abby!
I try really hard not to stare at the nice slice of exposed chest that felt so supple and smooth beneath my hands. He really should button that danged shirt up.

“Ah, now you’re seeing things my way.” He points the small remote toward the boom box and the music starts up again. “Now back to work.”

I groan. “But my dogs are barkin’.”

“What?”

“My feet hurt.”

He shrugs. “You want to win this thing, right?”

“But—”

“No buts. Now show me some Cuban motion! Balls of the feet! Swing those hips, Abby.
Flirt
. Make me want you and then shove me away.”

Oh, I want him all right. It’s the shoving away part that’s gonna be tough. I have to laugh even though my feet are killing me and the muscles in my calves are as tight as hard-packed snowballs. I’m still a little miffed about the kissing test that he gave me but every once in a while I catch him giving me an unguarded glance that tells me that our little interlude might not have been as one-sided as he pretended. Not that I’m about to go there again . . . once bitten twice shy and all that. But his belief in me is something I’ve latched on to like a pit bull. This whole competition might be a joke or a spoof or whatever Comedy Corner wants to call it, but to me this is serious stuff and I aim to win or at the very least give it my best shot.

“One more time, Abby.”

Groan. “Okay . . .” One more time turns into ten. I’m grinding my teeth and biting my tongue but I refuse to cry uncle.

“Good job,” Rio finally tells me and I notice that he’s actually broken a sweat.
Imagine that
. After glancing at his watch he says, “Wow, we danced right through the afternoon break. Time for dinner.”

“Thanks for working extra with me, Rio.” I’m smiling even though my feet are on fire and I think that even my skin is tired.

“No problem,” he replies with a smile and I’m thinking that we’re sharing a warm and fuzzy moment until he says, “Um, Abby, take your shoes off unless of course you plan on dancing all the way back to your room.”

“I was considering it,” I lie.

“Yeah, right,” he says with a chuckle but then his smile fades and he gives me a look that I can’t quite decipher. “You’re something else, you know that?”

“Is that good or bad?” I act like I’m joking but I secretly want to know.

“Bad . . . all bad,” he answers with a frown. Of course my eyes must be as big as twenty-five-cent gum balls, because he laughs. “Abby, I’m just kidding.”

“I knew that,” I lie and purse my lips for good measure.

“Right.” He draws out the word and gives me a knowing grin. “I do have a sense of humor, you know.”

“Right . . .” I mimic and he laughs again. I sit down on a nearby bench with a wince as I begin to unbuckle one shoe. “Ah, that feels so good.”

“Your dogs still barking?”

“No, they’re too
doggone
tired. All they can manage is whimperin’,” I answer with a weak grin.

Rio gives me a look that’s actually laced with sympathy. “Here,” he says softly. Brushing away my hands, he kneels down in front of me on one leg and props my foot up onto his thigh. I try not to dwell on how his silky shirt is molded to his damp skin but, heaven help me, I
am
dwelling and I have to grip the edges of the wooden bench so as not to reach out and touch him. He bends his dark head and eases my shoe off my foot. Good Lord, I hope that my feet don’t stink! I’m thinking that he’s going to lower my foot and undo the other shoe but instead he grips my heel in his palm and then
ohmigod
, he begins to massage the ball of my foot with his thumb.

“Is this making it better?” Without looking up he massages deeper using both of his thumbs to work his magic. When he looks up in question I nod because speaking is beyond me at this point. My tired body is about to slither right off the bench like melted butter on a hot griddle. I grip the bench so hard that I wonder if I’m leaving fingernail marks.

“Relax, Abby.”

“I’m relaxed,” I lie.

Rio glances at my white-knuckled grip and shakes his head. “Lean back against the wall and close your eyes.”

“ ’Kay,” I say weakly.

“Now breathe deeply and try to release the tension.”

“ ’Kay,” I lamely repeat and suck in a big breath of Rio-scented air. Can a girl have an orgasm from getting her feet rubbed? I’m thinking yes. The cool wall feels good against my shoulder blades and his warm hands are easing the pain while making my feet feel tingly and pliant. “Mmmm,” I groan long and low in my throat. It’s kinda embarrassing but I can’t help it.

When he finishes with my now limp, droopy foot I’m disappointed and thinking of protesting until he starts working on my other foot and I’m suddenly wishing I had two more feet instead of hands, but then again that would be weird . . . Bottom line is that I don’t want him to stop. Ever.

“Feeling better?”

“Mmmm . . . if you ever give up teaching rednecks to dance you could make millions doin’ this.”

He chuckles. “Millions, huh?”

“I’d fork it over in a heartbeat at the end of a double.”

“What’s a double?”

“Back-to-back shifts. Basically workin’ from mornin’ till night.”

“You have to do that very often?”

I hear a frown in his voice but I’m too weak to open my eyes to find out. “Um-hmm, more often than not.”

“That’s got to be difficult.” His hands still for a minute and I wiggle my foot in impatience.

“I’m used to it.” With my eyes still closed I shrug, making my shoulders slide against the smooth wall. “I’m not alone. Most of the folks here in Misty Creek are in the same boat . . . working overtime or moonlightin’. A lot of the farmers have second jobs when farming is enough work for an army. We might be rednecks but let me tell ya, Rio Martin, we’re the backbone of this country.”

Rio remains silent and I think I might have gone overboard with my little speech so I sneak a peek at him through my eyelashes. He has a thoughtful frown on his face and seems to have totally forgotten about my tired feet. “Um . . . whoof, whoof.”

His frown disappears and he grins. “Okay, okay. So your dogs are still barking.”

“Yes, uh, but not stinkin’, I hope?”

Rio waves a hand over my foot. “Now that you mention it.”