Love Waltzes In (Dancing Under The Stars) (3 page)

“Bret! What are you doing here?” Selena thought for a second that he was going to hug her, but he just crossed his arms, holding a shoebox. She was grateful that her sunglasses hid the guilt behind her eyes. All she knew was that he had been given orders to some base in North Carolina. She’d sent him a final letter during boot camp ending their engagement. Such a coward, she hadn’t even shown up at his graduation to tell him in person. She couldn’t bear to face him because she had already made her painful decision and there was no way she could ever reverse it. She’d never heard from him again. He'd vanished from her life. Not even a Facebook account she could stalk. All she could do was occasionally scour the Internet, looking for the names of casualties in the war. She'd breathe easier after not seeing his name. For a while, at least.

He opened his mouth to reply but Selena blurted out, “Are you still in the Marines?”

Bret’s blue eyes blinked hard. “Yes. I won’t retire for ten more years.”

“I can’t believe it’s really you,” she said.

Finally Bret stepped forward, one arm extended, as if showing some affection was an obligation. Selena returned the gesture. The shoebox Bret that clutched forced a space between them, like an invisible line. Her cheeks stretched into a thin smile, one meant to lessen some of the pressure around them.

He released her and Selena
pushed up her sunglasses on her head so she could study him. Was this gorgeous man the same scrawny teenage boy whom she’d lost her virginity to? His hair was cut short and his skin a deep brown that no tanning bed could achieve. The bottom of a U.S.M.C. tattoo was visible from his sleeve. His lips curved into that lazy grin of his.

He was sexier than any movie star she had met over the years. The thought of being with a real man, muscles sculpted from carr
ying weapons, not practicing Pilates, made her quiver.

Selena glanced down at his left hand. No ring. The breath she’d been holding escaped. But it bothered her that she was happy he wasn’t married.

“I almost didn’t recognize you, blondie. You look great, Sel. In the magazines, your face is always painted and you look fake.”

Selena shuddered. She was in her sweats without so much as a tinted moisturizer or lip-gloss. He thought she looked great? If
Dima saw her now, he would scold her about her image.

Though Bret kept his distance, hi
s minty scent filled the air.

She glanced down for a moment, before meeting his gaze with renewed confidence. “Nationals are here tomorrow. Are you stic
king around?”

“Wasn’t planning on it.” He gave a half smile. “You’ve been to one competition, you’ve been to them all.”

Selena nodded, despite feeling a tad bit hurt by his response. She cleared her throat. “Maybe we can grab a drink tonight? To catch up.”

Bret took out his phone, thumbs moving across the virtual ke
yboard. “I’d love to Sel, but I have plans.”

Was he still upset after all these years about the way she had ended their engagement? Her cheeks burned with guilt. A hollow
pain radiated in her chest. Ten years of wondering, imagining, dreaming of their reunion, and all she got was a weak hug? She couldn’t even get her first love to have a casual drink with her. Selena bit her lips and shrugged her shoulders. Yes, she had ended it, but she hadn’t been given a choice. Her mother had sacrificed so much for Selena’s career. Selena couldn’t just give it all up to become some teenage bride on a military base. She had to support her family, especially after her father died. Bret was the one who decided to quit dancing and join the Marines. They could’ve stayed together and been partners on and off the floor.

Benny Brooks snuck up behind them. “Bret
m’boy. Great to see you again. I see you’ve reacquainted yourself with Selena—why don’t you both come inside and we can get started.”

Get started? What was going on?

Bret fidgeted. “I have to dance  . . . with her?”

Benny’s lips turned upwards into a devilish grin. He opened the doors to the ballroom. “Selena, I want you to partner Bret for his tryout.”

A thud echoed against the floor. Selena’s purse lay at her feet, and she scrambled to pick it up again. “Benny, uhm, you never said it was a tryout. You said you just needed to borrow me to run through choreography?”

“Sorry, lassie. I thought it would be best if you dance with Bret for his audition. I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors that we’re hiring a new professional this season.
A true blue United States Marine. The audience will love him. They’re sick of seeing all the foreign wankers. And since you used to be his Sheila, I thought it would be easier for him to dance with you.”

Bret clenched his face. “Whatever you say, Benny.” Bret walked into the ballroom, sat on a chair and took some dancing shoes out of the box.

Selena looked over at Bret. “Tryout? Uhm, of course, Benny. No problem. I didn't know Bret was,”—Selena’s gaze darted over to Bret only for a moment, while her cheeks burned—“I mean, I thought he was still in the Marine Corps. But of course, you’d be lucky to have him on the show. He is, I mean, was, an amazing dancer.” She picked up her bag, sat on a chair on the opposite side of the room from Bret, and started attacking the soles of her shoes with her shoe brush, pieces of suede flying in the air.

Despite her childhood dreams of her and Bret making a life t
ogether, she hadn’t been able to turn down Dima’s partnership offer. She had made an agonizingly difficult decision. Now, Selena was exactly where she'd hoped to be in her career. But she never expected Bret would be sitting in the same room, waiting to dance with her again.

He seduced her with a glance. Pulling her toward him, he had her in his grasp, but she retreated. She danced around him, her hands tracing his chest. He took her by the waist, pressing her against his body. Leaning into him, she savoured his scent. She wanted to give herself completely to him, but couldn’t trust him. Spinning around, she gave him a longing look, then slipped away.

Bret laced up his dance shoes. After the fog of war had burned off, he’d finally made the decision to do the show. Just one visit to see Pierce’s family and look at his little boy’s face made Bret knew he had to do everything in his power to provide for them.

He had requested approval from the Marine Corps and his o
rders were recently approved. Too bad he had to burn through two years of personal vacation time to do the show. He had one shot to convince the executive producer of
Dancing under the Stars
that he was the right man for the job. Bret was perfect on paper—a decorated United States Marine, an American Ballroom Champion—but could he still dance? He’d have to prove himself.

Seeing Selena . . . it threw him. He’d known, of course, that he’d have to see her if he was cast on the show, but he hadn’t counted on seeing her so soon and definitely didn’t think he’d have to dance with her, touch her, smell her. She looked so hot, all nat
ural and not painted up. The thought of running his hands all over her curvy body made him lose his focus. He wasn’t prepared to be this close to her so soon.

He walked over to Benny. His former master coach looked just like Bret remembered: tall, silver-haired, with just a hint of sleaze.
Ballroom’s very own Crocodile Dundee. An icon in the dance world, Benny was a six-time Blackpool champion, winning twice with each of his first three wives. His fourth and current wife,
Dancing under the Star’s
professional dancer Vika, was a twenty-four-year-old Ukrainian knockout who was also Dima’s cousin. Benny was dressed in a blood-orange silk suit with a black button-up shirt that was tightly fitted.  His hair was the same color as the sterling silver in his Australian black jade bolo tie.

Benny held out his hand. “This is just a formality. I told the other producers that a better man never stood
in two dance shoes. Your blood’s worth bottling. It would be an honor to have a hero on our show.”

Bret cleared his throat. He never knew how to respond to someone calling him a hero. “Thank you, Benny, for giving me the opportunity. It’s great to see you again.”

The doors flew open and Bret was overtaken with the smell of strong perfume. Karen Brooks Lopez stormed in. Karen was a two-time Blackpool Latin Champion with Benny, her first husband. They had two children together, Nicole and Jared. Then Karen shocked the dance world by leaving Benny when she was thirty, at the peak of her career, for her eighteen-year-old student Carlos Lopez. Karen trained Carlos and eventually they won Blackpool, stealing the title from Benny and his then wife. Karen had a reputation for being a diva, demanding limousines and five hundred thread count sheets. She and Carlos spent all of their energy training their own little devil spawn, Gregory Lopez, a brilliant rising star in the amateur Latin world.

Karen took Bret’s face in her hands and kissed his cheeks. “Bret, wow. You have turned into a sexy man.” She ran her fingers over his biceps and Bret flinched.

“Hi, Karen. You look beautiful as always.” Bret kissed her hand, and tried to create some distance between them. 

“Oh, Bret. I can see you are still the charmer. I’ll tell Carlos to watch out—I might have found my next husband. Need to catch up to Benny.” She laughed.

Her cackle reminded Bret of the screaming golden jackals in Iraq.

Benny rubbed his temples. “Are we done? We have a show to cast? Don’t mind her Bret, she’s got kangaroos loose in the top paddock.”

Bret laughed. He had always loved Benny’s funny Australian slang.

Karen playfully smacked Bret’s butt. “Well I’m ready for a show.” Her fake, plumped lips curled and she flashed Bret a smile.

Bret made his way toward Selena, his body clenched, nervous to touch her. “So now you know why I’m here. I’m still in the Marines—they just gave me special leave to do the show. I’m trying to raise money for my buddy’s family. He was killed in Iraq.” Bret left out the detail that Pierce was killed on a patrol that Bret was supposed to go on.

“Bret, that’s horrible. I’m sorry about your friend.” Selena’s green eyes seemed almost dazed.

It was now or never.

He reached his hand out to her. She looked sweet, exactly as he remembered her, though he wasn’t a fan of her blond hair. Selena’s
skin glowed, showing off her freckles that always were airbrushed in the magazines. Her hair was pulled of her face and seemed wet, as if she had just emerged from the shower, a vision Bret was trying to push out of his mind. 

“I didn’t expect to run into you today. I wanted to make the show on my own, without any favors.”

She bit her lip, then stood up, took his hand, and got into position. “Ready?”

“Absolutely.” He forced a smile but couldn’t look her in the eyes more than a second. 

Once he’d returned from Iraq, his mom started training him in secret. She had rented a small dance studio in Oceanside, and Bret was stationed in nearby Camp Pendleton. He had adopted Banjo, a pug/lab mix from a high-kill shelter in Los Angeles. Every day after work, he would practice. He spent most nights escaping with Banjo to dog beach to relax. Well, that and trying to teach Banjo to turn off the lights, open the refrigerator, and fetch him a beer. Being back on American soil and staring out at the clear ocean, Bret had regained his sanity and made peace with his time in Iraq. He had enjoyed his last days of anonymity. Now, his moment of truth had come.

Benny turned on the music. “How about a foxtrot?” George Michael’s voice started singing “Feeling Good.”

Bret pulled Selena into his arms. “Sounds good.” He adjusted her into a classic foxtrot hold.

Selena leaned her body against his. He swayed her back and forth. They took a few basic steps, and he led her into promenade. He
turned his head toward her and held her gaze this time. He remembered when they had been “America’s Ballroom Sweethearts,” the entire industry pinning its hopes on their backs like a million targets. Their career was mapped out for them, with sponsors who funded their travel, their coaching expenses, their costumes. They’d been the future of dancesport. But Bret wanted to do something honorable with his life and she had initially supported his decision to enlist. And at the time, it was a practical decision. Back then, there was no future in ballroom dancing. No television shows, no endorsements, no way to support a family. She said she’d wait for him but by the time he graduated from boot camp, she was long gone.

Her thumb hooked around his right bicep as they merged t
ogether. The thump of her heartbeat vibrated off his chest. He still knew every inch of her body. It wasn’t right, to get caught up in the past like this, to remember her this way. But dancing had a way of doing that, of grabbing onto any weak flame and igniting it. Bret took charge and guided her through the steps. They flowed around the floor.

After two laps, Benny changed the song. George was now sin
ging “Jesus to a Child.” “Rumb-er, please,” Benny called out.

Bret’s fingers traced over her wrist. They began to dance a slow, soulful rumba.

Their rumba.

He pushed her away from him and led her into an overturned back break and then pulled her back into him. His hands dropped around
her tiny waist, and their hips melted together. Her body moved with his, perfectly in sync. They had once danced as a boy and a girl. Now, they danced as a man and a woman. The back of his hand brushed her neck. A lock of hair fell on her cheek. His fingers traced down her body. “I missed you,” she whispered as she wrapped her leg around him.

Missed him? She had left him while he was away for three months and before he’d even had a chance to chase her, she had run off to dance with
Dima. He’d missed her plenty—all those lonely nights of boot camp. Every time he got his ass handed to him by the drill instructors, thinking of her had given him a reason to push forward. At first she wrote him weekly, then the letters tapered off. She then sent him a final letter, ending their engagement and telling him she had returned her ring to his mother. When she didn’t show up at his graduation, he pushed her out of his mind. It worked for a while—until she started popping up on television and every newsstand in the country.

He pressed his lips to her ear, but no sound came out. He placed his hand on her lower back and dipped her to the floor.

Benny cut off the music.

“Ace! Bravo, mate. You haven’t lost your step. I told the suits as much. What do you think, lassie?”

Selena pulled away from Bret. “It’s as if he never quit.”

Benny conferred with Karen, acting like professionals, not ex-spouses. Karen laughed at something Benny was saying. Selena and Bret stood there, both keeping their gaze up front.

A chill crept up Bret’s back. Selena had been so warm against him just a minute ago. But she belonged in his past. Maybe he had held her too close. Could she see right through him still? He’d been wrong before. It wasn’t dancing that was awkward as hell. It was this, the aftermath.

Benny turned and smiled. “Welcome to
Dancing under the Stars
! I told them the other day; I said he’s the good oil. Surer than a bum in the bucket. The others thought you might have lost your touch. I said, ‘not unless the Sahara freezes over and the camels come home with skates on.’”

Karen kissed Bret and rubbed her nails through his hair. But he was so thrilled he squeezed her without a thought.

Bret had done it. Everything had fallen into place. He’d have enough money to help out Pierce’s family.

“Congrats, Bret,” Selena embraced him. “I can’t wait to work with you this season.”

His mouth stretched wide, and he was seized with the urge to hold her again. But he couldn’t let himself go there, ever. Bret could never trust Selena. He hoped that he didn’t have to ever dance with her again and could focus on raising money for his fallen friend.

He decided to thank her for making him look good on the floor. A dancer was only as good as his partner, and despite her shock of seeing him without warning, she’d held her own with him. But she was already looking away, so he aimed his grin at Benny and K
aren instead, extending a hand. “Thank you, Benny, Karen. I won’t disappoint you.”

“I’m sure you won’t. We have some details to go over with the contract.” Benny addressed Selena. “Thanks, lassie. We won’t need you anymore.

She twirled a lock of her hair. “You sure? I can stay and give him some pointers, if you like.”

Benny shooed her away. “I know you have to get ready for t
omorrow. You can shoot through.”

“Okay. Bye, Bret.” She turned toward Bret and gave him a quick hug. “See you soon.” She removed her shoes, placed them in her bag,
put her sunglasses back on, and walked out of the ballroom. The door slammed behind her.

“She’ll be
apples. Now, tomorrow night, we have a crew ready to take some footage for your introduction on the show,” Benny said as he rifled through his briefcase.

“Tomorrow? At the competition?” Bret didn’t want to watch Selena compete.
At least not with Dima. Bret wanted to focus on the show.

“Well, you must lob in. You’ll get to mingle with most of the cast. There’s also a surprise for you.”

A surprise? Dancing with Selena was enough of a surprise. What else was Benny plotting? “I’ll be there.”

Benny rattled on about schedules, media appearances, and payment plans as Karen gazed at Bret. Bret could've paid attention, if it weren’t for Selena's lingering scent on his skin.