I reached out and took her hand in both of mine before I could talk myself out of it. Her hand was soft skin and delicate bone, and I gently rubbed circles into her palm with my thumbs.
“How is your show going?” I asked. “Has your partner learned to watch himself?”
“No,” she said, with a small laugh. “He’s a menace, as always, but I think I’ve learned to dance around him. Some added choreography. That’s why I’m here, rehearsing alone. Safer that way.” She glanced down at her hand in mine, then back to me. “That feels nice,” she said softly.
I nodded, and let go of her hand to take the other one, gently massaging and squeezing the tension out.
“I had a really good time the other night,” she said.
“You were an incredible dancer then, too,” I said. “With Jackson.”
“I wanted to dance with you.”
“I’m no good.”
“I’ll bet that’s not true.”
I smiled, concentrating on her hand. If I looked up at her beautiful face this close to mine, I wouldn’t do what I came here to do. “I’m pretty sure the only move I could pull off is the dip.”
“A dip is easy,” Darlene said. “All you have to do is be there for the woman. Hold her. Make sure she doesn’t fall.”
Slowly, I raised my eyes to meet hers. “I want to try.”
Our gazes held for a moment, the air thick between us. Darlene moved close into my space, and my senses were overwhelmed by the heat of her body and the perfume of her skin; daisies tinged with the salt of her sweat.
Her mouth was inches from mine, as she ringed her arms around my neck. Her breasts pressed against my chest.
“Hold your right arm out at an angle,” she said. Her breath was sweet against my cheek.
I did as she said and, effortlessly, she hooked her leg over so that my arm held her under the crook of her knee.
“Make a right angle out of your other arm,” she said.
I did, creating a stiff-armed frame around her.
“You got me?” she asked.
“Yeah,” I said, daring a glance at her eyes. “I got you.”
A smile spread over her lips, and slowly, with precise yet fluid movements, she bent herself back over my arm, her hands reaching for the floor, while her leg, hooked on my other arm, anchored her. I watched her bend, watched her breasts strain against the black material of her shirt as she flowed backward like water. She stretched her other leg behind her in a split, and her reaching fingertips grazed her foot.
Instinctively, I bent my knee to dip her lower, keeping my arms stiff like scaffolding while she flowed and ebbed around me.
I held her securely for a long moment, then slowly straightened. She came up with me, graceful in my arms, our gazes locked. Her leg came down but her arms were still around my neck. Mine slipped around her waist.
“How was that?” I whispered my mouth inches from hers.
“Perfect,” she said.
I watched her form the word. Her teeth grazed her lower lip over the ‘f’ and then I had to have her. Without thought or hesitation, I laid my mouth to hers.
She gave a little gasp and her lips parted for me. I deepened the kiss, while wondering how I’d lived twenty-four years without having kissed her before.
Kissing Darlene was kissing all of her. I tasted the sweetness of her, the energy she put into her art. Her breath suffused my mouth and I inhaled her.
This is life.
My tongue slid against hers, and the taste of her went straight to my head like a shot of whiskey. She moaned—not quietly—and I swallowed that, too.