PROLOGUE
My fingers threaded through his as he led me along the long, carpeted corridor of the grand Hotel Paris. Heat sizzled between us as I squeezed him tighter, unable to wait for us to be alone.
‘This is my room,’ he said, stopping to pat down his pockets, presumably looking for his key card.
I ran my hand impatiently under his shirt, tugging hurriedly at the hem in an attempt to convey how desperate I was to rip the whole thing off and feel his golden-brown skin beneath my fingertips; to run my palms over his abs, which were so well defined that I’d been able to feel them through our clothes as we’d danced together down in the bar, performing the sexiest Argentine tango of my entire life.
‘Got it,’ he said, whipping the key card out of his pocket and tapping it on the pad.
The door opened and we stumbled inside, laughing softly in anticipation of what was to come. He kicked the doorshut behind him and I turned to face him, breathless with longing.
‘Come here,’ he said, holding out his hand.
I took it, letting him pull me into his arms, shivering involuntarily as he ran one hand down my spine, making my back arch with pleasure. Groaning, I didn’t care how primal I sounded – I wanted him, and I wanted himnow.
‘I do not even know your name,’ he growled, his voice low and gravelly, sounding older than the twenty-one or so years I guessed he was.
I hesitated. Tonight was the first night of the rest of my life. Or, to look at it a different way, the last night of my old life. I knew I would never see him again once morning came and that we didn’t have long together, but regardless I felt I was about to experience something – a significant moment in time – that I would always remember.
‘It’s Li,’ I said. It wasn’ttotallya lie.
‘Li,’ he repeated. The nickname only my sisters used sounded prettier in his husky, Italian lilt. ‘Well if you must be Li, then I will be G. Or you can just call me—’
I kissed him to cut him off, partly because I was desperate to but also to stop him from saying more. The less we knew about each other, the better.
CHAPTER ONELira
Thirteen Years Later
I waved goodbye to one of my favourite couples, Chris and Jenny, closing the front door of the studio behind them with a satisfying click. For the last forty-five minutes, I’d been teaching them a very simple Viennese waltz, involving minimal spinning and a whole lot of standing still while looking longingly into each other’s eyes. Neither of them were natural dancers, but it was my job to make sure that, when they took to the dance floor on their wedding day, they had their guests gasping in delight. With a few more lessons, I knew they were going to absolutely nail it.
My heels clattered on the sprung wooden floor as I walked across the studio, giving the bright, modern space a quick once-over. We’d been booked out for an audition that afternoon, so I left the speakers switched on, but turned offthe rotating glitter ball – I didn’t think the world-renowned Spanish choreographer Carlos Torres, who was apparently casting for a new West End show, would appreciate the multi-coloured beams of light swirling around the room. Much to my family’s amusement, I liked to have it spinning above our heads throughout all of my lessons – I thought it brought a touch of the Blackpool Tower Ballroom magic to our humble little dance studio in Castlebury, and put my clients in just the right mood to shed their inhibitions and get caught up in their dancing. It might all be in my head, but nobody had complained so far.
Determined to make the space look as perfect as possible for the casting, I had a quick tidy around. Carlos’s assistant had sounded stressed when she’d called to make the last-minute booking, enquiring as to where exactly Castlebury was. When I’d told her it was only seventeen minutes from Victoria on the fast train, she’d complained that nobody was going to show up for a casting ‘miles from London’. I’d reminded her that you could spend four times as long getting from one side of the capital to the other on the tube, but she’d refused to accept that the studio was anywhere other than the back end of nowhere.
If we hadn’t needed the money, and the prestige of being a venue for world-class choreographers to utilize, I would have told her to stick her booking.
Besides, what did she expect, leaving it until the day before the audition to book a space? Didn’t she know that Thursday afternoons were peak time for kids’ lessons? As ithappened, I’d had to cancel today’s toddlers tango, which wasn’t ideal, but with the costs of keeping the studio running at an all-time high, I hadn’t been able to turn the lucrative opportunity down. Hiring out the space to Carlos and his team was making us three times as much as we’d earn from those classes.
Not for the first time, I wished I had someone to talk things through with when it came to the operational side of the business. I’d long ago given up wishing Mum and Dad would step in and actually make a decision for once – I didn’t think it was unreasonable given it was actuallytheirbusiness. Most of the time it was great that they left me to run the studio however I saw fit, but sometimes I wondered whether I was going to spend the rest of my life working for my parents, teaching the foxtrot to local pensioners and having a skeleton of a social life, let alone a romantic relationship.
Out in the reception area, I straightened up the cerise velvet chairs and gave the champagne bar a wipe over with a damp cloth. Finally, I updated Chris and Jenny’s file with a couple of notes about what to focus on in our next session:Work on Chris’s arms! Remind them to create intimacy with eye contact, even when not in hold!
I was still sitting at the desk half an hour later when the bell tinkled. I looked up and smiled as Carlos Torres and his assistant, Emily, glided through the door as though they were making a flamboyant entrance stage right.
Carlos was renowned in the industry for being ruthlessand almostimpossibleto impress. I vaguely remembered him from my competing days, and he’d been terrifying even then. Seeing him again, after all this time, instantly took me back to the years I’d spent performing myself. I could even remember how the rehearsal rooms had smelled back then: like dust and sweat and wooden floors. Nothing like the light-filled space, with a delicate spritz of The White Company room spray, you could expect to find at our studio. If Carlos liked it here – and I struggled to see why he wouldn’t – maybe he’d use us on a more regular basis.
I slipped out from behind the desk to greet them, trying not to appear starstruck by being in Carlos’s presence again – even if I was, just a little bit.
‘Welcome to the James Jive Dance Studio,’ I said, proffering my hand. ‘I’m Lira James, the studio manager.’
Carlos looked at my hand suspiciously, and for a split second I thought he was going to leave me hanging. Then, with a sigh, as though he was doing me a huge favour, he shook my hand limply. Was it worth telling him that I used to dance, too? That he’d sat on a judging panel while I’d danced in front of him, many years ago? That he’d one hundred percent remember my mother even if he didn’t remember me? I thought probably not.
‘You must be Emily,’ I said, shaking the hand of Carlos’s even less enthusiastic assistant. ‘We spoke on the phone.’
Slim, blonde and sporting a pair of the most magnificent cheekbones I’d ever seen, she looked at me with irritation, as though I’d already managed to annoy her. God knowshow – it was probably the ‘horrendous’ journey out of London I’d forced her to endure.
‘How many auditionees are you expecting?’ I asked, grabbing a clipboard to scribble down some notes.
