The Pretend Boyfriend novel Chapter 18

"Now when my left leg moves forward, your right leg moves back. And vice versa. And then you move forward, and I move back."

"OK."

He begins to lead her. One step forward, one step back. She treads on his toes.

"It's OK," he whispers. "Smile and look radiant. No one will notice if your footwork isn't perfect."

She treads on his toes a couple more times. He smiles at her encouragingly.

"You're getting there," he whispers.

The look of surprise in her eyes suggests that she had no idea that he could actually be nice. He winces internally. Hey, I'm not that bad. I just don't want people to know it.

By the second stanza, she has gotten the hang of the dance steps. It's time to introduce more fancy moves.

"When I tell you to pirouette, you pirouette."

The tightening of her hand on his shoulder indicates that she is nervous.

"Don't worry. You're doing fine. Don't think about getting every move perfect. Let yourself flow into the music. Relax."

With that, she visibly relaxes and actually looks as though she's enjoying herself. He smiles at her.

"Now pirouette," he murmurs.

She takes her hand off his shoulder and makes several rotations before coming back to him. Their audience applauds.

By the third stanza, both of them are laughing and completely in tune with the music. He leans over and dips her head back, and she flexes her shoulders gracefully. It's like magic.

"Those Zumba classes really paid off," he teases.

"You actually remembered."

"I have an elephantine memory ... when I remember to use it."

She smiles, and he can see the fire in her eyes. They match each other move for move. They are both far from technically perfect, but their passion and enjoyment is contagious, and more than once, he hears whoops from their audience.

She catches on so fast that he finds himself wondering about her in bed. He can well imagine teaching her a few new sexual tricks and having her master them ... on him ... in a matter of minutes. His cock grows hard again at the thought. He inwardly groans. She's having some wild effect on him, and if he doesn't watch out, he'll find himself fucking her. Or trying to, seeing as she would probably club him on the side of the head before he can get beyond first base.

He wonders how much of why he is so attracted to her is because she doesn't want to have anything to do with him sexually. Once he has had her, would he continue to find her so engaging?

"Why do you that?" she asks. "Smoking is so bad for you."

He inhales deeply and lets out a cloud of smoke. "And here I thought we were getting along so well together."

"It's just a comment."

"They're just my lungs," he deadpans.

She pushes open the door, suddenly self-conscious. They are alone again. In a room with a bed.

He strides in and stubs the cigarette in an ashtray on the table. He starts tearing off his clothes in a completely oblivious way, not even looking at her as he throws his jacket, shirt, silk scarf and belt on the bed. He wrenches off his shoes and socks.

She clears her throat.

"Excuse me, but I think we should discuss our sleeping arrangements."

He turns to face her. He is dangerously handsome. His pants are unzipped and his thatch of pubic hair sprouts from his crotch.

He says, "It's easy. There's nothing to discuss. I'll take the bed and you'll take the couch."