The Romance Dance: Castle Ridge Small Town Romance Read online

  “The dancer from New York.” Izzy took off the white chef’s hat and tucked away reddish-blonde strands of hair escaping her topknot. She took a seat. “You two should have a lot in common.”

  His pulse jumped, not wanting his sister to reveal his past. “What would a construction worker and a ballet dancer have in common?” He formed the sentence as a question, but the warning should be clear.

  “What indeed?” His sister wiggled her eyebrows.

  Of course, his sister didn’t take the hint. She never took hints.

  He glanced at Quinn and back to Izzy. Before she caused more trouble, he asked, “How are the remodel plans for the restaurant and kitchen?”

  “I don’t know.” She huffed. “The hotel owner is keeping it a secret.”

  “You’re not doing the remodel, Reed?” Quinn’s sharp blue gaze went between them. “He’s done such a fabulous job on my dance studio.”

  Her praise puffed up his chest. “Wasn’t even asked. Brought in a firm from California.”

  Another big secret of Parker Williamson’s, the hotel owner. The man had been acting strange for the past few months, but who was Reed to judge?

  “What brings you to our little ski town?” Izzy leaned her elbows on the table, ready to listen to a good story. “Do you ski?”

  “Not since I was a child.” His tenant shook her head, and a strand of hair escaped from its severe bun. The urge to tug on the hair and paw the softness itched in his fingers. “My grandparents lived in Castle Ridge, and I had fond memories of my visits.” Quinn’s voice tinged with renewed sadness he hated to hear. “I’d planned to live there. At the last minute, I needed to sell their house to fund my studio. A long and sad story.”

  He wanted to hear. He wanted to know everything about this intriguing woman. His heart slammed against his ribcage. No. He would walk her home, say goodnight, and avoid her.

  “Do you enjoy dancing, Izzy?” His new tenant’s determination sprang forward.

  He admired how Quinn went after what she wanted. He used to be like that. Until the accident. Now, he wasn’t interested in anything except work.

  “Only my brothers call me Izzy. Reed has this thing with nicknames.” His sister messed his hair. “And I love to dance.”

  While he was the exact opposite. Now. He used to love music and dancing and socializing in a crowd. When he’d been injured and lost his fiancée, none of that mattered anymore. Surviving was his only goal.

  “You have to take my free adult sample classes at the studio.”

  “I will.” Izzy stood and plopped her hat back on her head. “I need to get back to work.”

  After she left, Quinn asked, “I’ve met your sister and your brother. Any other family members around?”

  “My parents moved to Florida.”

  She scrunched her face into a questioning expression. “Why would they move when their kids live here?”

  “None of us were living here when they made the decision.” Oops. He didn’t want to talk about where he’d lived. That would only lead to other questions. “What about you? Any annoying siblings?”

  “Only child, although I always wished I had a brother or sister. My mother was a single parent and died when I turned eighteen.” Quinn didn’t seem as sorrowful about her mother’s death as her grandparents.

  “I’m sorry.” Sympathy flickered through him, imagining never seeing his parents again. He didn’t visit them often enough because his parents fussed and nagged him to be more social.

  He’d never return to his old ways. His real career had ended. His fiancée gone. He’d never play in front of large audiences again. He’d never hear sweet music in his head. He’d never love a woman.

  Dax strutted into the restaurant like a model for an outdoorsman advertisement. Tight jeans, nice sweatshirt, stylish jacket. When they’d been younger, Reed had always strutted beside him, not realizing how it appeared or the effect it had on the local girls.

  Envy buzzed and he tried to squash it. Dax was more handsome, more social, and more able-bodied. The slight curls of his brother’s too-long blond hair bounced with the movement. He waved to a couple of the townspeople Reed had ignored.

  “Speaking of annoying siblings.”

  Quinn’s eyes widened when she spotted his brother, and her mouth moved into a welcoming smile. The two of them would look good together. Reed hardened his lips, trying not to snarl.

  His brother gripped his shoulders and rubbed. “Hey, big brother.” Dax swiveled toward Quinn and winked. “Hello, beautiful. You danced through my dreams last night.”

  What a corny line.

  Her winsome chuckle showed she appreciated his remark.

  Reed’s stomach soured. “What do you want?”

  His brother quirked his head and examined him, as if he were a competitor. “Is that any way to welcome your much younger and handsomer brother?” Dax took the seat Izzy had vacated.

  Quinn picked up her purse and stood. Maybe she was trying to escape his brother, too. “If you two will excuse me for a moment. I’ll be back.”

  “Dax will be gone.” Reed’s tone came out too fast and too hard. He shouldn’t be angry at the interruption. He should leave and let his brother take his place.

  Her smile slipped. “Oh.”

  His bones cracked with her disappointment about not spending time with his little brother.

  “I will await your return.” His brother bowed his head in a flourish.

  Reed waited for Quinn to get out of hearing range, then smacked his younger brother on the arm. “You look like an idiot.”

  “You act like a caveman.” Dax analyzed him. “Why? If you’re not interested in Quinn?”

  “I’m not interested in her.” Reed’s cock protested. Even so, he wouldn’t let himself become interested. He wasn’t the right kind of man for her. A principal ballerina was too good for him. Any woman was too good for him.

  “If you have no personal interest in her, you can help me win her.”

  The request cut across his chest. “You don’t need any help with the ladies, Romeo.” Reed knew how Dax operated. He was a love-them-and-leave-them type of guy.

  “I’ve been off my game lately.” His tone lowered into a defeated whisper.

  “What happened with Flirty Phoebe?” Reed couldn’t keep the ill-will out of his voice. His brother had been dating the woman for several months. Dax’s first long-term relationship, ever. She’d been the female version of a rake, flirting with everyone in sight, even going after Reed.

  “She moved away.” Dax’s serious expression morphed into a joking tilt of his lips. He slammed his chest with his fist. “I’m trying to heal a broken heart here. The least you can do is help me get a date with Quinn.”

  What about Reed’s heart? The organ was finally coming back to life with Quinn’s presence, and he hated the vulnerability.

  Chapter Three

  After dinner, Reed strolled with Quinn back to the dance studio. She didn’t seem to mind his slow pace because of his limp. He did. On the way to the restaurant, he’d been too nervous to think about the drag of his foot. Now, with the quietness of the evening, the long scratch of foot on pavement scratched similar to chalk on a blackboard.

  The entire way home, his brother’s request drummed in his brain. Help win her? Like she was a prize at the annual Snow Festival. Dax and Isabel were much better at flirtations than him, nowadays. Reed had been a player in high school and college. Once he’d become involved with the symphony, he didn’t have time for such nonsense. He’d had one serious girlfriend who’d become his fiancée. Elizabeth was now dead because of him.

  A deadness invaded his soul. He felt nothing. Which was wrong.

  “I’m not tired, and would love to get some work done on the studio. Would you mind if I showed you where I want to hang a couple of posters on the wall?” Quinn asked when they arrived. There was nothing romantic in her question. She didn’t want to prolong the evening, she wanted help. “Unless you h
ave other plans?”

  “No. No plans.” He never had plans. His new life consisted of work, sometimes visiting his sister or brother, and more work. If he didn’t have a major project, he’d go to the Craftsman house he’d bought and work on the renovations. Using a hammer in his scarred hand was the exact opposite of playing a piano, and took him away from his tortured thoughts of his past life. Constructing and renovating had probably saved him. If he wanted to be out of the apartment before the dance studio opened, he needed to work hard on his house the next few weeks. “What’s the scheduled opening date for the dance studio?”

  “The free sample classes will start a week from Monday, and we’ll have a fun recital for the grand-opening ceremony. Regular classes will start after the showcase.” Quinn pulled a few rolled up posters from behind the desk. She flattened them across the counter, bending over the surface, giving him a glimpse down her sweater and the small globes of her breasts.

  The lust rose again. His fiancée’s breasts had been large, a full mound in his hand. Quinn’s resembled small plums. He didn’t understand why his pants tightened. Forcing himself to glance away, irritation ground in his gut.

  She picked up one of the posters and twirled toward the front door. Keeping one hand at the top of the poster and one on the bottom, she squinted and stretched to the tips of her toes. “What do you think about here?”

  In his mind, she could stand there all night and he’d never get tired of the view. “You need to flatten the posters out first.”

  “You’re right.” She let the poster roll back up and waltzed to him. Her grace and light-footedness made him feel like a clumsy bear, causing his irritation with himself to increase. “I’m hoping you, and your brother and sister, will sign up for free lessons.”

  “I can’t dance.” Pain shredded from his gimp leg to his heart, as if the request alone had made the agony return.

  He’d enjoyed dancing in the past at parties and symphony galas. Holding Quinn would be so different than Elizabeth. Quinn was tall and slender, small breasts and tiny waist. Elizabeth had been shorter and rounder.

  “Everyone can dance.” She clicked a remote and music filled the studio.

  He jolted wanting to cover his ears or demand she turn the noise off. The jarring sound whirred. He noticed the way her hips sashayed back and forth in a dance of temptation and desire. A movement that had him imagining sex with her. Now, the music didn’t seem so bad.

  Except he hated music and he hated this unwanted desire.

  Moving behind the counter, he did not want to exhibit evidence of his rising attraction through his jeans. He did not want to be attracted, and he did not want to dance. He’d never been Fred Astaire, but he used to have fun on the dance floor. Not anymore.

  “Have you seen my limp?” Reed was lucky he could walk.

  Her smile faltered and her expression became serious. She wiggled toward him and kneaded his upper arm gently, and he imagined her hands all over his body. “What happened to your leg?”

  “Nothing adventurous or exciting.” Renewed pain shot from his ankle. The scars across his entire body, seen and unseen, throbbed. He didn’t know if the torment was real or imaginary. He never talked about his injuries. Not with anyone.

  “So you haven’t had the limp for life.” Her gaze scoured his face, searching for clues. “Is it a recent injury?”

  He didn’t want to think about that dark night. The night his world had changed, his career had ended, and he’d killed his fiancée.

  “A few years ago.” Fisting his hands at his sides, he stepped away from her and pivoted toward the far wall.

  “Did you dance before the injury?” Her cajoling tried to dig deeper, resembling the psychiatrist he’d been forced to visit.

  “Not professionally.”

  She laughed, tinkling like certain keys on a piano and echoing around the dance studio in chorus. The melody struck a cacophony in the center of his chest and reverberated in his head. His entire body stilled. He wasn’t going to tell her any more. He wasn’t going to be attracted to her anymore. He wasn’t. “When do you want these posters hung?”

  “When you have the chance.” She waved to a spot near the front door, stretching on her toes again. “My goal with this studio is to make dancing fun again.” She sounded more passionate about the fun than the dancing.

  He’d loved everything about his career until he’d lost the music in his head. Chords and notes and melodies had become his enemy.

  “What do you mean, make it fun again? It wasn’t fun before?” He estimated the size of the poster as he estimated her changing expressions.

  Her eyes dimmed and her hands fluttered in the air. Her focus narrowed on a target. Her mouth pursed in determination. “I want people to know anyone can dance.” She twirled toward him again and took hold of his hand. “Even people with a limp.”

  His hand in hers sent a stream of warmth through his veins. He relished the feel of their hands entwined, and yet disbelief made him dizzy. “Even people like me?” He put a sneer in his voice.

  She placed her hand on his shoulder and pushed him back and pulled him forward. Her touch lighted a spark inside him. Her words put the spark out. “Come on.”

  The music thundered, hurting his ears, reminding him of his other loss. A bigger loss than his fiancée. Glancing at the piano, he stumbled, and heat engulfed his face. “No.”

  “Please.” She begged, and her sapphire gaze beseeched. “I plan to teach disabled kids and adults to dance.”

  His midsection erupted in flames and scorched up his throat. For a second he’d thought she wanted to dance with him. “So I’m a charity case.”

  “No!” Her sharp rejection didn’t make him less annoyed. “I want to prove you can dance. That anyone one can dance. Would you deny disabled kids the opportunity to dance, even if it’s not perfect?”

  “Of course not.” Offended, he understood their struggles.

  “Then, you can dance.”

  Possibly. He’d look stupid doing it. No woman would want to dance with him, except for Quinn, who was trying to make a point. She’d be using him for an example or a guinea pig.

  “Try.” She squeezed his shoulder to guide him forward and the pinch went straight to his toes. “Two steps forward. One step back.”

  “No.”

  She frowned and angled her head, studying him. The disappointment in her bright eyes caused him to rethink his rejection. “Okay.” She removed her hands from his body and crossed her arms. Her expression hardened with the determination he’d experienced before. “If we’re not going to dance, I’m going to continue asking questions about your injury until you answer.” She tapped her foot on the wooden floor.

  The noise set off an explosion in his head. The tapping combined into a rhythm of torment. He could hear the music from her stereo overlaid with the tapping of her foot. The direct stare cut his will and the discordant notes threw his own tempo in disarray.

  He should stomp out of the room and never speak with her again. She had no right to demand answers. He hadn’t even told his family the entire truth about the night of the accident so long ago. “Stop.”

  “Stop what?”

  “Stop harassing me.” He acted the prima donna, and he never had been. He’d only been given the reputation because of Elizabeth.

  “Dance with me, then.” Quinn continued to tap her foot.

  The tap, tap, tap was torture.

  “Dance?” She held her hands in position.

  His body tilted toward her, wanting to go into her arms, wanting her hand on his shoulder, wanting the tapping to stop.

  “Fine.” He obeyed only because he didn’t want to argue, and he didn’t want to talk, and he didn’t want to hear her foot tapping.

  “Wonderful.” She enthused, as if he’d given her a great gift, and his tempo evened out. “One, two, three.”

  She glided across the dance floor with a flowy-ness to her body. His awkward shuffling didn’t compare t
o her light steps. He was a weight holding her back. She moved with the music, becoming part of the dance itself. He understood the sensation, remembered. That’s how it had been when he played the piano. He’d become lost in the rhythm and harmony. His fingers had moved across the keys of their own accord, blurring the lines between playing and being.

  He couldn’t become one with the music anymore. Couldn’t hear the music in his mind.

  “Good.” Her praise relaxed his frame.

  Maybe he could dance. Though since he didn’t date, he wouldn’t need dancing skills. He should tell her to stop, this lesson was a waste of time, but her hand on his shoulder sent shockwaves of awareness through him. Awareness he hadn’t felt in a long time. His hand on her waist vibrated through the thin material of her shirt. Their joined hands seemed to merge.

  He’d never been this in sync with his fiancée, Elizabeth. She’d jammed when he’d flowed. She’d zigged and when he’d zagged. She’d drank when he’d…

  She’d drank and she’d died.

  He stumbled and fell against Quinn’s body, the strength of her slender frame keeping them both upright. Their harmony halted. Their simpatico movements shut off.

  “Sorry.” He dropped his hold on her and stepped back. Away. What had he been thinking? He couldn’t dance with Quinn, couldn’t hold her in his arms, couldn’t make this into more than it could ever be.

  “Are you all right?” No tone of disgust, only concern. She moved toward him to touch him again.

  He moved back in a dance of avoidance. “I told you, I can’t dance.”

  “You were doing fine.”

  “You need to find someone else to teach.” His muscles tightened with the image of someone else in her arms.

  “You’re perfect.”

  He was anything but perfect. He was big and ugly and scarred.

  “What about Dax?” The question slipped out of Reed’s mouth like a glissando—the musical equivalent of stepping on a banana peel. “He wanted to ask you out.”