The Romance Dance: Castle Ridge Small Town Romance Page 5

  He held his breath, waiting for her response. Half hoping she’d say no. Half dreading she’d say yes.

  * * *

  Dax?

  Quinn’s stomach dipped with disappointment. Reed’s brother was too gorgeous and he knew it. Dax appeared to be about living in the moment, while her plans were about building a foundation, a family, a home.

  She studied Reed in his jeans and nice, plain sweater that didn’t draw attention. He seemed the more-steady type. The type she was attracted to.

  “Well, what about Dax?” Reed’s expression tightened as if he was having a difficult time breathing.

  She’d enjoyed being in his large arms. Had enjoyed his company. Was intrigued by his moodiness and surly attitude. His no-trespassing sign had her wanting to uncover the truth. But he obviously wasn’t interested in her, if he was asking her out for his brother. Maybe Reed had a girlfriend, which meant she shouldn’t become too attached or too friendly.

  Her disappointment double-stepped. She needed someone to help her make friends and contacts in town. She needed to consider Dax. He would be fun to hang out with, and he’d know as many people as Reed. “Sure.”

  His shoulders slumped, and he glared at the ground. “Great.” He didn’t sound great. “I’ll give my brother your number.”

  She’d given the answer he wanted, and yet he seemed dissatisfied. As if her answer was wrong. Scrunching her brow, she sorted through her confusion.

  “Put the posters where you want them on the floor, and I’ll hang them tomorrow.” He turned away from her, concluding their dance session and the conversation.

  “Wait.” She didn’t want to lose the friendship they’d established tonight. Didn’t want to lose him, a small voice taunted in her head. He reminded her of her grandfather, with his surly exterior and soft heart. Reed made her feel protected and safe. She wanted him on her side. “About the opening night showcase to get publicity for my dance studio.”

  “Great idea.” Walking backwards and away from her, his expression was downcast, unreadable. Shuffling stiffly, his limp was more pronounced.

  Empathy tugged at her. She’d been injured many times, and tried not to show pain. She wasn’t allowed to show pain. Professional ballet dancers did not cry. She stretched to the tips of her toes and dropped on her flat feet. She knew dancing could be therapeutic for his limp and his attitude. “I’ll need a partner.”

  “I’m sure Dancing Dax will be willing.” Reed’s terse statement cut through the air.

  Cut through her nerves. She stepped boldly forward. “I don’t want Dax. I want you.”

  The last sentence struck through her chest. The truth flashed like lightning. She’d never said that to a man before. There’d never been a deeper meaning when she’d had sex in the past. She was attracted to Reed, but he wasn’t interested. She needed to focus on her business. The home and the family would come later. “If I dance with you, if I make you look good, that will impress everyone.”

  His expression darkened. He thundered toward her. “Sure, ask the gimp.”

  His words stabbed. Her head bonged and her bloodstream rushed. “No. That’s not what I meant. I can teach you how to dance, and I think it will improve your limp. I want to teach you to dance.” I want to hold him in my arms again. She forced the thought away. “Your girlfriend would love it if you could dance again.”

  “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

  His bitter tone made her chest burn. Having a girlfriend wasn’t the reason for his rejection. He just didn’t want to date or dance with her. She continued to push, wanting more explanation or anguish. Her grandmother always said she pushed too hard. Her mother always said she didn’t push hard enough. At some point she’d find the right balance. “Dancing is a great way to win a woman’s heart.”

  “According to my sister, cooking is the way to win someone’s heart.” His eyes glazed and his mouth dipped into a frown. His expression appeared a little lost, pulling on Quinn’s heartstrings even more. “I always believed it was music.”

  “Music and dancing. A winning combination.” She had to keep on track. His resistance wasn’t personal. This was about business. If she could show the town Reed could dance, she could persuade others she was a good teacher.

  A deeper reason, a more important reason rose to the surface. Dancing would make him happy. She knew it in her soul. She’d seen dancing change a mood or attitude. She only had to prove it to him. “Will you dance with me?”

  Stretching on her toes, she waited for his answer. His expression didn’t change. His gaze darted around, searching for an escape. An escape from her, from the room, or from answering the question.

  “No.”

  The negative answer had her internally doing a grand plié. Not swayed, she needed Reed to dance with her. Wanted him to dance. Instinctively, she understood he’d accept a challenge. “Because you don’t want to, or because you don’t think you can?”

  His entire body seemed to tighten. His mouth bowed into a taut shape. The music in the background crescendoed, as if understanding his tension.

  And hers. Had she pushed him too far?

  “I can do anything I put my mind to.” He spoke with authority. He must’ve faced many challenges in his lifetime and succeeded.

  She liked a man who believed in himself. “Good. Then, you’ll be my partner.”

  * * *

  Later that night, Reed entered the pub with only one thing on his mind: find Dax. He’d called, interrupting the hockey game Reed had been watching. Spotting his brother at the bar, he stomped over, anger racing to be let loose.

  His brother had both elbows on the counter and slouched on top of the bar. His long hair covered most of his face. He wasn’t having a good time. Not anything resembling the happy-go-lucky guy he used to be. Flirty Phoebe had done a number on him, and Reed’s involvement hadn’t helped.

  “Hey bro.” Dax slurred his words.

  It wasn’t the slurring that caught Reed’s attention. It was the sorrow underneath the drunkenness. He understood and sympathized, and his anger lessened. “Aren’t you a little old to be calling your big brother to pick you up?”

  When they both came home from college, together they’d close the bars down and take a different girl home every night. They partied and danced and flirted. A woman had changed both of them for the worse.

  “I didn’t want you to pick me up. I wanted you to have a beer and hang out.” Dax raised his head and pierced him with cloudy green eyes. “It’s something you never do anymore.”

  “I don’t want to go out and get drunk.” Images crashed in Reed’s head. Of another night and another drunk and the accident that ruined his life. Drinking didn’t achieve anything, and it certainly didn’t make a man feel better.

  “I’m not going to do something stupid like drive. That’s why I called you.” Dax reached for his glass and put it to his mouth. Realizing it was empty, he signaled for another.

  “How much has he had to drink, Joe?” They’d attended high school with the bartender.

  “Too many. You should take him home.”

  “I don’t want to go home.” His brother slammed the mug onto the bar. “I bet Phoebe isn’t home.” He slapped a hand on Reed’s shoulder and tried to stand. “I want to talk to Quinn.”

  Similar to an altered chord, the wrong note twanged in his chest. “You’re not in any shape to talk to Quinn.”

  “You’re going to talk to her for me.” His brother’s stupid, sloppy, big-brother-worshipping grin lit his face. “What’s her number?”

  “I can’t give out her number.” His knee-jerk answer was to lie. She’d given permission. Her number had been in the paperwork and emails between her and his leasing agent.

  The smile slipped off his brother’s face, his defeated expression yanking at Reed’s conscience. “Please. I need to have success with a woman.”

  He didn’t need to ask why. His brother hadn’t been the same since his ex-girlfriend broke up with h
im, took him back, and dumped him again. She’d been dragging Dax along for months now. “How about I take you home?”

  “I don’t want to be alone.” His voice cracked.

  Reed hated seeing his brother this way, and he didn’t want to dump him at the ski patrol lodgings. “I’ll take you to my place.”

  “Let’s roll.” Grabbing his coat, his brother almost fell to the ground.

  He put his arm around his brother’s waist, and helped him out of the bar and around the corner, back to his Victorian. They staggered around the back to access the private apartments on the upper level. The light was on in Quinn’s rented apartment, and the window open.

  His brother stumbled forward out of his grip. “Quinn! Wherefore art thou, Quinn!”

  He hadn’t expected his brother to embarrass himself. He grabbed for him.

  A shadow moved toward the open window. Quinn’s silhouette backlighted by the light behind her. Was she wearing the same little silk nightie she’d worn the other night? Not that he wanted her to display herself for his drunk brother.

  She opened the window more. “Hello? Is somebody out there?”

  “It’s Dax!” He fell.

  She leaned over the windowsill. Her hair, which she usually wore in a bun, was down. The light from the room shone on its silky softness. “Dax? What’re you doing out there?”

  Reed’s pulse pumped, creating an increased blood flow. He bent down to check on his brother. The idiot had passed out.

  “Dax? Are you still there?”

  Reed didn’t want his brother to look stupid. He couldn’t not say anything. He also didn’t want her to realize it was him standing beneath the window. His brother had started with a poor imitation of Shakespeare. Reed would continue in that direction. The increased blood flow swelled both his heads.

  “I needed to see your fair face.” He made his voice a little higher and slurred, feeling dumber with each word he spoke.

  Her giggle wafted to him. “How can you see me in the dark? Are you drunk?”

  “Only drunk on your beauty.” He stomped his foot. Continuing this charade was madness. He should step into the light and tell her Dax had passed out. Just passed out. Would she recognize Reed had delivered the last two lines? Then, he’d look even more foolish.

  “Sweet, but unbelievable.” Her skepticism told him she wasn’t buying. “What do you want, Dax?”

  She believed it was his brother.

  Hurt spiraled in Reed’s stomach. Even though they’d spent hours together, she didn’t recognize his voice. Did he want her to?

  Remembering their earlier conversation about music and dancing being a winning combination, he said, “To dance with you to beautiful music in the light of the moon.”

  “There is no moon tonight.” Her tone held an edge of amusement. “And no music.”

  He regarded the cloudy sky. “Who needs moonlight when your beauty is a light to behold.” Did he really say that? “There’s always music between us.”

  Music was a black hole to him. They’d never share music.

  “How poetic, seeing as we’ve only met twice.” Her sweet laughter haunted.

  She spoke of Dax, not him. Believed he was Dax.

  Reed’s face flared and his body weakened. He was acting a bigger fool than his brother. If she ever discovered the truth they’d both be in trouble. His brother had started the conversation and Reed needed to finish.

  “You bring out the poet in me.” Which was true. He’d never spoken to his fiancée with such fanciful language. Maybe it was because he was pretending to be someone else.

  “Thank you?” She sounded unsure. “It’s late. Why don’t you call me tomorrow, so we can make plans?”

  He pulled his fist down in celebration. Reed had gotten a date with Quinn.

  Too bad she believed he was his brother.

  Chapter Four

  After their initial greetings, Reed and Quinn worked in compatible silence the next morning. He’d wanted to work in the studio when she wasn’t around, except she was always around. He needed to finish painting the remaining walls, hang her posters, and take care of several other details.

  She focused on her computer behind the front counter. The situation was the exact opposite of working beside Elizabeth. She’d always had a need to chatter, even though she knew he was concentrating on the music in his head.

  That wasn’t a problem anymore. A sadness drifted through him.

  Except thinking back to his and Quinn’s first meeting, he’d noticed sounds in his head, and the urge to play the damn piano. Anxiety had the sad song picking up tempo. He glanced at the instrument across the room. Every once in a while, he’d hear a tinkling or a synchronized clatter in his brain. As if the music he’d lost was trying to be heard. The tempo raced, making his head spin. Her tapping foot last night before they’d attempted to dance had established a repeating pattern. The cutlery at the restaurant had tinkled into a symphonic noise. And last night his even breathing had set a tempo to a personal soundtrack.

  Sweat formed on his brow.

  The paint brush swished against concrete. The clock on the wall tick, tick, ticked. Quinn’s fingers clicked on the computer keyboard. The racket combined in a rhythm. A rhythm playing in his mind. He swished the brush in between the ticking of the clock. Quinn’s tapping overlaid on top, pulling the sounds together, creating a melody.

  He felt dizzy. Each noise vibrated in his head like scales on the piano. The notes played in his head in a twisted confusion of a one-instrument concerto.

  Oh my Bach! He heard new music again.

  Shock stung his brain, sending tremors to his limbs. He dropped the paint brush.

  “Are you okay?” Quinn’s lilting tone brought him out of his funk.

  “Yes.” His voice was raw, because he really wasn’t sure. His arms and legs continued to shake. Music had returned to his mind with force. He couldn’t shut it off.

  “Are you sure you’re okay? You’re pale and sweaty.”

  His knees trembled, and he wanted to sink to the ground. He couldn’t show his fear and anxiety. She’d already noticed a difference in him. Could she tell chords played in his brain like a symphony? He wasn’t ready to tell her. He wasn’t ready to tell anyone. What if the music disappeared?

  Trying to calm himself, he focused on her.

  Her hair was back in the tight bun. The band holding the luscious hair in place must give her a headache. He wanted to rip the band out and run his fingers through the loose strands. He didn’t know what was worse, lusting after a woman he couldn’t have, or hearing music again, knowing it would probably disappear. A darkness descended around him. He’d lose both.

  Forcing himself to peer in the other direction, his gaze fell on the piano. Another type of urge thrummed in his hands. Ever since he’d kicked the piano, he couldn’t kick out his desire to play. Every time he’d walked into the room, he’d noted the instrument.

  Two wants calling to him in the same room.

  Two desires he didn’t deserve.

  “Is your brother okay this morning?” Her question startled him, rearranging his thoughts resembling notes of an unwritten song.

  His hand froze mid-stroke of the paint brush. He’d tricked her last night. Better to focus on that situation than his mind. “Yeah. Why?”

  “Dax was drunk and came to my window.” She sounded more amused than pleased, lifting Reed’s spirits. Maybe she didn’t like his brother as much as he believed, except it would be better for her to like Dax. “I hope he’s okay.” Obviously, she cared if he was better.

  “I’m sure he’s fine.” Reed’s terse tone held no sympathy, because he had no sympathy. He hated seeing his brother upset. That was no excuse to get drunk.

  The flowery language he used beneath the window taunted. And yet, he’d felt like his much younger self last night, enjoying their conversation, being free.

  “I was expecting Dax to call.” Her disappointment speared through Reed’s lungs.
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  She wanted his brother to call, wanted to go out with him. With little enthusiasm, he said, “My brother asked me for your number.”

  Dax hadn’t known to ask for her number, because he’d been passed out on the ground. Reed hated the idea of giving out the contact information.

  The chime on the door went off and a young girl and her mother came into the studio. A sign out front invited anyone inside to visit and ask questions. The girl appeared to be around ten, with her hair tied back in a long, brown braid. She scanned the studio with wide-eyed wonder.

  The mother frowned with suspicion, her coat buttoned up to the neck.

  “Can I help you?” Quinn moved around the counter, eagerness showing in every step. The short skirt she wore over dark tights clung to her hips.

  The mother put her arm around the girl, tugging her close, as if afraid someone might hurt the child.

  “Are you here to sign up for dance class?” Quinn grabbed a brochure and held it out to the mother.

  Quinn might be too determined, although he found it refreshing when not directed toward him. Elizabeth always tried to pass off the work.

  “I don’t know.” The woman was reluctant. Her expression remained tight and fearful.

  He didn’t recognize the woman or the child. The urge to make everyone more comfortable had him setting the wet brush on the edge of the paint can. “Quinn is an excellent dance teacher. You and your daughter could watch a class first.”

  Quinn beamed and he warmed inside. He wanted to help her succeed. Only because she was his tenant and getting a new tenant would be more work, and the town needed a dance studio.

  “The website said she’d have classes for me, Mom.” The girl slipped from her mother’s grip and wandered with a slight limp to the edge of the wooden floor. Her face lit with the possibilities. She held her right arm close to her body at a weird angle. Her hand fell limp from the wrist.

  Uh oh. Sympathy for the girl swarmed him.

  “I’m offering free lessons so students can try classes.” Quinn spoke to the mother using her sales-pitch voice. “What kind of dance would your daughter be interested in learning?”