The Ballerina's Stand by Angel Smits Page B

feet. Feet that seemed to have forgotten how to move.
    Suddenly, she looked over at him and spelled, “ F - u - n .” Then the dance steps spun her away from him.
    An hour later the lesson ended and they both collapsed in their seats. He signaled the waitress.
    â€œ B - e - e - r ?” he spelled to Lauren. The look on her face of indecision was adorable and cute. He almost didn’t want her to decide.
    She nodded and the waitress delivered two longnecks with a fast slam to the tabletop and quick two-step away.
    Lauren took a deep swallow and once again, his gaze caught hers. This had to stop. He reminded himself they were just friends. Heck, she could be viewed as a client, which technically, she wasn’t. Not really. Pal was. Not Lauren.
    Way to rationalize.
    She set her beer down and turned to watch the dancers. This group was nothing like the class had been. This bunch definitely knew what they were doing.
    Still she was eager to join the fun. Over the next couple of hours he wasn’t her only partner, and many of the dances didn’t require a partner at all. And Lauren tried them all, barely taking a break.
    When she finally slumped back into her seat and finished the last of her most-likely warm beer, he left the rest of his beer untouched. He needed to stay clearheaded since he was the driver. But there was another reason to remain sober—the realization of how much more he wanted from tonight beyond dancing.
    Lauren looked over at him and made the sign for dance. Then put her fingertips against her palm. It took him a second to remember that meant “again.”
    She was asking him to go back out again ? Already? This song was slower. Did she realize that? It’d be easier for a beginner, but it was a waltz.
    He stood and let her take his hand. She led him to a miniscule spot in the center of the dancers and lifted her arms.
    Slowly, she looked up at him, and for the first time, he felt the difference in their height. He was right at six feet, shorter than his brothers, but taller tonight as he was wearing boots.
    She couldn’t be much over five feet. She seemed small beside him, something he hadn’t noticed before. Hadn’t felt before.
    He swallowed. She might dance on a daily basis, coming into close physical contact with the other dancers, her students and the like. But he was an attorney. The closest he came to physical contact was when his assistant handed him files.
    Lauren smiled at him, ready to dance, and he pushed his discomfort aside to slide his arms around her slim waist. She didn’t lean into him, but balanced carefully in the circle of his embrace.
    He nodded, silently signaling that they were beginning. And they moved around the floor with all the others. He marveled at the beat of the drum and the bass, but was also suddenly aware of the boot-stomping accompaniment in the soles of his feet.
    Lauren didn’t need to hear the music, and for the first time, neither did he. He could feel it, sense it vibrating around him. Was this what she experienced whenever she danced? The look on her face told him that yes, this was her norm. Her sweet norm.
    Jason watched her move. The grace she wore was like a mask. Was there something behind it? She let herself fall into the music, let the dance take control. He marveled at her.
    He’d been foolish to think that the ballet dancer wouldn’t be as graceful in a field of rowdy, boot-stomping cowboys. Yet he had. And she’d proven him wrong.
    Images of the first night he’d seen her on the stage came back. The beauty of her performance had amazed him then, but this eclipsed even that. Unfortunately, that memory also brought back the reason why he’d been there. Pal. Her father. The file.
    He stumbled and Lauren followed his lead, falling against his chest. He caught her, and while the others moved around them, they stopped. Frozen.
    Her face shone in the dancing lights. Her lips turned up into a