Chapter 18

“Let’s do the basic to the cross,” I say, and we move, Rafe stepping perfectly in time. “Now, pivot and step-pivot and step.” I guide him through the ocho .

“Okay, this is where the fun begins,” I say, wiggling my eyebrows at him and making him laugh. “I’m going to pasada to block your movement by placing my foot here.” I put my foot against the one he’s standing on.

“Now you will pasada , step over it with your free leg, touch, and then in this sequence you’re going to step back. Then we’ll step to the side and back to finish. Have you got that?”

“I think so,” he replies.

“Right, let’s go through it a few times slowly.”

We practise the short sequence a few times for Rafe to get the hang of it.

“Is this where we see all the twiddly bits dancers do with their legs? Can I do that?”

“It’s one of the times, yes. But let’s work on not getting our legs in a tangle by just doing this first.”

Constantin appears and sits down at the piano. I shoot him a glance, but his brow is drawn, his face closed, as he looks down at the keys. It’s as if he’s searching for inspiration there. When he starts playing, it’s “Balada para un Loco”—Ballad of a Madman. A curious choice, but he just plays and doesn’t look over at us.

“Shall we go again?” I ask Rafe, who’s been slowly moving in place; something I’ve come to learn is his method of committing the steps to memory.

This time, when we run through the short routine, I don’t let us stop and reset. Instead, we continue round the ballroom a few times. Constantin changes to a different song and we dance it through again.

Juana brings us coffee, so we take a short break, discussing our plans to visit Montju?c Castle in a couple of days. We even persuaded Constantin to come with us. The coffee seems to have dispelled whatever was on his mind when he came in.

“I smell coffee,” Rafe says when we come together in the middle of the dance floor in the abrazo , the embrace.

“We’ve just had coffee,” I state the obvious.

“This isn’t a dance for having bad breath, is it, being this close?” He chuckles.

“It’s a good job we’re dancing and not kissing then,” I say. He tilts his head to one side slightly, something I’ve seen him do when he’s thinking. It’s cute, and feeling in the moment, I lean a bit closer and whisper, “When I kiss you, I’ll make sure I’ve cleaned my teeth first.”

I don’t give him time to react. I start dancing, leading, so he has to follow. Which he does, foot perfect.

When we stop again, he doesn’t mention it and relief floods through me. I thought I’d blown it then, mentioning kissing. I don’t want to scare him off, though he doesn’t look scared. If anything, he looks curious. I take it as a positive sign.

“Would you like to learn a couple of, as you say, ‘twiddly bits?’” I ask, and his face lights up.

“What are they really called?”

“Well, there is the boleo , which is a flick either behind or round your leg. These are improvised, but you could try this in the pasada .” I take him through the sequence until we get to the block.

“There. Now flick the free leg back before stepping over.”

He tries it out.

“Bien,” I say for his good first attempt, and he makes a little humming sound that travels straight to my core. Being this close to him is hard enough without him making adorable noises as well.

I was going to teach him the enganche , for him to hook a leg with mine, but I think I’ll pass. I won’t be able to cope with him wrapping his leg round my anything right now. Not if I still want to be able to dance and not launch myself at him and kiss him senseless. Instead, I offer him a variation.

“Then, as you bring your leg back from the pasada , hook it round your own and then step. Remember, these have to be quick so we don’t lose the beat.”

I place my foot in the block again and show him—flick, step over, hook, step back.

“Do you want to try it while dancing?”

“Yes,” he breathes, his eyes so close I can see the golden flecks.

“Constantin, can you play something slow, please?” I call out. A few seconds later, he starts up the “Pequena.” I love this song; it’s very sensual. Perfect, in fact .

“Are you ready?” I whisper, wanting to make this the perfect dance for Rafe. If I can’t kiss or undress him, this has to be the next best thing.

We move and it’s different this time, less like a lesson and more of the way the tango should be danced. He moves well and adds his flicks in. When we’ve been through the sequence a couple of times, on the third go, I add a couple of my own in, and hear him under his breath speaking so quietly I nearly don’t catch it.

“Wow, that’s really hot.”

Fuck !

“Do you want to improvise a little?” I ask, still whispering, hoping he doesn’t make the little humming sound that resonates in my soul again. I’m already finding it intoxicating being this close to him and dancing so beautifully. Thankfully, he just whispers yes right back.

We start again, and I whisper each movement to him, just before we dance it. Nothing we haven’t done, just stringing them together in a different pattern. He soon loosens up, getting into it, adjusting to being able to pick each movement up from wherever we are. I add in some boleos , and when he feels more confident, he does too.

The music stops abruptly, and I halt mid-step. Rafe nearly bumps into me, but I hold him steady. When I look at him, his gaze is directed at the piano. Constantin is staring at us, his expression intense, dark eyes glittering lustfully. It only lasts a couple of seconds and then Constantin closes his eyes and starts playing again. This time, he starts singing, and I can’t help but let out a small, huffed laugh, partly in relief.

“What is it?” Rafe whispers.

“You were right, Constantin is a romantic,” I say quietly.

“Why?”

“This song is a tango classic. It’s called “Todo es Amor.” Everything is love. ”

“Oh, it’s beautiful,” Rafe says, and I don’t disagree. I just want to add, so are you .

“Shall we dance for him?” I ask.