Down for the Count(41)

“You are a very lucky woman,” she said with a smile, before sauntering off to find another partner.

“That was…amazing,” she admitted ruefully. “It’s ludicrous that a man your size, who beats up other men your size for a living, could move like that.”

“You like?” Galen held out a hand and grinned. “Well get in on this, then.”

She stared up into his smiling brown eyes, wanting so badly not to disappoint him, but she was almost paralyzed with fear. Her hands had gone icy cold and she couldn’t feel her lips. What if she made a total fool of herself? What if she fell on these cursed heels and broke her coccyx bone? A dozen excuses marched to the tip of her tongue, ready for deployment, when he cupped her chin in his big, warm hand.

“Hey. Stop this. I got you, okay?”

He caressed her cheek with his thumb and the fear began to melt. She wanted this. She wanted to be in Galen’s arms, hips swaying to the beat. She wanted him to twirl her and dip her and to shimmy her shoulders until his eyes popped out. And she was done not taking what she wanted.

She grabbed his hand and pulled him onto the far corner of the dance floor. “Teach me.”

“Rockin’ Robin” came on, and she stared up at Galen expectantly.

“Let’s jive, baby.”

They started off slow, and at first, she was aware of everyone around her. Were they looking? Laughing? But no sooner had she realized that no one was paying attention to her at all, that it no longer mattered. All that mattered was Galen, and the way he made her feel. When she stumbled, he caught her, holding on a little longer and a little tighter than he needed to. When she made a mistake, he showed her again, endlessly patient until she felt comfortable. By the end of the night, she’d gotten the hang of the basics of several dances and was ready to try for real, in the center of the floor. It felt like kismet when the last song was one she knew well.

“‘The Stroll.’ I love this song!” she said with a grin.

“Then we’d better get out there.” He led her to the middle of the floor and stepped back, leaving her in a line with six other women and taking his place next to their male counterparts. Although they were apart, stepping and sliding in their respective rows, his eyes never left hers. The heat of his gaze made her feel beautiful, so she tossed her hair back and put a little extra sway in her hips. By the time it was their turn to meet in the middle, she was desperate for his touch. He cupped her waist, and their hips rocked together, perfectly synchronized, as they strolled down the center of the floor.#p#分页标题#e#

Every so often, accidentally on purpose, she brushed her breast to his chest or her thigh against his, and the hand on her waist would tighten, his eyes going dark. The power was heady, and she wielded it with glee.

When the song ended, they stopped to applaud the other dancers, breathless and smiling. It hadn’t been flawless, but it was perfect and she felt like she was dancing on air. If this time was all they could ever have, she would always be grateful to at least have these memories. She rose on her tiptoes and kissed him hard on the mouth. “Thank you,” she whispered.

…

The next five days with Galen were heaven. The next five nights? Heaven during Mardi Gras. Overtly sensual, steamy, and totally erotic. No matter how many times they did it, their lovemaking was mind-blowing. Galen seemed driven to take her to new heights and his hunger was insatiable.

They’d fallen into a routine of waking early and going to the main resort for a workout. He taught her how to jump rope, and she taught him Pilates, although the latter had prompted them to cut their workout short when he requested a private lesson in the nude.

Her favorite thing, though, was watching him shadowbox. After his weight training, he always went into a corner and started swinging. She would be on the elliptical machine, peering from beneath her lashes while he dipped and turned, bobbed and weaved, rocking forward on the balls of his feet. He wasn’t a brawler like so many thick fighters were, rolling their shoulders and crabbing flat-footed around the ring, on the hunt for a chance to land that one stunning blow. He was a boxer, quick, sharp, always moving, sticking, and jabbing. The commentators liked to say that, by the time Whalin’ Galen knocked out his opponents, they were likely glad for the respite. He was beautiful to watch and moved with such fluidity, such grace, it wasn’t until he stood next to a mortal man that his size became apparent.

During the third workout, she finally got the nerve to ask him. “Will you show me?”

He swiped a muscled forearm over his sweaty brow and gave her a lethal grin. “Darlin’, I’m not sure what you’re referring to, but I can’t imagine saying no to anything you want to see.”