Page 13 of I Could Be Yours (The Toronto Terror #6)

Fernando is a tall, lean, dark-haired man dressed in black pants, matching shoes, and a mostly unbuttoned flower-print shirt. He has an impressive swath of chest hair. Martina is a petite, dark-haired woman with a dancer’s figure, wearing a siren red dress and matching stilettos.

“Such beautiful couples!” Fernando praises.

Nate mutters something I don’t catch. I stay silent and plaster a smile on my face, even though I’m reeling.

Fernando and Martina give us a rundown of the routines we’ll learn today.

I try to follow along, but I’m already in a weird spiral.

After Barton told me he loved me, I’d moved us in together and started planning our wedding—something exotic, of course.

And here he is, three years later, engaged.

And here I am, single with no prospect of my own happily ever after on the horizon.

“We’ll start with the two-step, then move on to ballroom, and finish with the salsa.” Martina punctuates the sentence with a swish of her hips.

“The purpose of this class is to give you the basics, and don’t forget to have fun!” Fernando adds, directing a loving smile at his partner.

I side-eye Nate, wishing I hadn’t pretended he was my boyfriend to escape Jason, who probably doesn’t have a younger sister. Nate was so nice that night. It’s confusing.

And I’ve dreamed about that shed kiss escalating past first base every night this week.

Last night we made out in front of Jason and made him cry.

What’s wrong with me ? My body is already pinging with pent-up sexual frustration, mostly because I’ve refused to handle my situation on principle.

Getting myself off to the fantasy of a guy who can’t stand me is a low I don’t want to stoop to.

I turn to face Nate as instructed and slip one palm into his, settling the other hand on his shoulder, while his hand curves around my waist. He tries to pull me closer, but I resist.

His deliciously furrowed brow deepens. “There’s a foot of space between us. This isn’t a grade-eight dance, Ess.”

“This is fine. We don’t need to be closer.” I keep my eyes firmly fixed on his chin.

He sighs and tries to close the gap, while I try to maintain it.

“Let your partner lead.” Martina adjusts our hands, then places a palm on both of our backs to move us closer together.

Nate arches an I-told-you-so brow.

“Nice and loose. Relax. And dancing is sensual. You want your eyes on his.” She taps her chin.

I drag my eyes to Nate’s and hate how pretty they are. He smirks. I step on his toe and get told to watch my feet by the instructor.

It takes an eternity to get everyone into position. Or at least that’s how it feels with Nate making uncomfortable eye contact and my vagina having all kinds of feelings about his hands on my body while my ex and his fiancée giggle and smile.

“Who is that guy, and why do you feel like a piece of plywood?” Nate grouses.

“He’s an ex.”

Nate’s narrowed gaze shifts his way. “From how long ago?”

“A few years. Pretty sure he broke up with me for that woman. Over text.”

Nate’s expression darkens further. I wish he was less sexy. I wish I didn’t give my heart away so easily, and that it didn’t get beaten up so badly when I do.

“You two need to give each other a little space,” Martina calls to Rix and Tristan.

I feel horribly awkward and stiff as we learn the two-step. I try not to look over at Barton and Alison. But focusing on the heat of Nate’s palm burning through my thin dress isn’t any better.

Nate dips down until his mouth is at my ear, lips brushing my cheek as he speaks. “Get out of your head, Essie.”

A shiver runs along my spine. “I’m not.” Such a lie .

“Stay focused on me. That guy’s a fucking idiot, and you’re better off without him.”

“His photographs have been featured in National Geographic .”

“Impressive, but he’s still an idiot.” His eyebrows lift. “We can outdance him.”

He’s probably being nice out of guilt or pity, but I’m all for using his competitive edge for face-saving purposes.

“Relax! Have fun!” Martina instructs, breaking the tension between us.

Tristan and Rix are laughing and having a great time. Barton and Alison seem to have already mastered the two-step and are dancing around the room with ease.

I will not be outdanced by my ex.

I relax into Nate’s arms.

He smirks and takes the lead.

Surprisingly, he’s a good dancer. I don’t want to find it sexy, but the way he takes control and guides me around the room is irritatingly hot. And it’s wildly satisfying that we’re infinitely better than Barton and his fiancée.

We move on to ballroom dancing. Nate proves to be a versatile partner, and he’s just as good at this as he was at the two-step.

We dance circles around my ex while Tristan and Rix are called out several times because his hand placement is inappropriate.

They will for sure bone like bunnies when they get home.

And I will have to take a cold shower so I don’t give in and get myself off to thoughts of Nate.

Salsa is the most complicated of the routines, but our competitive sides have been fully engaged, especially since Barton and Alison already seem to be salsa pros.

But determination, Nate’s attention to detail, and my bendiness give us an advantage.

He lifts and spins and twirls and dips me.

My leg ends up on his shoulder in some complicated spin-dip move.

And then our bodies press tight against each other.

His hot gaze is locked on mine, and I can’t look away.

Nate’s knee finds its way between my thighs, and he hooks my knee over his hip as we attempt another advanced-level combo.

I’m sweaty and breathless by the time the song comes to an end. I can’t break free from Nate’s dark, satisfied gaze. This feels like the most incredible foreplay, and every part of me is hot with desire.

Clapping startles us. Nate and I release each other and step back. He shoves his hands in his pockets, and I smooth mine over my hips. I’d completely forgotten about Barton and Alison.

Our instructors are beaming. My ex is staring at us, his fiancée looks annoyed, and Rix and Tristan are sitting on one of the benches, both of them regarding us with more interest than I’d like.

Rix hugs Tristan’s biceps. “You two have been so weird tonight.”

I smile and flick the end of my ponytail over my shoulder, feigning nonchalance and avoiding direct eye contact. “Nate’s really competitive,” I explain. “Seems to run in the family.”