Page 3 of Take the Lead

I feel like I’ve been hit by a bolt of lightning.

Before I’ve even contemplated an answer, his lips are on mine and he’s fighting my tongue with his. He pulls me tight against him and buries his fingers in my hair, crushing his mouth against mine. It’s the most passionate kiss I’ve ever experienced.

‘I’ve been thinking about that all night,’ he says when we finally come up for air.

‘I’d be lying if I said it hadn’t crossed my mind too,’ I admit breathlessly.

He pushes my hair back from my face and runs his thumb over my lips. ‘We’ll have a good session today, I can feel it. I think we’re going to have a lot of fun together, you and me.’

I break out in goose bumps at the thought of it.

Then he switches back into teacher mode, delivering instruction after detailed instruction about the next part of our routine to ensure I get every element just right.

At least this time, they’re interspersed with knowing smiles and the occasional squeeze of my hand.

He even uses the word ‘beautiful’ when I’m working on my hair flicks.

I know I still haven’t cracked it so I think he’s just being polite, but still …

When we break for lunch, he pulls a salad box from his bag and sits cross-legged on the floor. I lean back against the mirror and try not to feel embarrassed about the giant ham and cheese baguette I picked up on the way here.

While we’re eating, he asks me how well I know the other dances we may have to perform during the course of the competition – the salsa, rumba, bachata, cha-cha, merengue and Argentine tango.

I was taught the basics during the pre-show training with the other contestants, but I can’t say I know any of them well – and I still feel like an idiot when I’m trying to dance them.

I doubt this is the answer he was hoping for, so I hastily change the subject – I don’t want him to focus on my shortcomings. I ask him what made him want to be a dancer in the first place.

He shrugs. ‘I never wanted to be anything else. And I was fortunate. In Paris, where I lived, I had access to the best performing arts schools. I won my first competition when I was ten.’

‘Ten? Wow. That’s impressive.’ I think my greatest achievement at that age – and possibly even since – was not coming last in the obstacle race on school sports day.

‘I trained every day,’ he says, his voice full of passion. ‘I wanted to be the best.’

‘So what made you want to do Fire on the Dance Floor ?’ I ask – then instantly wish I hadn’t. Because he replies, with a certainty I don’t think I’ve ever felt in my life, ‘It’s something I haven’t won – but I intend to.’

I struggle to swallow the bite of sandwich I’ve been chewing. Much as I’d love for that to happen, he must be able to see I’m not really up to the task. I change the subject again before even more self-doubt can take hold.

‘It must have been exciting, growing up in Paris. I’ve been a few times on the way to my sister’s and I love it. It’s pretty where she lives, down in the south-west, but there’s so much to see and do in Paris.’

‘Paris is cool, but London is my home now. I’ve lived here for nearly six years.’

‘Oh, which bit?’ I find myself hoping it’s near me. ‘I’m in Balham. I moved there with my mate Lucy after we graduated last summer.’

‘You’re not living with a boyfriend, then?’ he asks, which makes the hairs on my arms stand up on end. Why else would he enquire unless he was considering himself for the role?

Still, my voice cracks just a little when I tell him I don’t have a boyfriend. Ed and I had been talking about getting a place together before we split up. We might even have moved in by now if he hadn’t run off with someone else. It hurts to think he might now do that with her instead.

Thankfully, Merle doesn’t seem to notice my wobble.

Keen to get back to rehearsing, he claps his hands, jumps to his feet and declares it’s time to get back to business.

And I do a pretty good job of following his lead as he teaches me the next section of the routine.

I can’t brood about Ed while I’m focusing on my dancing – and on the bewitching way Merle moves his body.

When my concentration does slip, I’m sure he must know that’s what I’m thinking about, because it always happens when we’re in one of the close contact parts of the dance or when his hand is on my lower back – lower, I’m sure, than it needs to be.

At one point, his hand brushes against my boobs.

It’s my fault, though I can’t say I’m sorry.

It momentarily throws us off our rhythm, which makes us both laugh, and I’m sure I catch him looking at them several times after that.

It makes me want to stand a bit taller and invite his attention.

I want him to look. It feels like the first time in ages that anyone has wanted to.

All too quickly, it reaches closing time at the studio, and once again I don’t want to have to say goodbye to Merle yet.

While I won’t be sad to slip my aching feet out of my dance shoes and into my trainers, I want to get to know him better and I definitely want to kiss him again.

There’d be nothing accidental about it this time round – not on my part, anyway.

But I can’t quite find the courage to broach the subject directly, in case he doesn’t feel the same way, so I settle for asking if he fancies grabbing a bite to eat before we head home.

I’ve secretly got it all mapped out in my head – the two of us chatting over a pint and some dinner at the pub next door, then heading back to mine afterwards for ‘dessert’.

‘Ah, but I can’t, I’m sorry,’ Merle says, crushing my little fantasy. ‘I have an arrangement already.’

I know I must look disappointed, because he puts his hands on my shoulders and says, ‘But we’ll make up for it tomorrow.’

He massages me gently and once again I can feel the warmth of his hands through my T-shirt. ‘We’ll work on loosening more of this tenseness, so you can really relax into the dance.’

Then he pulls me into an embrace and I can’t stop a moan escaping from my throat as his lips find mine. Never before have I been so turned on by just a kiss. It certainly wasn’t like this with Ed.

I press myself into him and run my hands up his back. He slides his down to my bum and pulls me tighter against him so I can feel him stirring. Then he moves them to my breasts and rubs my nipples through my T-shirt with his thumbs, which makes me want to rip it off and feel him skin on skin.

As if he can read my mind, he reaches up underneath and pushes his fingers inside my bra, making me groan with pleasure. It’s like it’s the first time anyone has ever touched me there.

‘I’m so sorry I have to run off this evening,’ he says between kisses.

It’s some time after that before he withdraws his hand.

‘I have to go,’ he says eventually, stepping away and reaching for his bag. ‘I’m sorry,’ he says again, as he walks backwards to the door. ‘ à demain , Kate.’

Until tomorrow. I’m already counting down the minutes.