She shook her head and gave him a wry look. “Believe me, the way you move takes a lot more than just experience, no matter how many decades—or centuries—you have under your belt. Just now you looked as if you were floating.”
If that had come from anyone but Tess, he would have been sure that was a compliment. As it was, he had no idea how to respond.
Instead of speaking, he dug in his pocket to pull out the remote for the portable stereo and keyed on the music, and the lovely, timeless strains of Chopin’s Grande Valse Brillante swelled to fill the room.
A sense of peace and contentment filled him. He loved music, and he loved to dance. Teaching Tess to waltz was going to be a pleasure.
A half an hour later, he had revised his opinion drastically, as she stepped on his foot again. Instantly, they both stopped moving and glared at each other.
“Young lady, you are not an elephant,” he told her. “Kindly refrain from imitating one.”
“I’m sorry!” she said for the fifth time.
Or perhaps it was the sixth. He wasn’t sure; he had lost count. It was certainly often enough that she had begun to say it through gritted teeth.
He forced himself to take a breath. While he might not need to breathe anymore, the action seemed to help him reach for patience. “Not to worry. We’ll keep doing it until we get it right.”
Rubbing the back of her head, she muttered something about dancing with the stars and Vampyres.
He cocked his head. “What was that? I didn’t quite understand you.”
“I—never mind.” She squared her shoulders. “Are we going again?”
“Of course.” He opened up his arms, and she stepped into them.
While teaching her to dance had turned into much more of a chore than he had anticipated, this one thing was purest pleasure: she came readily to him, and she no longer remembered to flinch from his touch.
Of course, he did not clasp her too tightly, but instead held her precisely at the correct distance. And her heart rate still sped up every time he looked at her, or reached out to touch her slender, muscular body. But mostly, he thought, her fear seemed to have subsided, and even though she seemed to have the dancing ability of a koala bear, for that reason alone, he counted the waltzing lessons a success.
They assumed the proper dancing posture, hands clasped. His right hand cupped the strong, graceful curve of her shoulder blade. She rested the fingertips of her left hand along the shoulder seam of his jacket.
He met her gaze as they waited for the right beat in the music. Then he nodded to her, and as they began to move, she stepped forward instead of back and trod on his foot again.
“Madre de Dios,” he said. He said a few other choice things too. He hadn’t realized that he had slipped into speaking Spanish until she started to snort and shudder. He stopped to glare at her. “What?”
“You sound like Ricky Ricardo,” she told him. Her voice quivered, and so did her beautiful lips.
When he looked at her more closely, he realized she was laughing, and trying to muffle it. “Who is this Ricardo?”
“From I Love Lucy,” she said. Then, when he still looked blank, she prompted, “The classic TV sitcom?”
“I do not watch TV,” he said. Belatedly, a vague image of a redheaded comedienne came to mind. Once, she had been famous enough that her image had dominated the media. He dismissed it.
“Not ever?”
He shrugged. “I do keep an eye on CNN, MSNBC and other news channels.”
“That’s not real TV,” she told him. She glanced down at their feet again as she muttered under her breath, “Tonight is a lot like I Love Lucy. Only with Vampyres. Naturally.”
He decided to ignore that. “This conversation has turned irrelevant. You keep trying to lead, and you can’t.”
“It’s a natural instinct to step forward, not backward,” she pointed out.
“While I understand that, I have every faith you can overcome it and stop trampling your partner’s feet.” He paused and looked at her more closely.
Dark circles had appeared in the delicate skin underneath her eyes. If she had looked tired before, now she looked exhausted and entirely out of sorts. As he studied her expression, he realized that while his “day” had begun shortly before sunset, she had been engaged in some kind of training exercise since early that morning.
Contrition hit. “Tess, I apologize. We have been working you too hard.”
Immediately her back straightened as she bristled. “I’m fine. Let’s go again.”
“I think not. Thank you for your time. We’re finished for tonight.” He inclined his head to her and turned away.
“Please.” Slender fingers caught at his sleeve. “I want to try one more time. “
He stilled and looked down at her hand. It was an imprudent gesture, of course, and when he had been a young man, it would never have been permitted. One did not lay hands upon a member of the nobility without permission.
But those early days of his youth were centuries gone. Now so many humans were brash and heedless. Strange vulgarities such as “yo mama” and “motherfucker” were actually considered legitimate interactions, along with backslapping, head rubbing, fist-bumping, hugs and other importunities.
He had learned to tolerate without flinching most minor encroachments upon his person, and if anyone else had so heedlessly laid a hand on him, he wouldn’t have given it more than a passing thought.
Except, this was Tess who had voluntarily laid a hand on him. Tess, who, when they had first met, had difficulty remaining in the same room as him. Just now she had reached out so naturally, so thoughtlessly.
A quick, bright reaction flared. Triumph, perhaps, along with pleasure. He schooled his expression to conceal it as he turned back to her, covering her hand with his. “Very well, one more time, but then we’re through. You need to rest, and I have other matters to attend to.”
Her forehead crinkled. “We were going to start meditating so I could learn some biofeedback techniques.”
Some tense, buried emotion lay underneath her words, and he studied her more closely. She was anxious, yet struggling to hide it. Frowning, he thought back over their conversation that evening. It had not exactly gone smoothly. She had tried his patience, and had evidenced her own frustration and discouragement more than once.
Then he remembered what she had said about Raoul slamming her to the ground or throwing her into the wall, and his frown deepened. If his suspicion was correct, the other man had been trying to discourage her from staying. It appeared they might have been hard on her in more ways than one.
“There’s no harm in starting the meditation tomorrow evening,” he said gently. “We’re undertaking a journey, not running a race. Overall, you’ve been working quite hard and doing a very good job. I’m pleased with the progress you’ve made.”
Her tired eyes brightened. “Really? You’re not just saying that?”
He shook his head. “I’m not just saying that.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He inclined his head. “And now to try this one more time. Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
They took the waltz position, which was another thing she did very well. She held her head high, shoulders back. He pulled out the stereo remote and keyed the music to start, then dropped the remote back into his jacket pocket and took her hand.
They waited, and as the first strains of music filled the ballroom, he met her gaze and mouthed, Backward.
She took a deep breath, nodded and they stepped into the waltz together.
For a full minute and a half they achieved a thing of beauty. Her slender body moved lightly and gracefully through the steps, at one with his. Her expression lit with excitement, and he smiled to see it.
Then she stepped on his foot.
He stopped immediately, and before the dismay in her eyes could dampen her expression, he said, “Well done!”