The Billionaire and the Runaway Bride by Nadia Lee

Chapter Fifteen

Declan

Yuna winks, her lips curving into a grin. And all the irritation I’ve been feeling melts away like a snow cone in summer.

But this does mean a minor adjustment to my plan. Last night I was thinking about having Nancy teach both Yuna and I how to waltz, so I could practice with my hands on her. I could lead smoothly and dazzle her.

Well. The dazzling won’t be happening, since Yuna’s obviously better at this stuff than I am…but the dancing together will. I’ll settle for that.

“We can do a regular waltz today and tomorrow and try the Viennese after that. Once you get the hang of the main one-two-three, one-two-three rhythm, it’s super easy,” she says, coming toward me.

I wait for her to put her hands all over me, to show me how to lead and move. It should be fun. Maybe it’s just luck—or a fortunate alignment of the stars—that Nancy ended up in jail.

Yuna’s hands are slim, but her fingers are long and oh-so supple. I’ve been getting turned on watching her play the piano. Anticipation sizzles at the idea of those clever fingers wrapping around my hand and stroking my back.

But instead of taking my hand or having me put my arm around her, Yuna pulls me to the wide area in the living room, stands next to me and starts showing me how to do a basic box step.

Seriously?

I guess she wants to make sure I don’t step on her shoes, but still… I’m barefoot. It’s not like I’m not going to scuff her heels.

She doesn’t seem to notice my disappointment. “All you have to do is count and imagine tracing the outer edge of the box. That way you aren’t thinking, ‘Should I use my left leg or right leg now?’”

It isn’t hard at all, actually. Or maybe it’s because I’m paying extra attention to every word rolling off her perfect pink lips and the way her pretty little feet move on the floor.

When I can do the step on my own without messing up for at least three minutes, she finally says, “Let’s take a little break.”

“Okay,” I say, just to be agreeable and also because her cheeks are flushed. She might be a little tired. If I were in charge of pacing this lesson, we’d already be putting it together with her as my partner. But maybe there’s more I need to learn. I’ve never had dance lessons, and I’m sure there’s more to waltzing than just a box step. It looks a lot more complicated in historical films.

Now I wish the other dance I needed to master was the tango. It’s a passionate dance with the man and woman all over each other. At least, the ones I’ve seen are.

Thinking about it makes my blood hot. Maybe I should suggest to Melvin that a tango would be better in the other scene…

“But first we need to make sure we have good music.” Yuna looks around. “You said you played. Do you know how to play ‘Chopsticks’?”

“Sure. Everyone knows that one.”

And it’s not something you’re likely to forget. But I don’t know why she wants to play it when she can just find some decent dance music online.

“Perfect.” She smiles.

She takes my hand and walks toward the piano. The skin-to-skin contact is surprising. She hasn’t touched me since the handshake on Sunday. It makes me tingle, and my fingertips twitch with the need to hold her hand in mine and pull her closer.

I follow her to the piano, although I’m not sure what “Chopsticks” has to do with waltzing. Maybe she just wants an excuse to hold my hand. I stroke the center of her soft palm with my thumb and feel the tender flesh jerk a little. I’ve never felt anything so lovely and velvety before.

Her cheeks slightly pinker than before, she opens the lid and sits down on the left side of the bench. She pats the right side like nothing happened. “Right here’s where you sit,” she says. “Let’s do this.”

“We’re going to play ‘Chopsticks’ together?” I say, sitting next to her and making sure I’m positioned close enough to feel her flush against me. I love you, Steinway, for making this bench so short.

“Yup. Do you know it can be turned into a duet piece for four hands?”

“I didn’t know that. But don’t all duet pieces need four hands?”

“Yes, but saying ‘a piece for four hands’ indicates you only need one piano, rather than two. Some require two, like Rachmaninoff’s ‘Tarantella.’ Anyway, we’re going to record this.” She picks up the iPad and sets up the app. Then she gets up to grab her own phone and starts it ticking regularly.

“A metronome app,” she explains. “This is the correct tempo for the waltz. Ready?” She takes her spot again on the bench.

We start, with me going first.

It’s awkward at first. I’ve never played a piano with somebody like this, and I’ve never been this distracted before, either. Yuna’s a superb player, her hands playing chords I didn’t know went with the melody.

She smells really good this close, a hint of floral body wash over something that makes me think of ripe, juicy summer peaches. My mouth waters, and I lick my lips. I almost miss a note, and cringe. Focus, dumbass. It’d be embarrassing to mess up “Chopsticks.” I’m only using two fingers, while Yuna’s using at least six. Might as well not have any fingers if I’m going to screw this up.

But the warmth from her body heats my blood every time our arms brush. My heart accelerates, and my skin feels tight. If it weren’t for the metronome app keeping me on track, I’d speed up to wrap up the duet.

Especially since I keep thinking about what her lips might taste like, and my dick is starting to get hard.

Who the hell gets excited over “Chopsticks”?

The three minutes it takes to finish the piece at tempo seem to last much longer. When we hit the final notes, I let out a sigh and shift a little to hide my reaction.

Yuna doesn’t seem to notice because she’s beaming as she checks the iPad, her cheeks a delicate shade of rose. “Perfect! Now we can totally do the next step.”

She hits play. The Steinway re-creates what we just did together. Damn. It’s pretty good. I feel like I’m getting my money’s worth.

She gestures at me to follow her, and we get up and stand in the living room again. “Ready?” she says.

“We’re going to dance to ‘Chopsticks’?”

“Yup. Didn’t you notice? It has a perfect beat for the waltz. One two three, one two three…”

She’s right. How come I never noticed that?And the thing is, the tune is so ridiculous and fun that it’s impossible to feel anything but joy as I hold her hand and put my arm around her. We practice the basic steps, making a box on the floor.

Our bodies are close, and I look into her happy eyes. I’ve held countless women in my arms—at parties or for photoshoots or acting roles. Many of them are known for beauty and charm, but they all pale compared to Yuna. None of them smell the way she does, or feel as sweet as when I hold her close. My heart pumps harder and faster, and hot chills spread over my skin, all the way to my scalp and the tips of toes.

She isn’t talking, but her lips are set in a curve and her eyes have a faraway look, like she’s lost in thought. It annoys me that she’s not focused on me like I am on her. So I give her a little tug and a “pay attention to me” stare. Her gaze sharpens as she lets out a small sound of surprise.

The sound makes me think of sex—the sound she might make.

I put more distance between us without being too obvious. Pressing her against my erect cock on the first day of work probably isn’t the wisest move, even if I want to make her want me. Unless she was thinking about sex—with me, of course—when she got that dreamy look in her dark eyes, and was getting turned on.

It’s unfair that God made it so women can hide their arousal so easily.

After a couple more tries, she lifts her arms in a hooray gesture and moves away. And I hate it that the damned music is so short. Somebody needs to compose an hour-long waltz.

“That was perfect,” she says. “Now we can add some turns and variations. Super easy, as long as you keep track of which way you’re supposed to turn. Otherwise you’re going to bump into other couples. There are other dancers in the scene, right?”

“I think so,” I say, my pulse still unsteady.

She grins.

Can a woman grin like that when she’s turned on? I find that I don’t know. I never really paid that much attention.

“So,” she says. “Let’s start.”