Love, Mom, Dad and Brandon

“Oh, you guys. You just never let me down.” A little teary-eyed, she crouched and turned the stereo on.

It was one of her father’s compositions, and one of her favorites. She remembered how thrilled, and how proud she had been, when she had danced to it the first time on stage in New York.

Kimball dancing to Kimball, she thought, and shrugged out of her coat, kicked off her shoes.

Slow at first—a long extension. The muscles tremble, but hold, and hold. A bend at the knee to change the line. Turning, beat by beat.

Lower. A gentle series of pirouettes, fluid rather than sharp.

She moved around the dingy room, sliding into the well-remembered steps. Music swelled into the space, into her mind, into her body.

Building now, from romance toward passion. Arabesque, quick, light triple pirouette and into ballottes.

The joy of it rushed into her. The confining band flew out of her hair. Grande jeté. And again. Again. Feel like you could fly forever. Look like you can.

End it with flair, with joy, in a fast rush of fouetté turns. Then set! Snap like a statue, one arm up, one back.

“I guess I’m supposed to throw roses, but I don’t have any on me.”

Her breath was already coming fast, and she nearly lost it completely as the statement shoved her out of dance mode. She pressed a hand to her speeding heart, and panting lightly, stared at Brody.

He stood just inside the door, hands in his pockets and a toolbox at his feet.

“You can owe me,” she managed to say. “I like red ones. God, you scared the life out of me.”

“Sorry. Your door wasn’t locked, and you didn’t hear me knock.” Or wouldn’t have, he decided, if he’d thought to knock.

But when he’d seen her through the window, he hadn’t thought at all. He’d just walked in, dazzled. A woman who looked like that, who moved like that, was bound to dazzle a man. He imagined she knew it.

“It’s all right.” She turned and walked over to turn down the music. “I was initiating the place. Though the dance looks better with the costumes and lights. So.” She pushed at her tumbled hair, willing her speeding heart to settle. “What can I do for you, Mr. O’Connell?”

He walked toward her, stopping to pick up her hair band. “You lost this during a spin.”

“Thanks.” She tucked it into her pocket.

He wished she’d pulled her hair back into it. He didn’t care for his reaction to the way she looked just now, flushed and tousled and…available. “I get the feeling you weren’t expecting me.”

“No, but I don’t mind the unexpected.” Especially, she thought, when it comes with fabulous green eyes and a sexy little scowl.

“Your mother asked me to come by, take a look at the place.”

“Ah. You’re another housewarming present.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Nothing.” She angled her head. Dancers, she mused, knew as much about body language as a psychiatrist. His was stiff, just a little defensive. And he was certainly careful to keep a good, safe distance between them. “Do I make you nervous, O’Connell, or just annoy you?”