Beautiful Disaster

Part Nine

"What are you doing?" Hugh heard Izzy rant as he dragged her to the center of the pub.

"Dancing with you." They arrived at the middle of the dance floor, and Hugh let go of her hand so that he could move to the beat of the music.

He'd been anxious since stepping foot into the bar because the only thing he could do while Izzy worked was to stand at a corner and observe her. If he'd followed her around, he might have gotten in the way of her work. Thank goodness her boss had noticed him and, with a few eye signals, allowed him to approach Izzy.

He nodded enthusiastically to the rhythm until he noticed that Izzy was just standing in front of him, arms crossed in front of her breasts. Hugh laughed. Even angry in the middle of the dance floor, she looked cute.

"Come on," he urged. "Don't you know how to dance?"

"Are you insulting me?" Izzy raised a brow. "I might be called crazy, but I'm the best dancer the whole town has ever seen."

"Oh yeah?" Hugh grinned.

He held out his arms and cleared some space for Izzy to dance in. The other dancers—some high school students, a few locals and some early Christmas tourists—realized what was about to happen and backed off to watch. "Prove it."

Izzy's ears picked out the change in music and realized that the CD playing over the stereo had changed songs. The hauntingly seductive intro of a slow jazz number echoed against the walls. And when the singer's sultry, breathy voice came up, Izzy's shoulders began to roll with each syllable.

The twisting motion of her body showed off her breasts and waist to full advantage. Soon her hips began to do figure eights, and her feet slid forward. "You'll regret this."

The corners of Izzy's lips curved up as the song's slow tempo dictated the speed of her movements. Soon she was pressing herself quite intimately to Hugh. But when the man tried to grab onto her waist with his hands, she made a quick retreat and started circling him, making up graceful movements that flowed with the song.

Her hands arched this way and that, sometimes even tapping him on the shoulder or brushing his back.

Hugh could only watch in fascination as this woman, who was the exact opposite of feminine grace, transformed into a dancer dressed in sophistication. Her movements were precise, the expression on her face matching the mood of the song. The moment she crooked her finger to lure him in, he went willingly.

He rested his hands on her hips, never mind the large audience gathered around them.

In this dance, Izzy was the leader. She linked her hands behind his neck and inched back, dragging him with her. He had no choice but to follow her around.

He liked feeling the circular motions of her hips under his hands. It was addictive. They found their pace, and soon they were dancing in tandem.

After a while, Izzy switched their positions. He was in control, and that's when he brought out all the moves he knew. Hugh spun her, pressed her close to him, spun her again until her back was glued to his front. He swayed his hips, and Izzy followed.

He bent forwards, and Izzy arched backward. He turned, then swung an arm across her back so that she had something to fall onto. He caught her thigh in one hand just as she dropped onto his arm.

The move finished just as the song ended. Around them, people began clapping. Hugh couldn't believe he'd just done something so incredible, something he thought he never had the talent or the guts to do.

He'd had a few private lessons just in case his missions required attendance at social functions. He'd found the dance classes difficult, mostly because he wasn't comfortable with partners. But Izzy had felt almost liquid in his hands—the perfect partner.