two only came in to take some classes before their wedding. They keep coming back,” Gordon told him. Then he leaned against the table. “So, what do you do, Mr. O’Casey?”
Quinn didn’t have a chance to answer him. A man approached the table, calling out cheerfully, “Gordon! I’ll be damned. They actually got you in here?”
The man was tall, dark, good-looking, casually dressed in an open-neck black silk shirt, tan trousers and a dark jacket. His eyes were dark, too, his face deeply bronzed.
“Yeah, they dragged me down,” Gordon said, half rising to shake the newcomer’s hand.
“Gabe, this is Quinn O’Casey, Doug’s brother, a new student. Quinn, meet Gabriel Lopez, entrepreneur extraordinaire! Suede is his club.”
“How do you do?” Quinn said, shaking hands with Lopez.
“Great, thanks. And welcome. You ever been in here before?”
Quinn shook his head. “Never. I’m a total novice.”
“You’ll like it. I get the best musicians, even during the week. We keep up the floor, and our kitchen turns out amazing food.”
“So far, so good,” Quinn said.
“You haven’t been on the dance floor yet?”
Quinn grinned. “No. And you won’t see me on it for a very long time, I assure you.”
Lopez had slid into the booth next to him. “My friend, you’ll be surprised, don’t you think, Gordon?”
Gordon nodded. “Dancing gets in your blood. You hear the music, you have to move.” He shrugged, staring at the floor. “Maybe you don’t get to be a Shannon Mackay right away, but look at Doug. Six months, and he’s quite impressive. Most importantly, he’s having fun.”
“Yeah, he really enjoys it. And hey, what a setup you two have here,” Quinn said, including Lopez. “You learn upstairs, you dance downstairs. Couldn’t have been planned better.”
“True,” Gordon agreed. “And it wasn’t even planned.”
“This wasn’t a club before?”
“It’s always been a restaurant—with an excuse for a dance floor,” Lopez said. He shrugged. “When I came down, a year or so ago now, I saw the potential in the place. The other owners weren’t making use of the gold mine they had.”
“We have a great relationship,” Gordon explained. “We have the same people come in to take care of the floors, and we both get a deal that way.”
“They send me their students all the time,” Lopez said.
“And we have a place to send our students, so that they have a good time and want to take more lessons,” Gordon said, then pointed toward the ceiling. “The other tenant in the building is a designer and costumer. She’s great, too. Katarina. When someone is looking for a dress—for a night out on the town, or for a competition—they just go right across the hall. You couldn’t get a better setup.”
Lopez nodded and stood. “Well, back to business. Welcome, Mr. O’Casey.” He cocked his head, smiling. “Are you a cop, too? With your brother and his friends around now, we feel safe all the time.”
Quinn shook his head. “No, sorry, I’m not a cop. I’m into boats. Charters, diving, fishing,” Quinn said. Absolutely true, just not the whole story.
“Ah, I see. Well, then, you’re a lucky man, too. There’s nothing in the world like the sea.”
“Nothing like it,” Quinn agreed.
“Enjoy your night,” Lopez said.
“See you, Gabe,” Gordon said.
Lopez walked away, toward the kitchen.
“He’s a great guy,” Gordon said.
“Seems to be,” Quinn agreed.
“Hey, you want to see your brother really look good?” Gordon asked. There was a note of pride in his voice.
Quinn looked back to the floor. The couples had all switched around. Doug was dancing with Shannon Mackay, and there were only a few people on the floor now. The music had changed, as had the dance. It was sweeping and incredibly graceful.
“Bolero,” Gordon told him briefly.
The dance was beautiful. And Doug was good, made all the better by the elegance of his partner.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone move so…”
“You mean your brother?” Gordon teased.
Quinn shook his head, grinning. “Ms. Mackay.”
“She’s the best,” Gordon said.
“Hey, Quinn, can we slip back in?”
His head jerked up. Bobby and Giselle had returned. Panting. Quinn hadn’t realized he had been almost transfixed, watching the dancers.
“You’re not doing the bolero?” he asked the pair.
Bobby snorted. “Every time we try it together, we trip each other. I’m actually kind of hopeless.”
“You’re not!” Giselle protested.
Bobby made a face at Quinn. “You should see her in group class. She subtly—lovingly—tries to make sure she’s in front of some other guy all the time.”
“I do not. I would never.” She shrugged sheepishly at Quinn. “We change partners every few minutes anyway. What good would it do?”
Doug came up to the table, drawing Shannon by the hand. “Well?” he asked Quinn. It was strange. Doug had been totally serious about his suspicions regarding Lara Trudeau’s death, but right now, he was like the anxious little kid brother Quinn had known all his life, wanting his approval.
“You two blew me away,” he said.
Doug was pleased. “Now it’s your turn.”
“You’re out of your mind,” Quinn said, laughing.
“No, no, you’ll be fine,” Bobby encouraged. “It’s a merengue. You can’t mess it up.”
“Trust me, I can.”
“Come on, Mr. O’Casey,” Shannon said to him. “It’s step, step, step. March, march, march. I know you can do it.”
She was extending her elegant hand to him, those eyes of hers directly on his, challenging. It was as if she didn’t believe for a second that he had really come for dance lessons.
He shrugged. “All right. If you’re all absolutely determined to make me look like a fool…”
“You’ll never look like a fool—not with Shannon,” Gordon said.
“Doesn’t look like they’re just doing march, march, march to me,” he told her ruefully as they stepped onto the dance floor.
“They are—they’re just adding turns.”
She was in his arms, showing him the hold. “Just follow my movements. Men always—always—lead in dance,” she told him, “but since you haven’t done this yet…left, right, left, right…feel the beat?”
He did feel the beat. And more. The searing touch of her eyes, probing his. The subtle movement of her body, erotic along with the music.
“March, march,” he said.
“You’re doing fine.”
“Thanks. And how about you?”
Her brows hiked. “I’m impressed. You really do have a sense of rhythm. We can try some of those arm movements if you want. Just lift them…and I’ll turn, then you turn. Merengue