LITMIR.BIZ

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it. As for her other two dates, they’d been stilted, awkward, rushed dinners, with limited small talk and frequent glances at watches on both sides.

      It wasn’t so much having a problem with flirting, she just didn’t have a clue how to do it.

      She stumbled, winced, trod on his toes, and wished the parquet floor would open up and swallow her.

      ‘Easy, Ginger. Just follow my lead.’

      If he’d smiled or smirked or had the faintest amused twinkle in his eyes she would have slammed her heel on his foot—well, she would have thought about it—and made a run for it.

      Instead, he tightened his hold on her hand, gently increased the pressure with the other in the small of her back, and counted softly under his breath as he led her around the dance floor.

      The counting was for her benefit, but it didn’t help. Clumsy, stiff and awkward didn’t begin to describe how she felt in his arms—like a mannequin given an airing before being dumped in a shopfront in only her knickers.

      Thinking of knickers while in his arms had her trampling his toes again, and she bit her lip, silently cursing her ineptness.

      ‘Sorry.’

      Her gaze fixed on his chest, heat scorching her cheeks.

      He stopped twirling her about, placed a finger under her chin and tilted it up so she had no option but to look at him.

      ‘Don’t apologise. This class is about learning, and you’re doing great for a beginner.’

      His understanding smile sent a tremor through her. Why couldn’t he be condescending and obnoxious so she could dislike him, rather than considerate and kind?

      She mumbled a noncommittal answer, wishing he’d stop staring at her like a pet project. Though it could be worse; he could be looking down on her as a charity case with pity in his eyes.

      ‘Just feel the music. Let the beat take you.’

      Easy for Fred Astaire Junior to say.

      Her dubious expression had him chuckling as he pulled her closer again. ‘Come on. You’ll enjoy it.’

      To her surprise, he was right. As soon as she stopped focussing on her feet not stomping on his, and ignored the fact he was holding her close, she started to relax.

      The music filtered over her, soft and ethereal, a classical hit from a bygone era, and she found herself humming softly, swept away in the magic of the moment.

      She closed her eyes, remembered a dancing show she’d once seen on TV, and imagined herself in a red chiffon dress with a fitted bodice held up by will-power alone, with handkerchief layers cascading from her waist to her ankles. She imagined snazzy red shoes to match, sequinned, with impossibly high heels, that floated across the dance floor of their own volition.

      With immaculate hair and make-up, and the smile of a ballroom dancing champion, she lived the fantasy, let the music infuse her body, her senses, and allowed Zac to whisk her around and around, her feet finally falling into step with his as an exhilaration she’d never known rushed through her.

      She’d never felt so light, so graceful, so unselfconscious. If this was what ballroom dancing could do for her, she’d sign up for a year’s worth of classes as soon as she got back.

      But there was more to it than perfecting a waltz and she knew it.

      Zac had given her this gift—had given her the confidence to let go of her reservations and enjoy the moment. He’d empowered her to believe that for a precious few minutes she could be agile and lithe and elegant, rather than a shy, clumsy klutz.

      When the music died her eyelids fluttered open, but rather than feeling let down by reality, the gleam of appreciation in his deep blue eyes had her craving to do it all over again.

      ‘You’re good.’

      His admiration made her want to perform a few extra twirls for good measure.

      She flushed with pleasure. ‘Thanks. So are you.’

      ‘You up for a cha-cha?’

      Ignoring the usual flicker of nerves at the thought of trying something new, she nodded. ‘Sure. Let’s give it a try.’

      Not only did she try a cha-cha, Zac showed her the finer points of a foxtrot too. While the class danced around them, she matched him step for step, exhilarated by his fancy manoeuvres, thrilled by her increasing confidence to try more complicated steps.

      At the end of the hour she collapsed into a nearby chair, her face flushed, her feet aching and her imagination still tripping the light fantastic.

      He crouched next to her as she puffed at the damp hair strands falling over her face, knowing she must look a hot, rumpled mess. Yet a small part of her was still feeling like that dance champion she’d imagined.

      ‘You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you, Ginger?’

      ‘Why? Because I only managed to break all the toes on your right foot and not your left?’

      He laughed. ‘You’ll be pleased to know my toes are just fine. Better than fine, considering I had to do some fancy footwork out there to keep up with you once you got going.’

      There was a reason he was in PR. He probably laid it on this thick for countless other gullible females every cruise.

      ‘Yeah, well, I told you I was good at the start.’ His eyebrows shot up as he clearly relived every clumsy stumble she’d made initially and she smiled. ‘And you’re not such a bad teacher, once you concentrate on the task at hand and put a zip on the banter.’

      ‘Thanks. I think.’ He stood, stretched, and she quickly averted her gaze from the window of tanned, flat stomach poking between his polo shirt and shorts. ‘See you tonight at dinner?’

      His smile was pure invitation. If he’d asked her a few hours ago she would have sent him a short, sharp RSVP in the negative, but after the enlivening hour she’d just spent, thanks to him, she found herself nodding.

      ‘Uh-huh.’

      ‘Right-o. See you then.’

      She fanned her cheeks as he walked away, wondering if it was the exercise, the exhilaration of feeling graceful for the first time in her life, or being wrapped in his muscular arms that had made her hot and bothered?

      In reality she should be happy—ecstatic, even. She’d tried something new today and had given her flagging confidence a much-needed lift. Her sense of achievement was immense, and she owed it to one guy.

      And now she’d experienced the rush of feeling graceful for the first time in her life she wondered how much further he could boost her confidence—if she didn’t try so hard to fend him off.

CHAPTER THREE

      WHILE Zac had impressed her with his sensitivity during dance class yesterday, he had ruined it by slipping into full flirting mode over dinner last night. Her fledgling confidence hadn’t lasted and she’d clammed up, grunted monosyllabic answers, and done her best to ignore the persistent attentions of a suave sailor boy with smooth moves and slick words.

      She hated the fact it was a game to him, a response to the challenge she’d thrown down in a fit of pique. Her inherent shyness was a bane she lived with every day, it affected her professionally, socially and romantically, yet he seemed to view it as something she could shrug off if he teased her enough.

      He was really starting to get to her, but thankfully the ship had docked at Noumea today, and she wouldn’t waste another minute thinking about him. Instead, she explored the French-inspired capital of New Caledonia, with its tree-lined boulevards flanked by trendy boutiques and cafés, enjoying every minute.

      She savoured the aroma of freshly brewed coffee

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