backside. Yowza. Every bit as good as his front side. Damn, the man was fine. With a capital F. Ogling his ass is not helping you control these urges, Maggie. She stood behind him. “Now, I want to see those feet moving. Just like we’ve been working on. Ah ah ah, but I don’t want you looking at your feet. Look straight ahead. As if you were gazing into your partner’s eyes.”
He nodded and shuffled his feet.
“That’s awesome. Don’t change anything.”
But he did falter after another minute.
When Maggie curled her hands around his hips, tucking her body close behind his, he jumped forward. “Jesus, Maggie. What are you doing?”
“Teaching you. You said you liked the hands-on approach. I was trying to get you to use your hips.”
Jon shot her a smug look over his shoulder. “Trust me, dancing queen, I know how to use my hips.”
She imagined her hands gripping his biceps as he was propped above her naked, giving her firsthand knowledge of just how well he could move that pelvis.
“What’s put that look on your face?” he asked softly.
Fighting a blush, she said, “Exhaustion,” and stepped in front of him. “Now count out the beat with me.”
Strong fingers dug into her hips and he snugged his torso against hers—way too close. But she couldn’t seem to tell him to back off.
“Feel how I move.” Palms flat against the wall, she danced forward and back. “One, two. Three, four. One, two. Three, four. I don’t hear you counting.”
When his deep voice rumbled in her ear, she almost lost track of which damn number she was on.
“I’ll face you and we’ll do this for real. Don’t change anything. Just keep counting.” Maggie turned and his fingers drifted across her lower belly, sending her whole body on high alert.
Jon’s eyes remained on hers as he slipped her hands into his. His husky voice repeated the numbers in a melodic cadence and the music faded into the background.
Forward. Back. His steps weren’t perfect but his gait was much smoother.
She wondered how long they’d danced after the music ended. Something had shifted between them tonight. She attempted to pull away but Jon was having none of that.
“Thank you. I actually feel like I might not suck at this.”
Maggie smiled. “You just need to be patient with yourself.”
During the next half of the lesson, Jon even learned how to spin his partner and reverse steps. She was pleased with his progress and told him so.
Time passed quickly. But she had to get off her feet.
It took her longer than usual to pack up her stuff, but Jon wasn’t inclined to leave. As much as she liked just talking to him, she suspected he’d stuck around out of obligation. “Jon. You don’t have to stay. I don’t want to keep you from your Friday night plans.”
“I don’t have any plans.”
Tell him you don’t either. Ask him to come over.
As good as that sounded…this week had drained her. Physically. Mentally. She wouldn’t be good company. Heck, she’d probably fall asleep.
Jon asked, “What about your plans?”
“I plan on crawling into bed and not getting out until morning.”
“What a coincidence. That’s my favorite way to spend a Friday night too.”
His meaning sent a dangerous shiver of longing through her. “You looking for an invite for a sleepover?”
He shrugged. “Never hurts to ask.”
She stared at him, expecting he’d back off. Or at least take off.
But he didn’t. He kept that penetrating gaze locked to hers. “I’ll stick around until you’re done. It’s too late to be wandering around in a dark parking lot by yourself.”
Jon did stick close as she checked both exits and entrances. Since the gym was a separate structure, the community center was already locked up.
He insisted on carrying her bag. He let his hand rest in the small of her back and she found her footsteps dragging on the jaunt to her car.
“I oughta pick you up and carry you,” he grumbled. “You are dead on your feet.”
What would it be like to have a big, strong guy whisk her into his arms?
Heavenly.
She sighed.
Then his warm mouth was on her ear. “You’d like that.”
Yes. Yes she would. Too much. She stopped at her car and fiddled with her keys instead of meeting his gaze.
Thud. Her bag hit the ground. “Maggie.” Jon inserted himself between her and the door, forcing her to look at him. “Come here.”
“Jon. I’m okay.”
“No you’re not. Let me hold you up for a little while.”
“But I shouldn’t—”
“Just let go for a minute.” He tugged her, gathering her in his arms. “I’ve got you.”
Maggie melted into him, letting his warmth and strength flow through her. But her stomach made a loud gurgling noise and she reluctantly pulled away. “Obviously I skipped supper again.”
“Then the least I can do is take you someplace to eat.”
“That’s sweet, but not necessary.”
Then he was in her face. “You worked your ass off, you’re hungry—so I am feeding you. Your choices are we go out, or I follow you home and cook for you there.”
Maggie realized he wasn’t taking no for an answer. She realized she really liked that about him. “All right. The Millstone is open. I’ll meet you.”
Chapter Four
Jon chose the booth at the back of the restaurant and ordered coffee. After ten full minutes passed and Maggie hadn’t shown, he wondered if he’d been stood up.
But that didn’t seem like Maggie’s style. Then again, what did he really know about her?
He knew she’d felt the same zing between them whenever their eyes met and whenever their bodies touched.
Then she swept into the restaurant. Her reddish-blond hair was still contained in a hair clip that showed off her elegant neck and stunning profile. She had the haughty look of classic ballerina in her angular facial features, and she exuded the grace of a dancer in the way she carried herself.
Jon was completely taken with her.
She slid opposite him. “Sorry. My car was on fumes so I had to fill up with gas.” She picked up the menu and flipped through it. “What are you having?”
“All-day breakfast special number three.”
“That sounds good.”
The waitress took their order and Maggie looked at him expectantly. “Tell me about yourself, Jon White Feather.”
“What do you want to know?” He braced himself for the intrusive personal questions people felt entitled to ask because he had a public persona as a musician.
“Your family. Where you got those stunning blue eyes.”
Not what he’d expected, which was a good thing. And was she flirting with him? “Threw you, didn’t they? Most folks assume I wear contacts. I don’t. This eye color is courtesy of my mother.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I suspected you weren’t full-blooded Lakota. Your genetic makeup resembles Eden’s more than your brother’s.”
“True. That’s why Eden and I got along so well—we’re both half-breeds. Jim’s my half-brother. His mother died when he was young. My mother came to the Eagle Butte Reservation right after she graduated from college in Minnesota. She met my dad…”
“And your mom helped heal a widower’s heart?”
“Ain’t quite that romantic. Living on the rez wasn’t as noble as it’d sounded in her sociology classes. Anyway, Jim is twelve years older than me. My brother Jared is four years younger than me. He’s still giving our parents fits over his daredevil acts as a smoke jumper.”
Maggie’s brow furrowed. “Smoke jumper?”
“He travels all over the U.S. fighting wild fires with an elite group of all-Indian firefighters based out of Eagle Butte.” He smirked. “Jared is hard to contain.”
“Ha-ha.”
&nb
sp; “What about your family?” he asked.
“You know my brother Billy. I have an older sister Lacy who lives in New York with her husband and three kids. My dad died when I was in high school and my mom passed on a few years after I graduated from college. That’s about it.” She sipped her coffee. “How old are you?”
“Thirty-six. How old are you?”
“Thirty-two.”
Jon knew he looked shocked. “Really?”
She bristled. “Yes. Why?”
“I thought you were like…twenty-six.”
“Disappointed that I’m not a young, hot thing, rock star?”
He didn’t bother to bank the heat in his eyes. “Not at all. Because winyan, you are a young, hot thing.”
Maggie blushed. “What does winyan mean?”
“Woman. And you’re all that.”
“Flatterer. So tell me how you became Johnny Feather, international music star.”
He snorted. “More like inter-nation music star. Entertaining American Indian tribes from the Arapahoe to the Zuni.”
“But your band has traveled abroad, right?”
“Several times. Sapa spent four long months overseas last year.”
“Doesn’t sound like you had a good time.”
“The performances were great. But we were sick of each other halfway through the tour. At least when we’re here, we can go home to get away from each other. We’ve been touring for months on end, year after year. Sapa isn’t booked for any paying gigs for a while. We’re taking a long break.” Maybe a permanent break.
Maggie looked at him curiously. “Is Sapa breaking up?”
Was she really that intuitive? Or was he just that transparent? He hedged. “Technically Sapa could go on even if half of us quit. The band has ten members. We rotate gigs for the lead guitarists and the bass guitarists because they have families. It’s always worked. But the married members of the band, who aren’t interchangeable, are expecting their first baby and wanted to be home for the summer and fall. Another member lost his father this spring and he quit because he has to take care of his mom full-time. The other couple called it quits in their relationship, and they’re not sure they can work together professionally anymore.”
“And what about you?” she prompted. “Are you interchangeable?”
“No. I’m key. I write the majority of our music. I’ve always dealt with the business end. The booking agents, the accountants, the company putting on the tours and most of the media. If the band didn’t like the venue, they blamed me. If we had to cancel or postpone a show, the booking agent blamed me. If we ran out of money mid-tour, the accountant blamed me. All I wanted to do was make music. My creativity has been totally tapped out because the last three years have been so stressful.” Jon gave Maggie props for steering the conversation, but enough yammering on about himself. “What about you? Have you been overseas?”
“No. I always thought it’d be fun to go to the international dance competition world finals in London.” She smiled. “I guess the regionals in Gillette in a few weeks will have to do.”
“So that’s why you’re practicing all the time?”
“All the time is right. Evenings. Weekends. Hours of dancing. And that’s after Seth has taught a full schedule at his dance studio and I’ve worked eight hours.”
“Why do it?”
“Because I’m a sucker?”
Jo