Chapter 1

Mason Rossi asked himself for the thousandth time how he let himself get roped into this assignment. He was a good person, he thought, kind to old ladies and animals. He donated both time and money to charities. He always helped a friend in need. But this was going a little too far, he grumped to himself.

He was currently perched in one of the buttery-soft leather seats of the company luxury Gulf Stream, sitting across from newlyweds Sawyer and Harlow Oldham. They were winging their way across clear blue skies to the City of Angels. Harlow had been invited to compete in the latest installment of Dancing With the Celebrities, a reality show that paired famous people with professional dancers, for what purpose, Mason had no idea. He’d never seen the show.

He didn’t have anything against dancing—scratch that. He hated it. Sure, dancers were athletes, but it just wasn’t his bailiwick. He’d rather take a hit from a four hundred-pound linebacker than step foot on a dance floor. Abby forced and coerced him to dance at a bar once and he was pretty sure his lumbering movements had caused more than one patron to bust a gut in hilarity. His jerky gyrations made Elaine from Seinfeld look like a prima donna.

Sawyer Oldham asked him to accompany them as a precaution to protect Harlow for her duration on the show. He couldn’t say no to his coworker and friend, so he put aside his reservations. He’d have to suffer through watching hours of it, especially if Harlow made the cut each week. He’d probably have to down a couple of Red Bulls to keep awake.

Their bosses were treating this assignment like any other case. Luke Colton and Logan Bradley had given them the full support of COBRA Securities and all available resources. He hoped they wouldn’t be needed. They didn’t anticipate any issues arising, but it was better to be prepared. Harlow would be competing on national television each week, putting her directly in the limelight. They didn’t want to take the chance of some wingnut who disagreed with her grandmother’s policies attempting anything.

He glanced over at the couple, their heads bent close as they murmured softly to each other. They were lost in their own little world. He rolled his eyes. Great. Not only was he forced to watch something he had absolutely no interest in, for possibly weeks on end, he had to put up with the lovebirds who couldn’t seem to keep their hands off each other. At least the hotel suite featured two rooms. He prayed the walls were soundproofed.

Originally they planned on staying in Logan and Jade Bradley’s house in the Hollywood Hills. Their boss and his Academy Award-winning wife kept the home for when they needed to be in LA. But Dancing With the Celebrities personnel booked a room for Harlow close to the studio. BeBe Davis, the COBRA Securities office manager extraordinaire, finagled an upgrade to a two-bedroom suite for no extra cost. Rumors swirled around the office that she was part witch—a good one, of course.

According to Harlow, the least amount of time they’d need to be in LA was two weeks. She would meet her partner tomorrow and then they would practice a routine for seven days. The live show was set to air a week from tomorrow. Harlow and the other celebrities would each attempt one dance and then the judges would critique their performance and award scores based on skill, technique and showmanship that would count for half of the total, with audience votes making up the other half.

When Harlow announced that she’d accepted the invitation to compete, Tyler Redmond, their resident computer genius, declared that he could guarantee Harlow won the audience vote each week. Harlow made him promise on a computer hard drive—his version of a Bible—not to do anything but vote one time, as allowed by the show’s rules. She wanted to do this on her own. Tyler tried to argue, but finally gave her his word he wouldn’t use his proficient—and sometimes borderline illegal—hacking skills to interfere.

Mason had no idea if Harlow could dance, but she was elegant and graceful, and she’d win the audience over with her charm and personality. He hoped she took home the trophy, even if it meant he’d have to endure several weeks of mind-numbing boredom for that to happen.

He closed his eyes, and as they had so often the past two weeks, his thoughts drifted back to the beauty with flaxen hair and eyes a crystal blue. He remembered what it felt like to have her tight body pressed against his. Even though she was a foot shorter, she fit against him perfectly. She’d been tone and muscular but soft in the right places. He didn’t even know her name. Why hadn’t he asked? At the time, walking away seemed like the best option. Now he wondered what the hell he’d been thinking. He should’ve at least gotten her number so he could check on her, make sure she was really okay after the idiot driver almost plowed them down.

“Lady and gents, we’re approaching La La Land,” Wyatt Hollister announced over the intercom, pulling him from his thoughts. “Please stow your trays and move your seats to upright position. And Mr. Oldham, kindly leave your pretty bride alone so she can buckle up. I’ll have you on the ground in a jiffy. Weather in Los Angeles is a balmy seventy-six and sunny.” Wyatt was their pilot and fellow agent. After he dropped them off, he’d be headed back to Indiana. Lucky bastard.

A soft hand squeezed his arm. “Thank you again for coming, Mason,” Harlow said, making him feel guilty for considering hiding out in the bathroom so he could accompany Wyatt back home. “I know you aren’t a fan of the show, so I appreciate it.”

He smiled at her. “I’m happy to do it.” And he was. He wanted her to do well. America would fall in love with her as quickly as Sawyer had. Yep, they’d be here for weeks.

#

Cassidy Swain woke early and slid on her running shoes. She’d placed her black mesh racerback tank and Lycra shorts on the dresser before she went to bed, so she made quick work of removing the t-shirt she slept in and pulling them on. After stopping in the bathroom to use the facilities and secure her hair into a ponytail, she grabbed her new iPhone and inserted it into her arm band. She popped the wireless earbuds in place and removed the spare key she kept inside the band.

The ocean air wrapped around her when she stepped outside, the sound of waves crashing against the surf soothing her soul. She locked the door and stowed the key in the zippered compartment on the band and then scrolled to her running playlist. “Let’s Get It Started” by the Black Eyed Peas clicked on and she bopped her head in time with the beat as she looped the band around her upper arm before securing the Velcro strips in place.

After a quick stretch, she took off at a soft jog to warm up. She’d run five miles a day for years. Besides the cardio benefit, running calmed her and gave her time to think and reflect. Today was the day she’d meet her new partner for the latest installment of Dancing With the Celebrities.

Few people were stirring at this time of the morning, so she had the path along the beach pretty much to herself, though there were a few other die-hards out and about. She waved to the familiar faces, both human and canine. Each breath filled her lungs with the tangy salt air. Eminem’s voice crooning “Lose Yourself,” came next, and her legs automatically kicked up the pace. She let the sound of the music wash over her.

Her apartment was in an older building that had been well-maintained over the years. It was a two story walk up painted bright yellow, with very little inside space. Her closet was barely more than a hole in the wall. But what it lacked in square footage, it made up for with a wall of windows and a deck that overlooked the majestic Pacific Ocean.

She could afford to move to a larger place, maybe even buy a house in Beverly Hills or Echo Park or Brentwood, but she’d been saving so she could accomplish her dream of opening her own dance academy. It was something she’d wanted to do for years and the time was right. She’d even found the perfect space. Just thinking about designing the interior and filling it with all things dance had her legs picking up speed. Though the DWTC season was just starting, she was looking forward to the end so she could get the ball rolling on the academy.

She had no idea who her new partner would be this season, though she’d heard the rumors floating around the internet of supposed contestants. She’d learned early in her career not to listen to the premature reports. They were rarely accurate. Some of the other pros complained that she was always paired with the cream of the crop, but she didn’t care who her partner was, as long as he was willing to work hard.

As the defending champion, it would be on her to whip the man into shape so they’d be competitive, no matter his skill level. She’d been fortunate to win the Golden Shoes, the prize awarded to the winners each season, in her rookie year. She placed third her second year, and then second her third season. She took home the top prize last season with her partner, a professional football player with fluid moves.

She cranked her pace, punching up her heart rate as “Don’t Feel Like Dancing,” by The Sidekicks came on. Despite the title, this song always made her want to boogie. A man walking his dog approached and her steps faltered. He was tall with dark hair, but the closer they got, she realized it wasn’t the muscular giant who rescued her two weeks ago. This man smiled at her and she barely managed to return it before she zoomed on by. Of course it wasn’t her rescuer. He was thousands of miles away, back in Indiana. Or at least, she assumed he was in Bloomington. That’s where she ran into him, figuratively and literally. She knew nothing about him, including his name.

Despite the dreams and fantasies of the mystery man, she didn’t have time for a relationship. She barely had time to sleep at night. Still, she couldn’t help but remember the feel of his strong body pressed against hers. At first, before she realized what had happened, she tried to shove him away by slugging him in the chest. It felt like she’d taken a swipe at the brick wall she was pressed against and her fingers tingled. The man was rock solid. And the fact that he’d risked his life to save hers, well, that was the stuff of heroes.

In the fourteen or so days since The Incident, as she’d named it in her head, she’d dreamt of him every single night. In one particularly vivid dream, he’d glided across the dance floor, dressed in a white military uniform. She had no idea why she pictured him in one, but it seemed to fit him. He held out his hand and she stepped into his embrace. He whisked her into a waltz, their steps perfectly in sync. After an underarm turn, their clothes disappeared and they were pressed together, chest to chest, thigh to thigh, and everywhere in between. Her pounding heart woke her, much to her distress. She’d tried to fall right back asleep, hoping to pick up where they left off, to no avail.

If it was meant to be, she’d run into him again when she returned to Indiana to open her academy. Several people questioned why she wanted to locate her studio in the Midwest when she lived in California. The answer was simple: Bloomington had always felt like home. She was born there when her parents had been graduate students at Indiana University. It was where she spent the first ten years of her life, and she’d had a happy, idyllic childhood. When her professor father had been offered a chair position at a university in Texas, they’d packed up and moved to Austin and that’s where she met Colin Rafferty, her dancing partner for the next twelve years.

Another plus in Bloomington’s column was the need for an academy like the one she envisioned. They were commonplace in Los Angeles. She would be a big fish in a small pond, instead of the other way around. Bloomington was a charming college town, though it’d grown exponentially from when she was young. Still, it had the small-town appeal with big town amenities. True, the academy was a monumental undertaking, but she couldn’t wait to get started.

“Runnin’,” by Sinkane clicked on as she hit her halfway point and circled back. She navigated her route on auto-pilot. She was a creature of habit, traversing the same path each morning. She tried to get in six days a week, taking Sunday off to rest and rejuvenate. Once the new season of DWTC started, she wouldn’t have the option of taking a day off. Every minute of practice was crucial to success. She hoped her new partner felt the same way.