Chapter 8

“Would you like to be a mouse, a soldier, a snowflake, or an angel?”

Chris rested his hand on his niece’s shoulder. “I vote for angel. She’s a natural.”

Sara giggled as she looked up at him. “Uncle Chris!”

“I’m just saying.”

It had been two days since she’d first been to the dance studio, and Sara was excited to be there. Her Uncle Chris had been right. She loved it here. And she loved her new teacher. So much that she wished she could convince her mom to move to Canden Valley. That way she could walk to the dance studio and take lessons every day.

“And your vote?” Anne asked her.

“I’m not sure. Maybe an angel or maybe a snowflake. What do they do?”

Anne nodded her approval. “That’s the right question to ask. Actually the angels don’t do that much. Now, the snowflakes, they get to be individual snowflakes in my version. There’s a choreographed dance and then they get to do a little improvising.”

“Oh! I think I’d like that!”

“I thought you might.”

“Is it okay? I mean, do you have room for another snowflake?”

“Absolutely. You can’t have too many snowflakes.”

“And you really think I can learn the dance in time?”

“If you work hard.” Anne glanced up at the clock on the wall. “Actually, we can start now. We have forty-five minutes until my first class. What do you think?”

Sara couldn’t control herself. She wrapped her arms around Anne’s waist and gave her a giant hug before running off to the changing room.

“She’s adorable,” Anne said.

“Yeah, she is.”

“And she really loves to dance.”

“Yeah, she does.”

“Which is why you’re paying for her lessons.”

“Yeah, it is.”

Anne blinked away the moisture that was forming in her eyes. She didn’t know why she was suddenly feeling emotional. Or why Christopher Newell seemed to bring out all kinds of feelings in her.

“Her parents can’t—?”

“It’s just her mom, my sister, and no, she can’t really afford the lessons Sara deserves.”

Anne felt a slight flutter in her heart. She ignored it and quickly started the music for the snowflake dance. A moment later, Sara appeared, ready to work.

Chris stood back and watched the two of them, taking more than an occasional photograph. He would look at these often, he thought. Two of his favorite people dancing together. Anne had even more patience than he had expected. Sara was doing well, but she kept stumbling over the section of the dance right before the snowflakes went into their improvisation. Anne repeated it several times, and when Sara’s shoulders slumped and frustration creased her forehead, Anne encouraged her and told her that most of the snowflakes had struggled with the same section. Chris had observed enough of their rehearsals to know that wasn’t the case, but he was grateful Anne had said it. It seemed to make Sara feel better.

All he could think about was what a great mother she would make some day. If she was this patient and encouraging with her students, she’d be an amazing mother. He looked forward to meeting hers.

When they ran out of time and were forced to stop, Sara came over to him for a hug. “I didn’t do so good, did I?” she told him.

“You did great.”

“Not really.”

“Honey, you have to remember, this was your first rehearsal. And you learned almost half the dance really well. The rest will come.”

“Yeah, but everybody else knows it really well.”

“Only because they’ve had weeks to learn it. Don’t you worry about it. You’ll get it in plenty of time for the performances.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

Chris pulled her back into his arms and kissed the top of her head. His parents didn’t know what they were missing, having caused a rift in the family so much so that they only saw their granddaughter on occasional holidays. Little did they know that she was just like her mother at that age. She had the best of both of her parents, he decided, and very little of his parents, thank goodness.

Anne watched the man with his niece and couldn’t help thinking what a great father he would be some day. It was obvious how comfortable and safe his niece felt with him. And how much she depended on him. She wondered what had happened to her father. She shivered and her first thought was that he had died. If that was the case, Sara needed Chris, and he was doing his best to provide a male presence in her life.

Again her hand involuntarily shifted to cover her heart, but this time she couldn’t deny the fluttering. Damn. Why couldn’t he be a jerk? But no, he had to go and be a decent guy. And gorgeous and sexy and a gifted photographer. Clearly he needed a flaw or two. Something that would guarantee that she’d have no problem waving good-bye as she left on her next tour.

But if his behavior toward his niece was any indication, there was no jerk hidden beneath his charming exterior. But surely the man had to have a flaw, something that would make it safe to enter into a relationship of some sort with him, other than photographer and subject. Everyone had their faults. She just hadn’t had the opportunity to spot it yet. But hey, she hardly knew the man. One cup of coffee or glass of wine together and she’d surely see hints of something unappealing about him.

She glanced over at Chris again, but for a change he wasn’t watching her. He was staring after his niece who had just trotted off to talk to a group of girls in her dance class. He was beaming as he watched the young girl who had already made friends and was clearly at home at her new dance studio.

Damn. Now her heart was melting right along with her body. The question was, what did she do about it? She knew exactly what she wanted to do. She wanted to tell him to leave, get out of there, go as far as he could in the opposite direction from her. Either that or grab him and take him to the nearest bed which happened to be at her family’s B&B down the street and make crazy passionate love to him. What was it about him? It was as if sexiness oozed from his pores.

But he was also the most confusing man she’d ever met. Most men let her know right away if they were interested or not. They flirted, gave her their most charming smile, and asked her out. Christopher Newell only hinted at flirting, and he definitely hadn’t asked her out. But he smiled at her with that smile that could melt a glacier right out from under a polar bear. And he had touched her. Okay, so it was only a handshake. And his shoulder had brushed hers several times in passing. And he had pulled out a couple hair clips for the sake of his photographs. But still . . . . He had touched her. And she had all but dissolved. Damn it. Why didn’t he just ask her out?

She was playing with fire, even thinking those thoughts. But, she reminded herself, as usual, there was a due date. She was leaving in three months and eight days. That was plenty of time to get him out of her system before her next tour. So, what was she afraid of? Wasn’t getting involved a surefire way of getting over him? It always had been in the past. So, the sooner she got involved, the better.

“Would you like to get a cup of coffee?”

Chris was so taken aback he almost stammered. Had Anne Jameson just asked him out? On a date? Just coffee, but still, it was a date, wasn’t it?

Damn. What did he do? If he said yes and went out with her, and she stuck to her normal pattern, it could very well be the beginning of the end. Did he dare risk it? But if he said no, where did that get him? Nowhere. “Uh, sure. What did you have in mind?” he heard his voice saying. It was just coffee. It didn’t mean the beginning or the end of anything. Two acquaintances drinking coffee together. Two acquaintances whom he hoped would soon be friends. And eventually a lot more than that.

“Uh, I don’t know. I just thought, maybe, you know—”

He shook his head. He honestly didn’t know.

“Uh, that maybe we should talk a little, get to know each other.” She was pulling so hard on one of the buttons of her cardigan sweater that Chris expected it to come popping off. “For the sake of the photo shoot?”

Ah, she was blaming it on the photo shoot. She wanted to get to know him. Hell, the way she’d been looking at him and the way she got so nervous when he came anywhere near her, he was pretty damned sure she wanted him. She just didn’t want to want him. Apparently she had given up on keeping her desires at bay. But no way was she going to get him, not without some kind of assurance that he was not just another one of her between-tour playmates. He was not about to be tossed into her pile of rejects.

“Uh, never mind. It was a stupid idea.” What was she thinking? Wasn’t it bad enough that she had to be around him at the studio? Now she’d gone and asked him out for coffee?

She wasn’t thinking. Obviously. But damn, she didn’t know what to do with this attraction she felt for him, this amazing chemistry between them. There weren’t many men she’d been this attracted to. Actually none. And that scared the hell out of her. And it wasn’t just a physical attraction. There was something about him. The way he looked at her, even through her. The way he was with Sara. The way he looked at everyone when he studied them through the lens of his camera. He didn’t just take pictures of their physical being. He was looking deeper, and he was seeing something beyond their physical presence when he focused in on them. It was as if he was photographing their heart and soul when he clicked the button on his camera.

She’d seen him at work enough times to know he was no ordinary photographer. She’d seen enough of the pictures he’d taken of her students to know he was a different kind of photographer. He was an artist. An artist who saw her. And knew her. Really knew her. And that was what terrified her the most.

Chris put a hand on her cheek, gently, softly, and only for an instant once he realized what he was doing. “Not stupid at all. Where and when?”

“Tomorrow morning? After my yoga class? Nine o’clock? The book café?”

He smiled. He knew he shouldn’t be smiling at her like that. He couldn’t see it, but he could feel it, and he knew he was conveying way too many of his feelings through that smile. “I’ll be there.”

She nodded and turned away before she did something stupid like grab him by his corduroy jacket lapels and pull him toward her and kiss him . . . in the middle of her dance studio with half of her students watching. “Uh, we’d better—”

“Get this dance class underway,” he finished for her. 

Anne arrived late. She didn’t want to appear anxious. But she was. It still wasn’t too late to turn and run. She could say she’d forgotten. Had to stay late and help a yoga student. Had to help with an emergency at the horse ranch. Or she could be an adult about this and walk in and tell him she’d changed her mind. That meeting him for coffee was a bad idea. That the last thing she needed and wanted was to get involved. She stood outside the book café that was next door to the family pub and stared at the door. Yes, that was what she would do. She would tell him that she did not want to get involved. Except that he’d given her no reason to believe that he wanted to get involved. And this was hardly a date. It was simply a photographer and his subject getting to know each other over a cup of coffee. And it was her idea in the first place.

“It’s only coffee,” a voice said from behind her, an incredibly sexy voice.

Damn. He could read her mind.

“Between friends.”

Damn, he wanted to be friends. Whoa. Had she really thought that? At least she hadn’t said it. But then, he did have an artist’s eye, like her Cousin Skye. And he did seem to be able to read her mind. 

Chris stepped past her and pushed open the door, inhaling the scent of lilac and jasmine as she walked past him. Even in winter. Was that disappointment he’d seen on her face when he said the word friends? He could only hope. Apparently he’d been right to keep it on a purely friendship basis. At least for a little while. Nick and Skye had both agreed. Now there was no doubt in his mind that this was the best strategy with the beautiful dancer. The only question was, how long was a little while?

“Herbal tea?” he asked her without thinking. Shit! A definite tip off to the fact that he’d been observing her. Stalking her.

Her head tilted to the side and she smiled up at him. No cranky backstage director or shivery ice queen today. “How did you know?” she asked demurely.

His mind went into overdrive as he searched for an excuse. “There’s a mug at the dance studio with your name on it. Always has a tea bag hanging out of it.”

Of course. Hard to miss. But at least he’d noticed. And remembered. “They have a nice blend of chamomile and peppermint here.”

He nodded and headed for the counter to place the order. By the time he returned with the cup of tea for Anne and a cup of strong black coffee for himself, Anne was seated at a table in the corner.

After he joined her, there was an awkward moment of silence. There were so many things he wanted to say to her, none of which he thought would be wise, particularly the ones that involved her preference for positions. And he wasn’t thinking about dance positions.

When she initiated the conversation, he started breathing more easily. “I think I’d like to redo that photo shoot.”

“You mean I get an extra hour of your time this week?”

“Well, you didn’t exactly get a full hour yet. Still, I doubt you got very many decent shots.”

None. Instead of telling her that, he smiled.

She cringed with embarrassment. “Sorry about that. I was in a bad mood.”

“A bad mood?” Not quite the way he would have described it. It was more as if she’d taken a defensive stance against the enemy who was threatening her. That would be him.

“Well, not really a bad mood. I guess I was just really self-conscious.”

“Understandable. You’re used to dancing without thinking about a camera.”

“Thank you for understanding.”

“So, when would you like to redo the shoot?” And was that the only reason for this cup of coffee—and tea—they were sharing?

“When is good for you?”

“Anytime.”

“Aren’t you busy with other shoots in the area?”

“I can work around your schedule,” he hedged. “How about this afternoon? One o’clock? I like the light in the studio just after noon.”

“Okay.” She took a long sip of her tea, and he hoped this wasn’t the end of their coffee date. But when she looked up at him with those deep ocean blue eyes, he knew it wasn’t. “Why me?”

“Why did I select you for the shoot?”

She nodded.

“I saw you dance in San Francisco.”

She sat upright, surprised at this bit of information. “You did? When? What was I dancing?”

He could hardly admit that he’d seen every one of the performances she’d done in the Bay Area over the past several months. “Uh, it was a contemporary piece to an Emily Dickinson poem, I believe.”

Her eyes lit up. “Really? You saw me dance that? And that’s why you chose me?”

“I knew you’d be right for my book.”

“Book? This is for a book?”

Shit. He couldn’t trust his damned mouth when it was around her.

“I thought it was for a magazine article.”

“It is. But I’m hoping to eventually develop it into a book.”

She set down her cup of tea and leaned back. “This isn’t helping. Now I’m going to be even more self-conscious.”

“Don’t worry. You’ll get used to it. After a while you’ll forget there’s a camera focused on you.”

Yes, but would she be able to forget that he was the one holding that camera? She felt her cheeks tingling with heat and raised her cup to hopefully cover up that fact. “Promise?”

“I’m patient, don’t worry.”

“You mean you won’t give up on me and run off and find a different dancer to photograph?”

“Not a chance.” He stared into her eyes wanting her to hear the real meaning behind his next words. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m here for the long haul.”

Anne felt shivers run down her spine as she struggled unsuccessfully to break the hold his eyes seemed to have on hers. He was different from other men, she quickly decided. He was dedicated to his art. And he appreciated her as a dancer. And the way he was staring at her had to mean something. She was certain he was attracted to her, but she’d been the one to ask him out. And now that they were out, he hadn’t even taken her hand. Nothing. Except those chocolate brown eyes looking so deeply into hers that she felt as if she were sitting there naked in his presence. And if she wasn’t, she damn well wanted to be.