She blinked a heavy-lidded blink, and smiled. “You’re so sweet.”
No, he wasn’t. But she was. And he’d do anything to make her realize that he’d do all in his power to protect and comfort her.
Including making sure he’d get the lifts right in the jive.
CHAPTER 10
“Okay, now the jive. What do you know about it?” Bailey tilted her head slightly at where the cameras were filming them. Rehearsals stopped for no man, even if their arrival back home so late—so early, actually, it being almost one when they got home this morning—had seen a delayed start until eleven, instead of their usual nine AM. Ella had understood, but still wanted footage, even though Bailey still felt a little too slug-like. Thank goodness Luc had arrived with coffees made by Max today. She might even have to schedule an extra coffee break as well. She didn’t think she’d manage travelling like this next week. But for now, the show must go on.
Luc drained his coffee and placed the to-go cup down near the mirror. “So, this may surprise you, but I actually looked up some of the dances we might do.”
“No!”
“Yes!”
She laughed. Oh, she liked it when he was fun like this. Probably liked it a little too much, but anyway. “So, tell me what you know.”
“Okay, so it looks kind of fun, it’s fast-paced, with lots of kicking.”
She clapped her hands. “Exactly!” The jive was pretty technical, but maybe this week would be easier than she thought.
“Have we got a theme or something?”
“Not really. Well, I took on board what some of the judges were saying about looking for your strengths. So, I thought maybe we could try to do something like what you might do on the ice.”
“You mean like beat people up?”
He did that?
“Whoa, no. I never do that.” He winked. “Not much anyway.”
Okay. That was a surprising revelation she hadn’t expected today. Luc didn’t really hurt people, did he? Maybe she should follow Poppy’s advice and watch some of his previous games. The fact he might hurt people was a disconcerting twist on what she’d thought she’d known about the man. “Well, I’d sort of imagined something more like an old-fashioned ice rink, or roller rink, I suppose, complete with mirror ball. You could start in the middle of the floor, clicking your fingers as the music starts, you know, to prove your musicality, then spinning around when I come on, which is when we’d start the dance.”
He nodded, arms folded, but his face didn’t hold protest.
She felt an internal ping of relief. “And I know you want a redemption round with a lift, so I thought we might try to add one or two in. They’re not hard.” She quickly demonstrated, bending her knees, explaining how if he bent his knees at the same time, she could propel herself up using the momentum as she held his hand, and he could direct her body into a new position. “See how easy that is?”
They did it a few more times, then she got him to hold her in what she called a trapeze grip as he spun her around before gently lowering her to the floor. “We might not do that spin this week, but we definitely could use it for the waltz the week after.”
“I hope so. That felt amazing.”
She smiled, her heart snagging at the soft expression on his face as he studied her. Almost like he wanted to absorb her features forever, like he liked her or something.
What was she thinking? Hadn’t he told his friends he didn’t want a relationship with her? She really needed to get a grip and stay professional. She glanced across at Ella and the guys. She couldn’t give any impression that they were more than dance pro and celebrity.
Maybe Luc thought the same for he coughed. “Yeah, those lifts are three thousand times easier than what we did last week,” he said.
“Right? They’re pretty fun, provided you can keep up because it’s so fast.”
“I hear a challenge there, Sergeant.”
Good.
“So, do we have more modern music?”
“How do you feel about The Weeknd?”
“He’s Canadian, so that’s a plus.”
“You know the song ‘Blinding Lights’?”
It was like a switch was flicked and he became animated. “Yeah, that’s a cool one.”
“Okay. So, imagine a dark room, lasers, spotlights, and you, dressed in suspenders, black pants, white shirt—”
“No suit?” he asked with a hopeful look.
“No suit.”
He fist-pumped.
“But maybe slicked-back hair, pulled back in a ponytail.”
“Ugh. Man-buns have never been my thing.”
“Don’t look like that. Come on, you’re playing a part, remember? Anyway, you could wear a fedora—”
