Angel Falls (Angel Falls Series, #1), Babette Jongh [books for 6 year olds to read themselves .TXT] 📗

“I’ll wash your back,” Ian offered, enjoying my discomfort at having such a personal conversation while my students watched. The fact that they couldn’t hear a word didn’t matter.

I scowled at him but I didn’t mean it. “Stand here quietly if you’re going to wait inside the studio. Don’t distract my girls.” And most especially, don’t distract me.

After another warm-up at the barre, I called the girls to the corner of the room. “Piques from the corner, three en-dehors, pirouette, followed by one pique en dedans, ending in sauté arabesque then a deep plie, holding the arabesque for a beat. Then move out of the way quickly so you don’t get bowled over by the person coming up behind you.”

Once they got going, four girls spun in a diagonal line from left to right, another four from right to left, creating a giant, motion-filled X. I looked over at Ian to see how impressed he was at my teaching finesse. But he wasn’t looking at the dancers as they executed the complicated pattern.

He was looking at me, his eyelids lowered in a way that could only be described as sultry. Our eyes met, and I was sucked in, mired in the quicksand of his sex appeal. Not that I minded. Struggling against it didn’t seem to be an option anyway.

“Miss Casey...”

I jumped. The music had moved on to the next selection and my students waited for me to tell them what to do next. “Everyone spread out behind me. We’ll mark the step first. Starting right foot front, croise. Coupe chasse pas de bourre under....”

I danced every step along with my students without looking at Ian. At the end of class, we rose from the deep curtseys of reverence and clapped the traditional applause for a class well-danced. Each student came to me after class for a hug and a lemon drop from the candy jar I kept on the stereo cabinet.

The last girl in line hugged me and whispered in my ear. “Ooohhh, Miss Casey...” drawing out my name in the sing-song way girls use when teasing a friend. Then she licked her index finger and touched it to my shoulder, making a “tssss,” sound like steam hissing on a hot skillet. I knew what she meant, and she was right. Ian was hot, and I was obviously hot for him.

“Don’t you have homework?” I whispered.

She sent me a sly wink. “I’m going. You’ll have him to yourself in just a minute.”

“He’s just a friend.”

“Try harder, then,” she suggested quietly. “I think you could hook him.”

I herded her out the door after her classmates. “I’ll see you next week.”

“Love you, too, Miss Casey.” She giggled, brushing against Ian on her way out.

“You didn’t have to come up all these stairs to ask me to dinner,” I told Ian as I locked the studio door behind us. “The phone works, you know.”

“I wanted to watch you dance.”

We started down the stairs. “What did you think of my girls?”

“I wasn’t looking at them. I was looking at you.”

“Did you draw any conclusions from your observations?”

At the bottom of the stairs, he pressed me against the brick wall. Lizzie settled down at our feet to wait. “Several.” He kissed me, right there on the sidewalk in front of the newspaper office. “Would you like to hear them?”

“Ummm...” was as close as I could come to an answer.

“I concluded...” he spread a hand against my back in an exploratory way, “that you aren’t wearing a bra.” He ground his hips against mine. “Shall I tell you what that did to me?”

“I think...” I wet my lips with my tongue and saw his gaze drop from my eyes to my mouth. “I think I can tell.”

“Did you know that your nipples stand out like little raspberries when you do those big jumps?” He brought a hand up to touch my breast.

“Jetes.” I leaned into his hand.

He brushed a thumb lightly across my nipple, and my knees trembled.

I tried to find a coherent thought in the mush my brain was turning into. “You said something about dinner?”

“I did.” He snapped his fingers to rouse Lizzie from her doze at our feet. She hopped into the back seat of his car as if she’d done it a thousand times, and I settled into the passenger seat.

I could get used to this. Leaving work together every evening, going home together.

The moon hung low, a glowing silver cradle suspended just above the road. A tender anticipation began to build in my stomach.

“Put in a CD?” Ian turned on the interior light and passed a leather case to me.

Flipping through the case, I noticed many of my favorites, but saw a few I’d never heard of before. I held one up. “Ry Cooder, Bop Till You Drop. Is it good?”

“Yes.” He turned off the light. “You’ll like it.”

After a while, Ian slowed the car, then turned onto the gravel drive that was almost hidden by a wall of trees. Lizzie sat up in the back seat, ears pricked. Ian stopped on the circular drive in front of his house, ignoring a separate three-car garage that sat at a slight angle to the house. He got out, opening Lizzie’s door first. “Come on, girl, we’re home.”

Lizzie hopped out of the car and followed Ian around to the passenger side, doing the helicopter-wag with her short little tail. Ian opened my door, extending his hand but saying nothing. I put my hand into his, feeling light enough to float away.

Inside the house, Ian gave me a little nudge in the direction of the master suite. “Go take your bath. I’ll feed Lizzie and get dinner started, then come in to wash your back.”

I didn’t bother to ask about clothes. I knew that wouldn’t be an issue for a while.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Ian brought Lizzie and me home on his way to work the next morning. I muted both phones and went straight to bed, wearing sweats and a T-shirt