Sara's breath caught as Ian's lips brushed over her hand, and the
Witchblade warmed on her wrist. It was a soft, pleasant heat, like a summer
afternoon. She was only dimly aware of it, as his touch had fanned the
embers of a fire that had been ignited back in the limousine. This fire was
considerably lower, and hotter. She really, really wanted him to kiss her.
"Good evening everyone, my name is Carmelita, and I would like to thank you all for coming to my club. The Tango is a wonderful cultural and personal expression, one that I have the privilege of sharing with you all tonight." The woman spoke from the conductor's podium in front of the stage that was set up for the band.
Sara growled low in her throat at the interruption. That was twice now. The next person who interrupted them was going to have to learn how to talk around four feet of supernatural metal.
"For the next half hour, we will go over the basics of the dance. There are several moves, all with specific names, but do not let that overwhelm you. This is not a Fantasia, which is what we call a stage tango. There are no rigorous forms or patterns to obey. Do what is in your heart, and so be true to the dance," Carmelita continued, blissfully unaware of the smoldering resentment of one off-duty detective. Not that she would likely care, even if she were to know.
Carmelita was tall and lean, like a greyhound, all long legs and sleek muscles. Her hair was black and confined in a French twist and her eyes were nearly as dark. She was very compelling, the kind of person you'd watch even if she were wearing a gunnysack.
Tonight her dress was a screaming fire engine red, split to the thigh on both sides, with a halter neck. When she turned to step down from the podium, one could see the dimples just above where the buttocks began; it dipped so low in the back. Her heels matched the dress, and were four-inch slingbacks with ankle straps.
"I'd freeze my tits off in that thing. Oh wait, she already has," Sara muttered bitchily as Carmelita walked along the stage, pausing to gesture to the employees waiting just beyond the audience.
Ian glanced over at Sara, surprised by the catty comment. He hoped she wouldn't turn that anger toward him, he had proven to be ill equipped to deal with her cutting wit. Was she cross because the woman had interrupted their moment of rapport? That was an interesting idea, and it fit in with the little growl Sara had given when the woman began speaking. Well, well, maybe he wasn't doing to badly with his first date after all.
The burgundy-clothed staff began to filter into the dance floor, obviously there for coaching assistance, as a man in a black suit with the same screaming red trim joined Carmelita on stage. He was only a few inches taller than his dance partner, but far more solidly muscled. They stood facing each other, close enough to touch, and energy crackled between them.
"The first thing to know about the Tango is that it is about passion. It was born in the taverns and dance halls of displaced nationals in Argentina. It was a way for them to express themselves in an oppressive environment. Over time the Tango has spread to the rest of the world, without straying far from its origins. The most basic step, and perhaps the one you will be most familiar with, is the caminar."
Carmelita and her partner joined hands in the classic dance pose and began the distinctive walk, ball of the foot touching before the heel, torso and leg moving together for balance. It was a walk immortalized in countless movies. Feeling confident that they could handle this much, couples all around the dance floor joined in.
Nottingham and Pezzini clasped their right hands together and turned sideways, the left arms going to waist and shoulder respectively. Ian wanted to relax and enjoy the feel of her in his arms, but couldn't. Sara was stiff and her eyes still sparkled dangerously. She was angry enough that he felt like he was holding on to a tigress.
Sara moved into the caminar with a vengeance, trying to work off some of the frustration she still felt over the interruption. It felt like she was dragging a block of wood along with her. Pez tilted her head so she could look at her partner. Ian was tense, and there was a little frown line between his brows.
Nottingham looked like he was expecting to be hit. Sara mentally sighed; Ian was a little too sensitive to her moods, and for some reason he blamed himself whenever she was upset. Granted, in the past she had been pretty horrible to him, but that was back when she thought he was a hired killer. Pez could not treat someone without respect for the law with respect; it went against everything she had been raised to believe.
The fact that Sara had been attracted to him in spite of what he was had made her even meaner. If she could just be cruel enough to drive him away, or at least out of her line of sight, she could pretend that she felt nothing but hatred and disgust for the darkly handsome assassin. After all, Nottingham was the errand boy for Kenneth Irons, the most powerful and dangerous man in the city. They could be nothing to each other but enemies, forever and ever, amen.
Over the past few months, Sara had begun to realize that it wasn't as simple as that. Nottingham did not belong in any of the neat cubbyholes she had tried to stuff him into. He was a very complicated and unique individual. No matter how hard Pezzini had tried to hate him, she could not. All the horrible things she said to push away all those softly worded offers, she didn't really mean.
In an odd way, Pez came to rely on Nottingham. Oh, only on a professional level, of course. He had given her information, and she knew he occasionally ran interference for her, but that wasn't personal, right? Right. She had been slowly moving Nottingham from enemy to that nebulous grey area of sometime ally, but one with his own agenda. She didn't trust him any further than she could see him, but he was reliable in his own way.
Pezzini told herself it was like the relationship she had with her informants, only to have that neat little wall of denial that she had constructed come down with a tremendous crash. Was it only yesterday? So much had happened in so short a time, perhaps it was to be expected that each would fall back on old patterns.
"This I've done about a million times as a kid." Sara gave him a lopsided smile as they moved across the dance floor. Opening up and telling him something personal was the only thing Pez could think to do to show Nottingham that she was not angry with him. It was an offering of sorts.
"All that practice has clearly paid off," Ian relaxed and smiled down at her. So, it had been the interruption making her cross. It was reassuring to know that Sara wanted to maintain their connection.
"So how much practice went into yesterday's performance?" Sara really wanted to know the answer; she had a hard time believing she had misread Ian so completely. He just hadn't seemed like the type.
"About five hours." Ian sighed. It had seemed like forever at the time. He was amazed he didn't have chafe marks.
"Five hours? You were that good after just five hours?" Sara choked, clearly disbelieving. He had to be the quickest study she had ever heard of.
"Thank you for saying so, but I still feel I could have used more time. I had more to learn." Ian didn't tell her how much of the choreography he had abandoned because he was not comfortable with it.
"If you'd been any better at it, I'd have needed a cigarette, and I don't smoke." Sara gave a naughty little smile.
Ian did not know what to say. He still had trouble believing what he had done. When he looked back on the strip tease he had performed in Sara's office, it was almost like he had been someone else. He imagined it was how an actor might feel about a performance. Nottingham had certainly gotten caught up in the persona and moment, taking liberties he would normally have never dared, nor dreamed Sara would permit. Let alone encourage.
Nottingham still wasn't sure how to cope with the side of his personality that had been given free reign for that short span of time. He had never been encouraged to explore his sexuality. Before yesterday, he would not have thought he had it in him. Now he knew that it was there, but he didn't have any idea what to do with it. He hoped Sara would be willing to help him with that.
"Good evening everyone, my name is Carmelita, and I would like to thank you all for coming to my club. The Tango is a wonderful cultural and personal expression, one that I have the privilege of sharing with you all tonight." The woman spoke from the conductor's podium in front of the stage that was set up for the band.
Sara growled low in her throat at the interruption. That was twice now. The next person who interrupted them was going to have to learn how to talk around four feet of supernatural metal.
"For the next half hour, we will go over the basics of the dance. There are several moves, all with specific names, but do not let that overwhelm you. This is not a Fantasia, which is what we call a stage tango. There are no rigorous forms or patterns to obey. Do what is in your heart, and so be true to the dance," Carmelita continued, blissfully unaware of the smoldering resentment of one off-duty detective. Not that she would likely care, even if she were to know.
Carmelita was tall and lean, like a greyhound, all long legs and sleek muscles. Her hair was black and confined in a French twist and her eyes were nearly as dark. She was very compelling, the kind of person you'd watch even if she were wearing a gunnysack.
Tonight her dress was a screaming fire engine red, split to the thigh on both sides, with a halter neck. When she turned to step down from the podium, one could see the dimples just above where the buttocks began; it dipped so low in the back. Her heels matched the dress, and were four-inch slingbacks with ankle straps.
"I'd freeze my tits off in that thing. Oh wait, she already has," Sara muttered bitchily as Carmelita walked along the stage, pausing to gesture to the employees waiting just beyond the audience.
Ian glanced over at Sara, surprised by the catty comment. He hoped she wouldn't turn that anger toward him, he had proven to be ill equipped to deal with her cutting wit. Was she cross because the woman had interrupted their moment of rapport? That was an interesting idea, and it fit in with the little growl Sara had given when the woman began speaking. Well, well, maybe he wasn't doing to badly with his first date after all.
The burgundy-clothed staff began to filter into the dance floor, obviously there for coaching assistance, as a man in a black suit with the same screaming red trim joined Carmelita on stage. He was only a few inches taller than his dance partner, but far more solidly muscled. They stood facing each other, close enough to touch, and energy crackled between them.
"The first thing to know about the Tango is that it is about passion. It was born in the taverns and dance halls of displaced nationals in Argentina. It was a way for them to express themselves in an oppressive environment. Over time the Tango has spread to the rest of the world, without straying far from its origins. The most basic step, and perhaps the one you will be most familiar with, is the caminar."
Carmelita and her partner joined hands in the classic dance pose and began the distinctive walk, ball of the foot touching before the heel, torso and leg moving together for balance. It was a walk immortalized in countless movies. Feeling confident that they could handle this much, couples all around the dance floor joined in.
Nottingham and Pezzini clasped their right hands together and turned sideways, the left arms going to waist and shoulder respectively. Ian wanted to relax and enjoy the feel of her in his arms, but couldn't. Sara was stiff and her eyes still sparkled dangerously. She was angry enough that he felt like he was holding on to a tigress.
Sara moved into the caminar with a vengeance, trying to work off some of the frustration she still felt over the interruption. It felt like she was dragging a block of wood along with her. Pez tilted her head so she could look at her partner. Ian was tense, and there was a little frown line between his brows.
Nottingham looked like he was expecting to be hit. Sara mentally sighed; Ian was a little too sensitive to her moods, and for some reason he blamed himself whenever she was upset. Granted, in the past she had been pretty horrible to him, but that was back when she thought he was a hired killer. Pez could not treat someone without respect for the law with respect; it went against everything she had been raised to believe.
The fact that Sara had been attracted to him in spite of what he was had made her even meaner. If she could just be cruel enough to drive him away, or at least out of her line of sight, she could pretend that she felt nothing but hatred and disgust for the darkly handsome assassin. After all, Nottingham was the errand boy for Kenneth Irons, the most powerful and dangerous man in the city. They could be nothing to each other but enemies, forever and ever, amen.
Over the past few months, Sara had begun to realize that it wasn't as simple as that. Nottingham did not belong in any of the neat cubbyholes she had tried to stuff him into. He was a very complicated and unique individual. No matter how hard Pezzini had tried to hate him, she could not. All the horrible things she said to push away all those softly worded offers, she didn't really mean.
In an odd way, Pez came to rely on Nottingham. Oh, only on a professional level, of course. He had given her information, and she knew he occasionally ran interference for her, but that wasn't personal, right? Right. She had been slowly moving Nottingham from enemy to that nebulous grey area of sometime ally, but one with his own agenda. She didn't trust him any further than she could see him, but he was reliable in his own way.
Pezzini told herself it was like the relationship she had with her informants, only to have that neat little wall of denial that she had constructed come down with a tremendous crash. Was it only yesterday? So much had happened in so short a time, perhaps it was to be expected that each would fall back on old patterns.
"This I've done about a million times as a kid." Sara gave him a lopsided smile as they moved across the dance floor. Opening up and telling him something personal was the only thing Pez could think to do to show Nottingham that she was not angry with him. It was an offering of sorts.
"All that practice has clearly paid off," Ian relaxed and smiled down at her. So, it had been the interruption making her cross. It was reassuring to know that Sara wanted to maintain their connection.
"So how much practice went into yesterday's performance?" Sara really wanted to know the answer; she had a hard time believing she had misread Ian so completely. He just hadn't seemed like the type.
"About five hours." Ian sighed. It had seemed like forever at the time. He was amazed he didn't have chafe marks.
"Five hours? You were that good after just five hours?" Sara choked, clearly disbelieving. He had to be the quickest study she had ever heard of.
"Thank you for saying so, but I still feel I could have used more time. I had more to learn." Ian didn't tell her how much of the choreography he had abandoned because he was not comfortable with it.
"If you'd been any better at it, I'd have needed a cigarette, and I don't smoke." Sara gave a naughty little smile.
Ian did not know what to say. He still had trouble believing what he had done. When he looked back on the strip tease he had performed in Sara's office, it was almost like he had been someone else. He imagined it was how an actor might feel about a performance. Nottingham had certainly gotten caught up in the persona and moment, taking liberties he would normally have never dared, nor dreamed Sara would permit. Let alone encourage.
Nottingham still wasn't sure how to cope with the side of his personality that had been given free reign for that short span of time. He had never been encouraged to explore his sexuality. Before yesterday, he would not have thought he had it in him. Now he knew that it was there, but he didn't have any idea what to do with it. He hoped Sara would be willing to help him with that.