Incubus Dreams by Laurell K. Hamilton Page A

with only people who were my friends watching. But suddenly, in public in front of a less than friendly audience, all my lessons seemed to have fled. I was reduced to clinging to Nathaniel’s hand and shoulder, turning in those useless circles that have nothing to do with the song, and everything to do with fear, and the inability to dance.
    â€œAnita,” Nathaniel said.
    I kept staring at my feet, and trying to not see that we were being watched from around the room.
    â€œAnita, look at me, please.”
    I raised my face, and whatever he saw in my eyes made him smile, and filled his own eyes with a sort of soft wonderment. “You really are afraid.” He said it like he hadn’t believed it before.
    â€œWould I ever admit to being afraid, if I wasn’t?”
    He smiled. “Good point.” His voice was soft. “Just look at my face, my eyes, no one else matters but the person you’re dancing with. Just don’t look at anyone else.”
    â€œYou sound like you’ve given this advice before.”
    He shrugged. “A lot of women are uncomfortable on stage, at first.”
    I gave him raised eyebrows.
    â€œI used to do an act in formal wear, and I’d pick someone from the audience to dance with. Very formal, very Fred Astaire.”
    Somehow, Fred Astaire was not a name that came to mind when I thought of Guilty Pleasures. I said as much.
    His smile was less gentle and more his own. “If you ever came down to the club to watch one of us work instead of just giving us a ride, you’d know what we did.”
    I gave him a look.
    â€œYou’re dancing,” he said.
    Of course, once he pointed out that I’d been dancing, I stopped. It was like walking on water, if you thought about it, you couldn’t do it.
    Nathaniel pulled gently on my hand and pushed gently on my shoulder and got us going again. I finally settled for staring at his chest, watching his body movements as if he’d been a bad guy and it was a fight. Watch the central body for the first telltale movements.
    â€œAt home you moved to the rhythm of the song, not just where I moved you.”
    â€œThat was at home,” I said, staring at his chest and letting him move me around the floor. It was damn passive for me, but I couldn’t lead, because I couldn’t dance. To lead you have to know what you’re doing.
    The song stopped. I’d made it through one song in public. Yeah! I looked up and met Nathaniel’s gaze. I expected him to look pleased, or happy, or a lot of things, but that wasn’t what was on his face. In fact, I couldn’t read the expression on his face. It was serious again, but other than that . . . we stood there, staring at each other, while I tried to figure out what was happening, and I think he tried to work up to saying something. But what? What had him all serious-faced?
    I had time to ask, “What, what’s wrong?” then the next song came on. It was fast, with a beat, and I was so out of there. I let go of Nathaniel, stepped back, and had turned, and actually gotten a step away, before he grabbed my hand. Grabbed my hand and pulled me in against him so hard and so fast that I stumbled. If I hadn’t caught myself with one arm around his body, I’d have fallen. I was suddenly acutely aware of the firmness of his back againstmy arm, the curve of his side cupped in the hollow of my hand. I was holding him so close to the front of my body that it seemed every inch of us from chest to groin pressed against one another. His face was painfully close to mine. His mouth so close it seemed a shame not to lay a kiss upon those lips.
    His eyes were half-startled, as if I’d grabbed him, and I had, but I hadn’t meant to. Then he swayed to one side and took me with him. And just like that we were dancing, but it was different from any dancing I’d ever done. I didn’t follow his movements with my eyes, I