The Way He Moves

“I’m going to have to try my best not to analyze some of these people,’ Pia said, “I’ll get us drinks. If you’re not here when I get back I’ll find you.” With that she hurried off.

Serena was left to people watch. She’d come aboard hoping to find a dance partner, someone who was looking to have fun with no strings attached. She was determined the next fourteen days were going to be divided between writing and working on her rhythm dancing. She owed it to her twin, Selena, to write that book, and she planned on following through.

Pia soon came hurrying back with a tall, fair-skinned ship’s officer in tow. He carried their drinks.

“This is Andreas Zonis,” she announced, gesturing to the officer to hand Serena her glass.

Serena accepted the drink and shook the man’s hand. They exchanged the usual pleasantries, but Andreas, clearly interested in Pia, shifted his attention back to her friend.

Feeling like a third wheel, Serena cast another glance around the crowded room. Her eyes lingered on a tall, dark-haired man in pressed jeans, and a short-sleeved linen shirt tucked neatly in his pants. He had broad shoulders and a narrow waist. Serena’s gaze traveled the length of him, stopping at his feet. He wore silver-tipped leather boots with a thick heel that added to his considerable height.

Painful memories came flooding back, so much so that she couldn’t help giving him a second look. He was too far away to get a close-up of his face, but he reminded her of the man she’d met in Buenos Aires, the man who’d broken her heart.

With a concentrated effort she tried to focus on the here and now. It had been six months since she’d last laid eyes on Marc LeClair and she should be over him by now. But how did you forget a man who’d seemed perfect for you—a man who’d made you laugh so hard your sides ached. Marc, of the jet-black wavy hair, and to die-for blue eyes. She’d fallen hard and fast, and moving on wasn’t easy.

Serena could still hear his raspy voice whispering endearments in her ear. When she closed her eyes, his unique spicy scent tickled her nostrils. With vivid clarity she remembered how he’d held her, loved her.

“Serena, you are a dream come true,” he’d said. “The woman I’ve been waiting for.”

Lines. All of it. And she’d bought them hook, line and sinker, convincing herself there was a future for them. She’d said those three little words I love you. Words she’d never said to another soul. And that was the beginning of the end, she suspected, because after that he’d disappeared.

The dark-haired man was laughing at something the woman next to him said. Serena wasn’t close enough to hear him, but Marc’s laughter had been distinctive and hardy, and this man certainly looked as if he was enjoying himself.

The resemblance was truly uncanny, although she’d never seen Marc dressed so casually or appear so relaxed. Marc LeClair had been polished and put together, and he’d said he had a twin. Serena wondered if this could be the twin brother.

His being a twin was another reason she’d been drawn to him. Twins had a special bond, an intuitive understanding of each other. She and Selena had been able to communicate without saying a word. And she and Marc shared a love of ballroom dancing and old movies, the kind where people wore elegant clothing and knew how to foxtrot.

In an especially intimate moment, Serena had shared with Marc the dark times after her sister’s equestrian accident when she could not get out of bed. Serena had been depressed and one step away from ending it all. It had been a painful heartbreaking experience. If she hadn’t had Pia to lean on she would probably not have made it through. It was Pia who’d been there to help her through that awful time after Marc dumped her, too.

“Dios mío!” Serena hissed, elbowing her friend in the gut and sloshing liquid from their glasses. “It is him.”

“Him who?” Pia answered distractedly, her attention still focused on the handsome cruise ship officer.

The attractive redhead was now whispering something in the look-a-like Marc’s ear. Her plunging neckline threatened to spill her considerable assets, and using those assets to her advantage, she brushed her breasts against the man’s arm.

Serena couldn’t help but gape. How could two people possibly look so much alike? On the one hand she hoped it wasn’t him. He was the last person she wanted to run into on her vacation. She was still embarrassed and more than a little angry at the manner in which their brief relationship had ended. She’d followed her heart and given in to passion, ending up in his bed. He’d said he loved her, yet he’d left her without a word; not a note or a follow up phone call. He’d treated her like a pick-up and she couldn’t easily get over that.

She was tempted to confront him just for the satisfaction of seeing him squirm. But what if it wasn’t Marc? Serena wished she could discuss her options with Pia. But her psychiatrist friend was too busy flirting with the hot-looking officer. Later maybe, they would have one of their talks.

To take her mind off the man who reminded her so much of Marc, Serena gulped her rum punch and focused on the female members of the Rhythm Dancers group. The women wore everything from microminis and swirling ankle-length skirts to Daisy Dukes, those sexy low rise cut-offs that Argentine women would only be seen in if their bodies were perfect, but Americans wore confidently regardless of their size.

Serena smoothed the skirt of the turquoise sundress and glanced down to admire the silver three-inch heel sandals she’d thought were sexy. At five feet eight inches she hardly needed the additional height, but standing out in a crowd helped boost her confidence. She fingered the teardrop pendant and returned her attention to the dance floor.

Across the way, a tall, olive-complexioned man lifted his glass and winked at her. Simultaneously the ship’s whistle blew and a voice boomed over the intercom.

“It is with great pleasure the crew of Alexandra’s Dream welcomes The Rhythm Dancers. If you have not done so already, please make your way to deck six for your Bon Voyage party.”

The dark skinned man continued to stare at her although she tried her best to ignore him. Something about him made her stomach churn and normally she did not have this strong a reaction to anyone. She kept her gaze on the dance floor, listening to the host and hostess, an Argentine and American pair. On a raised dais behind them, a D.J. adjusted the knobs of his stereo equipment, turning the volume up high. He was warming up the crowd already tapping their feet irritably.

More and more people began gravitating toward the dance floor. Pia was now trying to convince the officer to give it a whirl.

“I’m not a very good dancer,” he said in a Greek accent. “You mentioned you’ve been taking lessons for years. I will make a fool of myself.”

“No you won’t,” Pia insisted. “If you let me lead you, we can salsa like pros.”

Serena bet they would do a lot more than salsa if Pia had her way. Pia was a smart, confident woman extremely comfortable in her sexuality, and not the least bit shy about going after what she wanted. Right now the handsome officer was at the top of her list.

Pia had chosen a profession well suited to her. She’d always been the insightful one, forever in tune with people’s thoughts and motivations. If she hadn’t been away at a symposium when Marc LeClair had come to town, maybe Serena’s involvement with him would not have gone as far as it had.

Pia was now dragging the awed officer onto the dance floor, leaving Serena alone.

“Would you like to dance?” an accented male voice asked over her shoulder. The man who’d been gawking held out his hand. He was tall, tanned, and had spiky, gelled, black hair.

“Um, I’m waiting for my friend.”

“She is dancing and you should be, too. My name is Salvatore Morena. My friends call me Sal.” He pointed at her neck. “That’s quite the pendant.”

“Thank you. Serena d’Andrea,” Serena said, accepting his hand because she had no choice.

For some unexplainable reason her instincts were telling her this was not a nice man.

Sal placed a hand lightly on Serena’s shoulder blade as they began to salsa.

“Serena,” he repeated, bringing her hand to his lips and kissing her palm. “Bellissima. Serena means the calm one. I am in the jewelry business and I know a nice piece when I see one.” He reached as if to take the pendant in his hand.

Determined to avoid his touch, Serena stumbled. Sal brought her right back into step.

“Perhaps some time during this cruise you will allow me to appraise the piece?”

She didn’t respond right away, and Sal wondered if maybe he was losing his touch. He was a good-looking man, he’d been told, earthy, without an excess ounce of fat on him. Most women would have been eating up the flattery and been all over him by now.

Time to turn up the wattage a notch.

Sal directed his most melting gaze at Serena. She didn’t seem particularly impressed. Usually women got excited when they heard he was in the jewelry business. Immediately visions of diamonds began dancing in their heads.

“What do you say, Serena, will you entrust your pendant to me so I can appraise it?”

“Uh…perhaps,” she answered, making it sound as if he wasn’t exactly trustworthy. “But it’s not really mine.”

All too soon the lively salsa came to an end and another began. Sal tightened his hold on her before she could run off. If she knew how turned on he was maybe she’d loosen up a bit.

“Why are you in such a hurry, bella? The evening is young and I’m enjoying dancing with you,” he whispered in her ear.

Serena muttered something he didn’t quite hear and continued to dance. She was a good dancer and used her hips seductively. It wasn’t a hardship holding her close, since she was curvy in all the right places. If things went as planned, he wouldn’t have to fake interest in her.

Someone tapped him lightly on the shoulder. Sal swung around, his infamous glare in place. Damn. The man had a camcorder in his hand. He must want to film Serena.

Sal was reluctant to turn her over to the man, especially when he was just warming her up. By the time he was through making love to her, she’d be begging him to take that pendant from between her beautiful olive breasts. He just needed to work on getting her to trust him.

“Is there something you wanted?” Sal asked the cruise ship employee.

“Yes, we’d like to interview the person who found the pendant.”

Sal spotted another videographer lurking in the background. On second thought this might well be the time to make himself scarce. He couldn’t risk having his mug plastered on every in-cabin television or the videos passengers bought to take home. He’d be the first person they came after when that pendant went missing.

SERENA’S PRAYERS HAD been answered. She’d been saved, and not a minute too soon. She’d come this close to kneeing her dance partner in the groin. Granted, she wasn’t crazy about being interviewed by the video staff, but anything was better than having this man rubbing up against her while pretending to dance.

“Where would you like to conduct your interview?” she asked the man with the camcorder.

“Here on the dance floor,” he said, sticking a microphone under her nose. “You’re with the Rhythm Dancers group so that means you much prefer fast dancing to slow.”

“Sí. Yes, I am and yes I do.”

“Your native language is Spanish but you speak English perfectly. Where are you from?”

“Argentina.”

“Cool!”

Serena, conscious of the camcorder whirring away, looked around frantically for Pia. Her friend handled the spotlight much better than she did.

Pia had found herself another dance partner, so Serena knew she was on her own. She fingered the pendant around her neck and stared into the lens of the camera.

Her interviewer had a serious expression on his face as he held the microphone, and spoke into it in exaggerated tones.

“Once upon a time, according to Greek mythology, a moon goddess dared to fall in love with a commoner, a humble shepherd no less. This very much angered her suitor, the god Zeus, no less. In his jealousy Zeus killed the shepherd. The devastated moon goddess wept and wept until her tears threatened to flood the earth. Finally she was convinced to stop. One of those teardrops fell on the beautiful diamond clasp of the cloak that concealed the two lovers, hiding it forever. To this day, silver teardrop pendants are a sign of true love, and the person who finds our shipboard pendant is guaranteed to be lucky in love.”

His companion stepped forward, taking over.

“Will Serena d’Andrea be lucky enough to find a shipboard romance? Let’s hear what she has to say.”

The microphone was thrust under Serena’s nose again.

“How does it feel to have discovered the pendant?” the crew member asked.

Serena, conscious of every eye on her, smiled into the camera. Even the people who’d been dancing had stopped.

“It was a big surprise. There it was right at the bottom of the gift basket. I certainly didn’t expect to find it.”

“Are you excited about the prospect of wearing the pendant around the ship and maybe finding your own true love?”

The camera zoomed in to capture the pendant nestled between Serena’s cleavage.

Caught off guard by the directness of the question, Serena fingered the piece. “Searching for the pendant was fun, and I enjoyed reading the story of the shepherd Lexus and his love for the moon goddess. I’d like to believe that some day I will find my true love.”

“Do you believe true love exists?” the other videographer asked, stepping forward.

Of course she believed in love. But love hurt and could be painful if unrequited. She’d learned that the hard way by falling for Marc LeClair, the man who’d broken her heart.

Serena glanced in the direction where she’d last seen the man she’d thought might be Marc Le Clair. He was no longer there and neither was the redhead.

“My friend is a very romantic woman,” Pia said, coming up beside her. “She is excited about the possibility of meeting Señor Right aboard Alexandra’s Dream. Aren’t you, querida?” Pia placed an arm around Serena’s shoulders and smiled for the camera.

Caught up in her friend’s enthusiasm, and buoyed by her support, Serena managed another bright smile. She held the pendant between her thumb and forefinger, making sure the camera crew got a good shot of the piece.

“Of course. Let’s hope this brings me good luck.”

Applause broke out around her. The disk jockey cranked up the music louder, signaling the interview was officially over. Dancing immediately resumed.

But the music was quickly cut off when a commanding voice called over the intercom, “We have officially set sail for Hemingway’s Key West. We wish you a safe and enjoyable journey. Bon voyage!”

CHAPTER THREE

“YOU DANCE LIKE A NATIVE,” the redhead said coyly. She’d commandeered Marc’s arm and practically dragged him onto the dance floor. With each sultry move her oversized breasts grazed his chest, but he still didn’t know her name, nor was he particularly interested in finding out.

“You could say I am a native,” Marc answered smoothly, executing an underarm turn. “My mother was Argentinean, so I learned to dance practically before I could walk.”

“Argentinean.” She looked at him, awed. “I thought you were a good ole boy from Texas. I checked out your boots.”

He wasn’t sure how to take that. Was it a come on?

“I’m from Canada. Alberta’s where I was born, but I’ve been working in Texas for a couple of years. The boots are my tribute to Texas, but we’ve got lots of cowboys in Alberta, too.”

“Cool!”

Marc couldn’t wait for the dance to end. He had no desire to discuss his personal life with a stranger. He tried taking the lead since he could almost hear her counting the salsa beat in her head, but she wouldn’t let him.

Quick, quick, slow. Quick, quick, slow. Although not exactly proficient in salsa, she faked it, using a lot of hip and breast movement to make it look authentic.

“I’m Heddy,” she said, her lips close to his ear.

“Heddy? That’s an unusual name.”

“It’s actually Heather Maxwell but I hate Heather.”

“Heather’s a beautiful name,” Marc murmured.

From the moment he’d arrived at the party, she’d attached herself to him. She’d even accompanied him to the Guest Relations Desk to straighten out a problem with his onboard charge card when his purchase didn’t go through. She seemed pleasant enough but not terribly bright. Right now she was providing a welcome distraction, helping him get his mind off the real reason he’d been forced to take this sudden vacation.

A hand tapped his shoulder. He jumped. He was still jittery and on edge, and rightly so, given everything he’d been through.

“May I cut in?” a well-groomed, dark-haired man asked. He eyed Heddy.

“Of course.”

Ignoring Heddy’s frantic headshakes, Marc quickly turned her over to the man and left the dance floor.

As he made his way across the room, Marc noticed a group of people gathered around someone. His first thought was that it must be one of the celebrity instructors putting on a solo performance. Curious, he slowed his pace, hoping to see one of the greats, but as bits of conversation floated his way, he realized he’d been mistaken.

“It must feel great finding the pendant,” a woman’s high-pitched voice shrilled. “You’re bound to get lots of attention.”

“With looks like that, you don’t need a pendant,” another voice called out. “Hand it over, girl. Some of us need it more.”

“Did the cruise staff tell you what kinds of perks you’ll get if they find you wearing the pendant?”

Marc couldn’t hear the responses to the questions but guessed the fuss had something to do with the treasure hunt mentioned in the embarkation pamphlet. He’d passed on hunting for the pendant. Finding love wasn’t in the cards right now; his primary focus was staying alive.

He was on this ship for two reasons—first, because he’d been ordered by his boss to disappear, and second, because there was nothing he enjoyed more than dancing. Dancing was a great stress reliever. And for the next fourteen days he could take lessons with the best.

There had been threats on his life recently, followed by a dozen or so near mishaps. Marc was ordered to take a vacation and forced out of his beloved Colombia. Leaving the country he loved and his high-profile position at the Canadian embassy only added to his stress, but at least the dance-themed cruise would keep him from thinking about it for a while.

He’d grown up taking dance lessons. Both of his parents had been accomplished dancers. High level government officials, they’d expected their children to know how to dance, and their social life revolved around various ballroom events. His mother, a South American socialite, and his father, also from a socially prominent Canadian family, thought it would instill confidence and at the same time keep them occupied.

At first, Marc had been resentful about having to go to dance classes when his friends were out playing sports. But as he got older he began to appreciate having this skill. Dancing had made adolescence far less painful. While his schoolmates had difficulty crossing a room to ask a girl to dance, he found it easy. And once he was on the floor he became another person, totally uninhibited. This made him a popular and sought-after date.

He stood now at the fringe of the crowd, curious to see who the crew members were filming. Whoever it was must be enjoying their fifteen minutes of fame and eating up the attention.

He caught a glimpse of turquoise clothing and wavy black hair and knew it was a woman. She must be hot since there was a disproportionate number of men in the crowd.

The music in the background swelled, and a female voice took over the microphone. The interview was over.

“It’s lady’s choice. Gals, it’s your turn to grab yourself a man.”

A stampede ensued as women pulled visibly reluctant partners onto the dance floor. Marc wanted to see the woman in the turquoise dress so he hung back. When she turned around and he saw her face, he stared. It couldn’t be, but the flicker of recognition in those violet eyes told him it was Serena. No one had eyes quite like hers. He was transported back to another time, another place.

They were in a dance club, elegant and imposing, with winding staircases and a polished oak floor. He’d been taken there by a business colleague and his wife, people who weren’t serious dancers but just out to have a good time. When Marc had spotted Serena on that dance floor, he’d known that she was the one.

He’d positioned himself in such a way that when the dance ended, he was in her path. He’d asked her to join him in a Viennese waltz, and one dance had led to another. They fell in step easily. The perfect fit. Quickly, too quickly, the evening had passed.

A look of revulsion now replaced the startled expression in Serena’s eyes and she was staring at him as if he were some kind of rodent.

Marc had learned to school his expressions and keep his emotions under wraps. In his business you had to. He’d hoped and prayed for months that Serena d’Andrea would get in touch with him, and when that hadn’t happened, he’d become resigned to never seeing her again. The irony of it was that she was now aboard this cruise ship with him. And he couldn’t do a damn thing about it. He would not endanger her life.

Marc nodded, acknowledging her.

Serena’s violet eyes traveled the length of him, but she maintained a respectable distance. At last she spoke.

“It’s been a long time.”

“Do we know each other?” The lie rolled easily off his tongue.

Serena’s lips quivered slightly. She was thrown.

“Marc LeClair?” she asked, uncertainly.

“Sorry. I’m flattered and wish I were him. My name is Gilles Anderson. You are?”

“Serena d’Andrea,” she answered in the smoky voice he remembered.

She was so beautiful. He’d fallen hard and he still hadn’t recovered. Marc gave Serena a slow, lazy smile. He tried not to let the memories take over. It had been six months since he’d last seen her but it felt like yesterday.

Serena’s winged eyebrows came together. She fingered the silver pendant and carefully looked him over.

“Gilles, were you in Buenos Aires about six months ago?”

He shook his head slowly. “I’m afraid not. I’ve been on business in Dallas, Texas, for the last year or so.”

“What about Colombia then? Did you live there?”

Another slow shake of his head signaled his puzzlement. “Can’t say I have, though it’s on my list of places to travel. Maybe after I get back home to Canada and tend to some business, I’ll be ready to set off again.”

“It’s nice to meet you…Gilles,” Serena said extending a hand. Her voice was heavy with skepticism. “How about we dance and get acquainted?”

He didn’t know where this was going, but no way was he getting on a dance floor with her—at least not for a sexy Latin salsa—without blowing his cover. They’d spent two weeks in Buenos Aires getting as close as any two people could. They’d danced and alternately made love, sometimes doing both simultaneously. Serena knew all of his moves.

“I’m going to have to pass, I’m afraid. Besides I’m hopeless when it comes to rhythm dancing.”

“I’ll take the lead,” she offered, coming right at him, her arms open.

“If he doesn’t want to dance, I’d be happy to,” a male voice said behind them. Without waiting for an answer, the man took Serena’s hands and began tugging her onto the floor. She didn’t look particularly happy but she went.

It had been a close call. The woman Marc had dreamed of and fantasized about for months, the woman who haunted his memories was here. Talk about poor timing.

The redhead was back.