Scottish Romance: Highlander Romance: Highland Whisper (Scotland Romance) Read Online Free PDF Page B

my strongest tea and took a long, hot shower.
     
    When I arrived at the studio an hour later, I didn’t see Nancy’s car. Oh, so you expect me to be here early, but you apparently get to sleep in. I pushed the negative thought out of my head, and yawned as I ascended the stairway, sipping on my second cup of tea. I bet this coach guy is going to be some ridiculous asshole, just like the last one. I don’t care how good at dancing you are, you’re not absolved of being pretentious about it.
     
    I took out my keys and began to unlock the studio door, but was startled to find that it was already unlocked. I opened it slowly, and cautiously walked inside. Binghamton wasn’t the most dangerous city in New York, but I was paranoid out of principle. I spent most of my childhood in the heart of New York City, and never quite lost my tendency for imagining dangerous possibilities. I balled up my fist and proceeded carefully, checking all of the door handles of the offices on the way through. Finally, I reached the ballroom, and stopped just as I was reaching the corner. There was a shadow moving across the ballroom, almost soundlessly, and I could hear breathing. That’s when I heard the faint sound of Frank Sinatra playing on the main stereo, and I peeked around the corner, almost running straight into the shadow’s owner.
     
    “Ooof!” I screeched loudly. I looked up and froze for a moment. I was staring into the most incredible eyes I'd ever seen. I was never much for brown eyes, but these were the same shade as a willow tree, and beautiful.
     
    “Ah, I’m sorry about that.” The man spoke with a velvety, yet gravelly voice.
     
    He had cropped brown hair that curled perfectly on the top of his head, and was both tall and lean in stature. I realized that I must have been staring at him a little too long, because he began to look at me curiously. I looked down and realized that my balled up fist was resting in his palm; I had almost reflexively punched him in the stomach. And he had reflexively blocked it without any noticeable effort.
     
    I backed up immediately, my cheeks flushing wildly.
     
    “I am so sorry, you must be the coach. I didn’t know you’d have a key, so I just assumed you were a robber or something, it was just instinct…” I cursed myself silently for stuttering a little, talking at frantic speed. I stopped talking abruptly and took a breath. I looked up and he was smirking, his head tilted slightly.
     
    “It’s quite alright. Jenny, is it?”
     
    “Yes, and you’re Luis, right?”
     
    “At your service.” He chuckled, but I was still too exasperated to pay much attention to the odd way he spoke. 
     
    “What were you practicing?” I asked, trying to compose myself.
     
    “I was working on my Viennese waltz.”
     
    My jaw dropped. Viennese was one of the most difficult dances to do, mainly because it involved the wide, gliding steps of the waltz, with added quick steps and a much faster tempo. In addition to that, it includes waltz’s particular frame and poise; Nancy was the only dancer I knew who could do it perfectly.
     
    “You can Viennese?!” I was too awestruck to feel self-conscious of my envy. He chuckled softly at my dumbfounded expression.
     
    “Would you like to learn?”
     
    I momentarily imagined the thought of him gracefully waltzing around the room, me in toe, tripping every other step. I was fairly new and nowhere near his level of skill. I shook my head fervently.
    “Oh, no, there’s no way I could keep up with you. Not yet.”
     
    “Nonsense.” He displayed an amazing smile. He didn’t have dimples, but the corners of his mouth created gentle creases that flowed handsomely into his cheeks. I found myself staring at them as he spoke. I tried to focus on what he was saying with mild difficulty.
     
    “It’s never too early to learn.”
     
    Before I could protest, he held out his hand in the traditional ballroom courtship. I look at him, feeling