Page 13 of To Tango, with Desire

Dubious, I reached for the cup of doom, peering into the grainy depths. A strange presentiment stole through me.

Married? This year?

I placed the cup down as if it were molten lava. It rattled in the saucer. I had plans of my own this year, and they had nothing to do with marriage.

Mom nudged me, eyes merry. “Amira, you’re going to be married to a very rich man. Maybe even a dentist,” she proudly proclaimed like some evangelist at a gathering. She threw my dad a sly wink, and I stood, gathering all the cups and saucers, needing to do something.

The only person in charge of my future was me. If I wanted to be free of the mousetrap that lay before me, then I’d have to make myself scarce this weekend.

I’d planned on working through the new list of online orders, but I’d have to start them tonight instead. No big deal. If it meant avoiding Antiquated Dentist Dude, I’d happily pull some all-nighters.

One thing I knew for sure, I would do anything to avoid getting married this year.

Anything at all.

FOUR

AMIRA

Iattended every tango event that weekend. I danced with every man and woman that asked, going out for lunch and dinner, making myself scarce. I was barely home long enough for my parents to pepper me with questions before I flitted out again.

And all that time, I gave thanks that Sahar and her kids had been there to fill the void. I glanced at my phone, wanting to get the goss, but knew they would all be well and truly tucked up in bed, back in Sydney. She had left on a flight this evening, which meant I would have to deal with the fallout come morning alone.

I cringed at the lecture I was going to receive, but for now, in the dimly lit cocoon of the tango club, I was going to thank my lucky stars. I’d dodged a major bullet. No dentist. No marriage.

I sat on the high-backed stool and stretched out my feet, which were aching. Better aching feet than a husband, though.

My stomach clenched as a pair of familiar, dark eyes made contact across the room.

Zane.

It surprised and slightly annoyed me that I felt a thrilling jolt every time I saw him. I was supposed to not care that he was back in town. I was supposed to be thinking of other things, like my budding business and my hopes and dreams—

It just wasn’t fair that a man looked that good in a suit.

I glanced away, jittery at the thought of him asking me to dance. Would he, after our last conversation? I cringed, replaying it in my head.

Of course, I wanted to dance with him. Objectively speaking, he was a brilliant dancer. The only problem was, I wanted him to do so many other things to me as well. Things that involved mouths and tongues and teeth . . . and dear God, I needed to get laid.

I might not have had many boyfriends, but I wasn’t a fool. Nor was I a virgin. I supposed I had him to thank for that.

Maybe it was a hormonal thing? Didn’t women emit some kind of brain hormone that connected them to the guy they were sleeping with? Slept with, girl. Past tense.

Maybe I just hadn’t found anyone else to sleep with because I kept measuring them up to Zane. Which was mortifying. I should be able to spot any attractive, single guy in the room and want to sleep with them, right?

I scanned the dance floor, then sat up as I noticed a tall, well-built guy at the entrance. I couldn’t see his face, but his brown hair was appealingly messy, his outfit casual but neat, and his face—

Bingo!

The guy was hot as fuck.

And walking straight towards me.

“Hi.” Sexy Stranger grinned, his green eyes flashing.

See, Amira? That wasn’t so hard. I just needed to be a bit more desperate for the universe to answer my call.

About damn time.