Love Waltzes In (Dancing Under The Stars) Read online

  Grateful to take a break from the dreary Los Angeles smog, Selena became mesmerized by the clear ocean. Every time she visited San Diego, she was amazed at how much good clean air could do for the soul.

  “Selenichka, listen.” Dima broke into Selena’s reverie to read out loud from his iPhone. “‘Dancing under the Stars gains a new mystery dancer?’” Dima glared at Selena then focused back on his phone, and read, “‘Who’s the newest male professional dancer to lace up his dancing shoes? Rumors have the cast in a frenzy wondering who will be the new dancer. Though normally the professional dancers come from the troupe, the newest member of the cast has been recruited from a different field.’”

  “And?”

  “Who it is?” Dima asked, raising his iPhone. “No one has told to me nothing. No one on circuit has mentioned that they were asked to be on show.”

  Selena sighed. Today was not the day for speculating on rumors. They had too much to concentrate on to get worked up about who the new professional on the show would be. “What do I think? I think it’s probably someone we all know, maybe from another country. Or from the UK version? And gossip columnists have nothing better to do than make this stuff up. If you’re so worried, ask Benny.”

  “You’re right. I’ll ask to him.” He texted a frantic message.

  They were now on Harbor Drive. Cherry blossoms scented the air. As they approached the Coronado Bridge, a humongous Navy carrier slid underneath it. Selena couldn’t help but wonder if her ex-fiancé and dance partner, Bret Lord, was somewhere on that ship. After he became a Marine, they had lost touch, though a part of her heart always ached for him.

  The limo pulled in front of the Sheraton San Diego. The bellman strode over to assist the driver with their luggage. Selena didn’t have time to wait for Dima to check them in. “I have to hurry to the spa, and then Benny asked me to run through some quick choreography for the show. I’ll text you later.” She kissed him on the cheek, jumped out of the car, and rushed into the hotel.

  She wanted to turn and chase after the limo, hitch a ride to the beach. No more fresh air and cherry blossoms. From this moment until the competition, it would be all business. Competition eve was always a headache, with all the tanning, makeup, hair, fasting.

  Selena closed her eyes and smiled. The calming effect of lavender filled the reception area. The hotel spa was her standard primp spot for competitions. The staff was thorough and professional. Even better, they were nice. Selena could stand a good dose of nice before she walked into that den of dancing wolves. A competition dance floor was no place for the weak or the unprepared. “Selena Marcil, here for my ten-fifteen appointment.”

  “Oh yes, Ms. Marcil. We’re so thrilled to have you here.” The receptionist consulted her computer screen. “You’re scheduled for a facial, a Brazilian bikini wax, a brow wax, a Mandarin Orange Body Polish followed by a custom sparkle spray tan, and then you’ll receive a mani and pedi while Alberto touches up your roots and tightens up your hair extensions.” She abandoned the screen and leaned forward, her eyes wide. “You know, Ms. Marcil, I just love Dancing under the Stars—really, it’s my favorite show. You ballroom dancers must lead such glamorous lives.”

  Selena pressed her lips into a forced smile. “Yes. We’re so blessed.” She sat on the sofa. She didn’t see her life as glamorous. She lived in the gym and the studio, sometimes dancing up to eight hours a day. Every weekend was spent in a hotel in some random state competing. Her diet consisted of egg whites, vegetables, soup, and salad. Selena couldn’t even eat fruit. Too much sugar. And she hadn’t had a weekend off in two years. The paparazzi stalked her. No man had the guts to date her, knowing that his picture would be a TMZ headline if they were ever caught together. Selena couldn’t even take her trash cans out of her house in her sweats for fear that she’d get photographed. She hated all the nonsense she had to endure to dance. Selena was exhausted—mentally and physically. Often she wondered if she had chosen the right path many years ago. Especially when she longed to hold her own baby in her arms.

  But enough of the self-pity. Selena did love her life. How blessed was she? The older generation of ballroom dancers had spent every penny they earned on competing. The show allowed her to pursue her dream of winning Blackpool and not having to worry about money. For years, she had struggled. Her mother had worked three jobs and cleaned dance studios at night in exchange for her lessons. Selena was finally in the position to support her family. Her first big splurge had been buying her mom a condo and starting a college fund for her sister. Now Selena could make twenty thousand dollars just for appearing at a party. She and Dima had even started their own charity, bringing ballroom classes to inner city kids. She was so appreciative of the opportunities the show had given her. How lucky was she to make a living out of her true passion—Selena lived to dance. She chastised herself for even feeling ungrateful for a second when so many people struggled. But deep in her heart she knew what she had given up to have this life could never be replaced.

  Selena had only opened the magazine to page one when the receptionist called over to her. “Ms. Marcil, Larissa is ready for you.”

  Selena sucked in a deep breath before standing. Let the games begin.

  In the back room, she stripped off her peach-colored terry sweat suit, put on a smock, and lay on the paper-covered table.

  Larissa entered the room and gave Selena a smile. “I just got tickets to the competition tomorrow. I can’t wait to see you win.”

  “Thank you for supporting us.”

  The hot wax dribbled onto Selena’s skin. “Are you thinking of retiring? I read in Star Magazine that you want to start a family.”

  Larissa ripped the hair above Selena’s eye, but the face Selena made had nothing to do with the pain. Star, of course. “I hope to, someday.” Selena yearned to take a break and start a family. She was confident that she’d be able to balance her career and children but she hadn’t been on a date in years. Selena’s goal was to win Blackpool, the most prestigious dance competition in the world. People outside of the industry didn’t realize that no one could ever have a normal relationship in the ballroom world. Dancers had three options for dating: they could either date their partner and combine their floor and relationship problems, like what happened with her and Dima; they could date a dancer who was not their partner and the worse dancer of the two would be jealous of the others’ success; or they could date a non-dancer, who usually would have a hard time understanding the partner relationship and the travel demands. How would she explain to a prospective boyfriend that she spent ten weeks twice a year training celebrities? In the show’s off-season, she spent every weekend in a hotel in different states or countries with Dima at some random competition? Add in her celebrity status with cameras following her everywhere, and it was too much drama for most men to handle.

  So, basically, it was hopeless.

  A lump gathered in her throat. No nerves.

  Larissa paused, a new glob of pink wax on the stick in her hand. “Well, you guys just look so good together. Watching you two dance is amazing. It’s too bad about all the rumors going around. It can’t be easy on a couple…right?”

  Maybe that was why she couldn’t get a date. Everyone still thought she was involved with Dima. “We aren’t a couple. We just dance together.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. You both look so great together.” Larissa cleaned up Selena’s other eyebrow. “Okay, honey, time for your bikini.”

  Selena sighed and spread her legs.

  Three hours later, primed and plucked, Selena looked in the mirror at her blotchy face and debated putting on her makeup before leaving. Forget it; it would just sweat off in rehearsal. Though her natural hair color was a beautiful espresso brown, it currently was bleached blond, which shined great on stage under the bright lights but in plain sunlight resembled straw. Dima forced her to dye it because he thought it would make a better contrast to his own dark hair. She pulled her long locks back into a tight ponytail,
grabbed her oversized purse filled with her dance shoes, and exited the spa. Putting her sunglasses on, she headed over to the small ballroom to meet the producer.

  “Selena Maria Marcil.”

  The deep voice stopped her from taking another step. Only one person would use her middle name.

  But it couldn’t be him. Maybe she had fantasized so many times that he had found her that she was now imagining his voice. There was no way that Bret Lord could be inches away from her.

  She slowly turned.

  She couldn’t move. For the past ten years, she’d wondered what he looked like now. She’d dreamt of him but never could see his face.

  He wore khaki pants and a white polo shirt that hugged his ripped chest. A few hairs peeked out of the neckline, teasing her. Surrounded by all these groomed dancers and Hollywood pretty boys, Selena hadn’t seen a real man’s chest in years.

  “Bret! What are you doing here?” Selena thought for a second that he was going to hug her, but he just crossed his arms, holding a shoebox. She was grateful that her sunglasses hid the guilt behind her eyes. All she knew was that he had been given orders to some base in North Carolina. She’d sent him a final letter during boot camp ending their engagement. Such a coward, she hadn’t even shown up at his graduation to tell him in person. She couldn’t bear to face him because she had already made her painful decision and there was no way she could ever reverse it. She’d never heard from him again. He'd vanished from her life. Not even a Facebook account she could stalk. All she could do was occasionally scour the Internet, looking for the names of casualties in the war. She'd breathe easier after not seeing his name. For a while, at least.

  He opened his mouth to reply but Selena blurted out, “Are you still in the Marines?”

  Bret’s blue eyes blinked hard. “Yes. I won’t retire for ten more years.”

  “I can’t believe it’s really you,” she said.

  Finally Bret stepped forward, one arm extended, as if showing some affection was an obligation. Selena returned the gesture. The shoebox Bret that clutched forced a space between them, like an invisible line. Her cheeks stretched into a thin smile, one meant to lessen some of the pressure around them.

  He released her and Selena pushed up her sunglasses on her head so she could study him. Was this gorgeous man the same scrawny teenage boy whom she’d lost her virginity to? His hair was cut short and his skin a deep brown that no tanning bed could achieve. The bottom of a U.S.M.C. tattoo was visible from his sleeve. His lips curved into that lazy grin of his.

  He was sexier than any movie star she had met over the years. The thought of being with a real man, muscles sculpted from carrying weapons, not practicing Pilates, made her quiver.

  Selena glanced down at his left hand. No ring. The breath she’d been holding escaped. But it bothered her that she was happy he wasn’t married.

  “I almost didn’t recognize you, blondie. You look great, Sel. In the magazines, your face is always painted and you look fake.”

  Selena shuddered. She was in her sweats without so much as a tinted moisturizer or lip-gloss. He thought she looked great? If Dima saw her now, he would scold her about her image.

  Though Bret kept his distance, his minty scent filled the air.

  She glanced down for a moment, before meeting his gaze with renewed confidence. “Nationals are here tomorrow. Are you sticking around?”

  “Wasn’t planning on it.” He gave a half smile. “You’ve been to one competition, you’ve been to them all.”

  Selena nodded, despite feeling a tad bit hurt by his response. She cleared her throat. “Maybe we can grab a drink tonight? To catch up.”

  Bret took out his phone, thumbs moving across the virtual keyboard. “I’d love to Sel, but I have plans.”

  Was he still upset after all these years about the way she had ended their engagement? Her cheeks burned with guilt. A hollow pain radiated in her chest. Ten years of wondering, imagining, dreaming of their reunion, and all she got was a weak hug? She couldn’t even get her first love to have a casual drink with her. Selena bit her lips and shrugged her shoulders. Yes, she had ended it, but she hadn’t been given a choice. Her mother had sacrificed so much for Selena’s career. Selena couldn’t just give it all up to become some teenage bride on a military base. She had to support her family, especially after her father died. Bret was the one who decided to quit dancing and join the Marines. They could’ve stayed together and been partners on and off the floor.

  Benny Brooks snuck up behind them. “Bret m’boy. Great to see you again. I see you’ve reacquainted yourself with Selena—why don’t you both come inside and we can get started.”

  Get started? What was going on?

  Bret fidgeted. “I have to dance . . . with her?”

  Benny’s lips turned upwards into a devilish grin. He opened the doors to the ballroom. “Selena, I want you to partner Bret for his tryout.”

  A thud echoed against the floor. Selena’s purse lay at her feet, and she scrambled to pick it up again. “Benny, uhm, you never said it was a tryout. You said you just needed to borrow me to run through choreography?”

  “Sorry, lassie. I thought it would be best if you dance with Bret for his audition. I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors that we’re hiring a new professional this season. A true blue United States Marine. The audience will love him. They’re sick of seeing all the foreign wankers. And since you used to be his Sheila, I thought it would be easier for him to dance with you.”

  Bret clenched his face. “Whatever you say, Benny.” Bret walked into the ballroom, sat on a chair and took some dancing shoes out of the box.

  Selena looked over at Bret. “Tryout? Uhm, of course, Benny. No problem. I didn't know Bret was,”—Selena’s gaze darted over to Bret only for a moment, while her cheeks burned—“I mean, I thought he was still in the Marine Corps. But of course, you’d be lucky to have him on the show. He is, I mean, was, an amazing dancer.” She picked up her bag, sat on a chair on the opposite side of the room from Bret, and started attacking the soles of her shoes with her shoe brush, pieces of suede flying in the air.

  Despite her childhood dreams of her and Bret making a life together, she hadn’t been able to turn down Dima’s partnership offer. She had made an agonizingly difficult decision. Now, Selena was exactly where she'd hoped to be in her career. But she never expected Bret would be sitting in the same room, waiting to dance with her again.

  Rumba

  He seduced her with a glance. Pulling her toward him, he had her in his grasp, but she retreated. She danced around him, her hands tracing his chest. He took her by the waist, pressing her against his body. Leaning into him, she savoured his scent. She wanted to give herself completely to him, but couldn’t trust him. Spinning around, she gave him a longing look, then slipped away.

  Chapter Three

  Bret laced up his dance shoes. After the fog of war had burned off, he’d finally made the decision to do the show. Just one visit to see Pierce’s family and look at his little boy’s face made Bret knew he had to do everything in his power to provide for them.

  He had requested approval from the Marine Corps and his orders were recently approved. Too bad he had to burn through two years of personal vacation time to do the show. He had one shot to convince the executive producer of Dancing under the Stars that he was the right man for the job. Bret was perfect on paper—a decorated United States Marine, an American Ballroom Champion—but could he still dance? He’d have to prove himself.

  Seeing Selena . . . it threw him. He’d known, of course, that he’d have to see her if he was cast on the show, but he hadn’t counted on seeing her so soon and definitely didn’t think he’d have to dance with her, touch her, smell her. She looked so hot, all natural and not painted up. The thought of running his hands all over her curvy body made him lose his focus. He wasn’t prepared to be this close to her so soon.

  He walked over to Benny. His former master coach looked just like Bret remembered:
tall, silver-haired, with just a hint of sleaze. Ballroom’s very own Crocodile Dundee. An icon in the dance world, Benny was a six-time Blackpool champion, winning twice with each of his first three wives. His fourth and current wife, Dancing under the Star’s professional dancer Vika, was a twenty-four-year-old Ukrainian knockout who was also Dima’s cousin. Benny was dressed in a blood-orange silk suit with a black button-up shirt that was tightly fitted. His hair was the same color as the sterling silver in his Australian black jade bolo tie.

  Benny held out his hand. “This is just a formality. I told the other producers that a better man never stood in two dance shoes. Your blood’s worth bottling. It would be an honor to have a hero on our show.”

  Bret cleared his throat. He never knew how to respond to someone calling him a hero. “Thank you, Benny, for giving me the opportunity. It’s great to see you again.”

  The doors flew open and Bret was overtaken with the smell of strong perfume. Karen Brooks Lopez stormed in. Karen was a two-time Blackpool Latin Champion with Benny, her first husband. They had two children together, Nicole and Jared. Then Karen shocked the dance world by leaving Benny when she was thirty, at the peak of her career, for her eighteen-year-old student Carlos Lopez. Karen trained Carlos and eventually they won Blackpool, stealing the title from Benny and his then wife. Karen had a reputation for being a diva, demanding limousines and five hundred thread count sheets. She and Carlos spent all of their energy training their own little devil spawn, Gregory Lopez, a brilliant rising star in the amateur Latin world.

  Karen took Bret’s face in her hands and kissed his cheeks. “Bret, wow. You have turned into a sexy man.” She ran her fingers over his biceps and Bret flinched.