Puerto Escondido was a laid back surfing town with a hippie-ish mode to it, like the ones in the sixties and seventies that had been scattered around the southern coast of California. The town government had not allowed big corporate and resorts to come in, so there was still a quaint, old fashioned feel to walking its streets and visiting with merchants that Jackson found both charming and calming.

He'd needed to get away from Emily. He hadn't lied to her; it had taken everything he had to keep from running his hands through her hair as the ocean breeze caught it and made it whirl around her head with thousands of sunbursts glinting from the coppers, auburns, reds and golds that made up her curly tendrils. Sometimes, at night, his hands would double into fists in an effort to keep his fingers from running along her jawline, tracing the outline of her face as she stared off into the distance, the moon reflecting in her soft gray eyes.

Before they'd go to bed and told each other goodnight, he'd bend and kiss her cheek or forehead, wanting nothing more than to encompass her in his arms as his mind raced with the words he compulsively wanted to say to her, "I want to make love to you". Words he'd only said to Laney. Laney, he thought, sitting on a bench watching two suffers wade out into the waves. Laney, who for a short while had made him forget about Emily fuckin Masterson.

Laney, the mother of his daughter, Indigo...the sister of his deceased best friend, Rafe, the sister-in-law of Carmen. Yet, he'd never told Em and for months, no, make that years, he'd asked himself, why, and the only reason he could come up with was a sinking feeling of fear...fear that Emily would never forgive him for the betrayal, for not trusting her, for hiding them from her...fear that Emily Masterson would walk out of his life for good.

Damn it to fucking hell and back, he cursed inwardly, I turned on Em when she needed me, because I was so far up Laney's ass... I deserted Em at a time I could have stopped her from marrying that douche. He shook his head, trying to shake the vision of a younger Miss Masterson, showing up unexpectedly in New Orleans and telling him she needed to see him. He'd agreed to meet her in the French Quarter at the Monteleone Hotel, where she was staying, at its Carrousel Bar.

There had been a catch in his chest when he'd seen her all shy and vulnerable, needing him to listen to her, hear her out, tell her not to go through with the wedding. She'd practically begged him to give her some sign of how he felt about her and had hinted that she had feelings for him that were more than just those of friendship.

Eventually, she'd loosened up, as the martinis had started to take effect, and had wantonly flirted with him, letting him know in no uncertain terms that she was ready to take the next step in their relationship... Jackson swallowed down the bile as he remembered the cool way he'd treated her, acting as if he didn't know what she was talking about. Lying to her about what was going on in his life, never telling her about Laney, much less that they were living together, not sharing that he was in law school or that he planned to stay in the Big Easy after he finished, because he was going to marry his best friend's sister. He'd never told her that for years, he'd played with and experimented in BDSM, because his life's goal, before now, had been to one day be that man who would finally please, the redheaded prima donna.

Looking back, Jackson could remember the pain in her eyes, the confusion of not having a clue what was happening as he'd callously walked her tipsy, swaying ass back to her room as though she were a child, making sure she got the door unlocked, stepped inside and then leaving her there in the doorway like a fool, without so much as a backward glance from him. That's how much of a spell Laney had put on him. So much so, that he hadn't even found it in his heart to be kind to the same woman he'd been infatuated with for years.

So, why didn't I just tell her and get it all out in the open? Because she knew you too well. She'd have known you were making a mistake and would have told you so and tried to stop you, he asked and answered himself, as he had for years. But the real truth, the one he wouldn't admit, even to himself, was simple. He couldn't risk losing Em for good and somewhere deep inside, he'd resented her being engaged, because even though Laney had held him firmly in her grip, there was a sixth sense that told him there was still a piece of Emily Masterson buried in his heart and always would be. Plain and simple, he couldn't let go.

No, if he'd been honest with her and told her the truth, all those years ago, that he was choosing someone over her, when she'd been so open and vulnerable with him, laid her heart bare, it would have cut her to the core and their friendship would have crumbled into a thousand pieces, along with her heart... pieces he would never be given a chance to put back together and he couldn't have risked it, selfish fuck that he was.

Earlier, when she'd asked him to give them a little more time before talking about things, he'd been desperate to get it over with and out in the open. It was a compulsion that was driving him crazy. He knew Em and she would hate him for what he'd done, most of all for hiding Laney and Indigo and never telling her the truth. She would fight him and she would hate him, but in his heart of hearts, he believed it would be because she loved him. And he would need time to calm her, to reassure her, to make her forgive him...to forgive himself; to make them both try to understand why he'd done it.

He shook his head, took a deep breath and stood, thinking about this morning when they'd been bantering and Em had made the comment about them being in bed together. Immediately, his mind had conjured up the image of her splayed across the playroom bed, her arms and legs spread eagle, bound to the posts in each corner, and he'd had to get out of there, because he was dangerously close to scooping her up in his arms and doing what he'd wanted to do to her all week...make love to her...not shag, fuck, have kinky sex, bind her or blindfold her. He closed his eyes for a moment and pictured his lips tasting every inch of her, her fingertips tracing the outline of his body, her arms reaching up to hold him tighter against her.

"Senior?" a voice asked, breaking into his thoughts. He opened his eyes to see a young woman with her child, indicating the bench he stood in front of and with a smile, he nodded for her to sit as he slowly made his way back to the street.

The bar he searched for was just opening their doors and he stepped inside, where he was greeted by an ex-patriot he recognized.

The man glanced up. "Sit anywhere. You wantin' food?"

Jackson took a seat at the bar. "Yeah, but not right now. Didn't we meet the other night?"

The man, probably in his late fifties, took his glasses off, picked up a napkin and wiped away the fog that had settled on the lenses then stuck them back on. "Oh, hey, yeah...sure as hell did. Sam," he stuck his hand out. "Sorry, not good with remembering names."

"Jackson Clayborn," he replied taking the hand and giving it a firm shake.

"What are ya drinkin'?"

He looked at his watch, shuddered and shook his head. "A little early for me, but thanks. I was doing some checking around and was told you have live music and dance instructors on certain nights."

Sam grinned and brushed the bar towel across his sweaty brow. "Sure do. Got that started about a year after I bought this place. So many of us that live here from the states, still like our dancing, you know, a little two stepping, some ballroom. But it didn't take me long to figure out the tourists. They're here in Mexico and they want to do some Latin dancing, but they don't got any idea what they see on Dancin' with the Stars doesn't have a fuck to do with Mexican dances. So, I figured let's give 'em what they want and make some bucks off 'em.

"There's this local couple that's been teaching dancing for years. Well, actually, he's a fuckin' frog."

"What?"

"You know, Frenchman," he answered dismissively. "And Norma...no one knows her story or where she's from, but I'm guessing Spain. Anyway, they come here a couple of times a week and the tourists love it...makes them feel like they're on a cruise ship or some shit like that." He stopped, eyed Jackson suspiciously and asked, "Why? I saw you were with that cute little ginger the other night. You wantin' to get sexy with the Salsa or something?"

Jackson chuckled at the point on assessment. "Something like that." But it was more. He wasn't going to let Emily get by with breaking the promise she'd made to the stars, the moon and to him that she could learn to dance. Besides, it would be fun making her keep it, though he had his doubts anything would help her ability to keep rhythm.

"When's the next night they come in?"

"Tonight. We've got a group lesson going on. I think it's Tango night. That work for you?"

He grinned. He actually hadn't been half bad at the Tango when he and The Snow Bunny, as Em likes to refer to her, took up ballroom dancing with some friends in Aspen. He thought about the love, hate relationship the dance represented and laughed. "I think that will perfect," he said, stuck out his hand, shook the older man's and asked, "How much?"

The owner looked at him as if he were trying to size him up. "That little freckled thing doesn't dance, does she?"

Jackson shook his head. "How did you know?"

"Humph," the other man grunted. "Cause it's usually the women in here by themselves asking or dragging some poor sot behind them, trying to push them into the lessons. I figure you're here this early in the morning, you're on a mission and you've got something to prove. You know, she's gonna hate your ass if you force her to get up there and she makes a fool of herself."

"Oh, I think she's pretty used to doing that without any help from me."

"Son, let me tell you something. It's all fine and good if she does it to herself, but if you're the reason she's forced to do it, there will be hell to pay and not in a fun way. Trust me! Been married five times myself. Know a few things about women."

Jackson turned and looked at the stage and the dancefloor in front of it, successfully hiding his smirk at this bit of information when an idea hit him. "They do private lessons?"

Sam turned his bloodshot eyes on him as if considering something. When he finally spoke, one corner of his mouth tilted up, giving him an ornery expression. "Let's see, I was pretty toasted the other night, but as I recall, that gal of yours had quite a rack on her and a flirty personality."

Jackson felt his face flush and tension shoot up the back of his neck. He opened his mouth to say something but the other man stopped him with a chuckle and shake of his head.

"Better be careful or she's gonna know just how crazy you are about her. Shake it loose, son...don't go getting all bent out of shape. Men are gonna notice her looks...that's what attracted you, after all. I was just thinking out loud."

He tried to relax but was alarmed he'd had such a visceral reaction and swallowing hard, stared at the teak bar, then back up. "You're right. Sorry. Go on."

"When I said flirty personality, I didn't mean that bad, she just wants to have fun and is the type that's nice to everyone. I'm right, huh?"

Jackson nodded.

"Okay, you could be getting into dangerous territory here, so this is what I'll do. I'll set it up so Alfonso, don't let the name fool you, it ain't his real one, and Norma come in and give you...well, mainly your gal, a private lesson before the group one. You game?"

He shrugged. "Why not?"

"Where you staying?"

"The house at Old Beach Cove."

"Yeah, well that's a damn nice place to rent."

"I own it," Jackson corrected.

A gleam came into Sam's eyes and this time both corners of his mouth twisted up in a smile that took years off his face. "Well, well, well, Jackson Clayborn, I think you and I are going to be very good friends."

Jackson doubted it as he checked his watch, got off the stool and asked, "What time?"

"Make sure you get your asses here two hours early...that'd be around six. Hardly anyone comes into the bar until around then on weekends."

"We'll be here," he said then turned to the open door, wondering how the hell he was going to explain it all to Em and how she'd take it.

#

They'd had an early lunch in town and Jackson had noticed Emily was exceptionally quiet.

"Something's wrong. Spit it out," he ordered.

She finally looked away from a parrot walking back and forth on his perch to the left of their table.

"Hmmm. I don't know. I just have a feeling and truthfully, I'm a bit peeved."

"Oh, peeved, is it?"

"I can't help it, Jacks. You just walked away from me today and left me there at the house by myself. What am I supposed to think? Then you come back and I'm just supposed to be like oh, wow, he's home. Now, you tell me you have this wonderful surprise for me and we're going to take Tango, of all things, lessons and I'm supposed to be fucking happy about it after I've told you how much I dread things like that. So, yes, I'm fucking peeved."

#

So much for how she'd take it, that had been earlier in the day. Now they were sitting in the bar waiting for the instructors to appear from what he supposed was an office in the back. After a few minutes of holding his breath, wondering if Em was going to get up and walk out on him, his eyes drifted to movement by the stage and she followed his gaze.

"Oh my God," she whispered indignantly. "Absolutely not! Look at them!"

He was looking and had to keep himself from breaking out laughing as the instructors walked towards them, dressed it the classic, dramatic dance outfits of traditional Tango dancers, the expressions on their faces serious and ready to do business.

As they approached, Alfonso, held his hand out to Jackson first then took Emily's hand, kissed the palm then the back of it and introduced himself with a heavy French accent, his black hair slicked back off his forehead and plastered into place. He glanced at Em and could tell she was forcing herself not to withdraw her hand and wipe it off on the napkin under her drink.

The woman, Norma, her golden hair pulled tightly back in a chignon, had stood back watching then stepped forward and held her hand out to him. He took it and touched his lips lightly against her fingertips, knowing without turning the disbelieving look Em was giving him. Norma tipped her head slightly and glanced at the redhead and her disheveled hair with a faint hint of disapproval.

And so it began...their dance lessons...on a rocky note at best.

#

The first hour was rough for Emily as she stumbled along in her sandals, unable to make the fluid movements impeded by the rubber soles that refused to quit catching on the wood floor. Finally, she stopped everything, sat at one of the tables and stubbornly said, "Do not, any of you, give me that fucking look. I dare anyone of you to get in a pool with me or..." Her voice trailed off and a smile lit her frustrated face.

"Em, look, it's okay. We don't have to do this. It was a really bad idea. I'm sorry."

She looked at Jackson as if her were out of his mind. "Oh, hell, mister, you started this, you're going to finish it." She bent and pulled her sandals off, slipped out of her tank top and shorts, exposing a one piece swimsuit, and did a series of stretches she used to do before one of her swimming meets. Standing, she held her arms up, looked at Alfonso and asked, "We gonna do this thing or not?"

The look on the Frenchman's face was priceless as he perused the lithe form of the swimmer with the curiosity of a cat appraising its prey, while Norma, origin unknown, went to the stage and started the music over again then joined Jackson to observe the routine, an condescending smile on her almost pretty face. Within twenty minutes, Emily seemed to be getting the routine down and they joined her on the dancefloor, Alfonso passing her to Jackson, relief dully glowing in his eyes. "Monsieur, she is all yours."

They went through the movements, staring into each other's eyes, other times refusing to look at one another, so representative of their real life relationship, as their feet were amazingly in sync with each other's.

"How did you do it?" he whispered in her ear.

She turned her head and glared into his eyes as befit a Tango dancer. "I was an athlete and a damn graceful one at that. It was easy actually. All I had to do was concentrate and tell myself that I could do it, that this was no different from training for a competition. I just had to make it feel the same, and I remembered I'd had my bathing suit on underneath the clothes and sandals sure as hell weren't necessary and voila!"

He stared down at her in admiration. "You're amazing, Em, you know that?"

"Oh yes, I do. Do you deserve me, Jacks?" she asked before turning her head away to stare at the direction he turned her.

I'm not sure, Emily Masterson. I'm really not, he answered silently as he heard the golf clap from Norma and Alfonso in the background.

#

It was almost nine before the bar filled with enough tourists to start the dance lesson and Jackson and Emily had slipped out earlier to do a little shopping then made a quick stop at the house to freshen up. Now, they were on the floor with several other couples, going through the motions of the lessons, Emily dressed in a dance outfit Sam had given her with the explanation that it had belonged to his third wife Carole, who had never come back for it. On her feet she had on a pair of leather soled pumps that slid nicely along the floor. A lovely paper flower adorned her pulled back hair.

Jackson had donned a pair of black slacks, dress shoes and had purchased a black button-down shirt from one of the local gift shops, making him look quite mysterious and somewhat dangerous...his short, blonde hair, short and blonde.

Once the exact music they'd practiced to earlier came on, they went into their routine, leaving the other students in the dust, with nothing to do but stand idly and watch as they couple went up and down the dancefloor, twirling and kicking, turning and jerking their heads this way and that. At last the finale as he bent her back over his arm in a dramatic sweep then lifted her back and pressed her body into his as they stood stock still and stared breathless into each other's eyes.

There was the faint sound of applause as their chests heaved and sweat trickle down their foreheads and Emily grinned from ear to ear. "Jackson," she said, a giggle to her voice.

He still held her pressed against him. "Yes, Em?"

"You've got a hard on," she whispered, bursting into stifled giggles.

All at once, he came back to reality and could feel his erection pressing against her stomach and released the death grip he'd had on her. "I think it might be time we went home," he whispered back with a crooked grin.

"I think so," she agreed under her breath, nodding slightly.

"Just stay close in front of me till we get outside," he told her and they quickly made their exit and scurried to their car, all thought of anything gone from Jackson's mind other than getting them safely home and making love to his dancing queen.