Romance: Dance with Me (California Belly Dance Romance Book 2) by DeAnna Cameron

blushing.
    “I mean your dancing,” he said. “You have a lot of promise.”
    Of course he hadn’t meant her . He dated Divas. He wouldn’t be interested in her. She played it cool. “I do declare,” she said in a false Southern accent, “has Mr. Taz Roman complimented little ol’ me?”
    He grinned. Whatever dark shadows had gathered in his expression were gone now. “I didn’t say there wasn’t work to do.”
    She straightened. “Work? Like what kind of work?”
    “Don’t get defensive,” he cajoled. “That’s why you’re here, right? To learn?”
    “Yeah, but…” What was the point of arguing? Of course that’s why she was here. It was the only reason she was here. She couldn’t forget that.
    “Fine. So if you’re gonna help, then what do you suggest?”
    Damn. He looked so cocky now, leaning against the doorjamb with that high-and-mighty smirk.
    She looked away.
    “Well,” he said coolly, “the first piece of advice I’d give you is that you rush your moves. They’re good, don’t get me wrong, but they’re too fast.”
    “That’s not true,” she snapped back. “I’m always on the beat.”
    He cocked his head to the side. “You’re getting defensive.”
    “I’m not. You’re just wrong.”
    His eyes widened. “So this is you not being defensive? Fine, forget I said anything.” He raised his hands and backed into the hall.
    That was it? He was giving up?
    “Wait,” she said to the empty space in the doorway. “I’m sorry. Finish what you were saying.”
    He leaned back into view. “Are you sure?”
    “Yes. I’m sure. I need to slow down. What else?”
    “Not exactly slow down, but don’t anticipate the music so much. It’s only when you’re dancing to recorded music. You were perfect when you danced with me at the Tent.”
    “I was?” That was news to her. He hadn’t said anything about that performance. “You think I was perfect?”
    “When you use recorded music,” he said, “you probably know it so well that you’re focusing on what’s coming, not what’s there. What you want to do is let the music pull you along, not the other way around. If the audience notices you anticipating the changes, they register it. Even if it’s a split second, they sense that you’re out of sync. It disrupts the flow.”
    She stared at him blankly. It wasn’t as though she’d expected him to shout, “You’re the best dancer ever! Garrett will beg you to be in the Divas!” But it didn’t dampen the sting of the criticism. “Okay, I got it. Anything else?”
    He scratched the evening stubble on his chin.
    There was more. Great. The way his eyes roamed over her. She knew that look. It was the same one she got from strangers on the street. The one she got from her own mother after her first date with an ink gun. “It’s the tattoos, isn’t it?”
    She’d been expecting this one. A few of the Divas had tattoos. Mostly belly art like swirls and vines that blended in with the costume. But no one had art on their arms and legs, like she did. Garrett might be open minded, but maybe he wasn’t that open minded. “You’re thinking I should cover them up, right?”
    Taz’s expression twisted. “No, that’s not what I meant at all. It’s the way you dance. There’s too much ballet and not enough belly in your belly dance.”
    She certainly wasn’t expecting that. She sneered. “There’s no ballet in my dance.”
    He stepped backward again. “You’re right. It’s fine. Forget I said anything.” He turned and shoved his hands in his front pockets.
    “Don’t leave. I didn’t mean that. I mean, maybe you could tell me what you mean by ‘too much ballet’?”
    He turned back and hiked an eyebrow. “Your arms. They float too high. Bring them down a bit. Garrett prefers the dancers who focus on the hips, the belly, the center. He wants to see the shimmy, the drops, and the uh-uh-uh .” He accentuated the sound with three sharp shakes of his lean, denim-covered