Wild Heart by Lori Brighton Page A

side of his throat and she had the ridiculous desire to lean forward and kiss the spot.
    “Eye contact,” Jean-Pierre demanded. Ella’s gaze jumped to their instructor. “Not me, your partner.”
    Her attention locked on Leo. In those amber and gold eyes she saw laughter. Her jaw clenched, and her ire grew. Well, let him deal with Jean-Pierre and see how amused he was.
    “Arms up,” Jean-Pierre said. “Chins up, no meek misses here.”
    Ella lifted her arms, feeling ridiculously like a bird about to take flight.
    “Excellent, wonderful. Now, my lord, place your hand on her waist, just like so.”
    Leo’s muscled arm pulled her close, and Ella’s necklace grew warmer.
    She sucked in a breath, her mind spinning. It had to be him! The necklace must react to Leo’s presence. But why? And why only at certain times?
    Leo’s hand rested at the small of her back, right where her vertebrae dipped. She felt every strong curve of his body, and her pulse raced at the contact. Closing her eyes, she breathed deep his scent…a male muskiness combined with the freshness of outdoors…soothing and exciting at the same time.
    “Yes, well, not so close.” Jean-Pierre grasped her upper arms and yanked her back. “Now, hand upon his shoulder.”
    Ella swallowed hard and rested the tips of her fingers on his broad shoulder.
    “Hold hands,” Jean-Pierre declared.
    Leo’s long fingers wrapped around her own, sending a shiver over her skin. How she wished she could read the man. And then he looked into her eyes and she wished for nothing, wanted for nothing.
    In his arms, she felt small, delicate…nauseous.
    “Now, your leg will come forward, like so.” Suddenly, Leo’s muscled thigh, hard and hot, pressed against her hip. Heat rushed through her body and she glanced longingly at the open windows, wishing for a cool breeze.
    “Remember, darlings, this is a romantic dance, a sweeping dance,” Jean-Pierre called out. “Step back, Miss Finch.”
    Ella stumbled back.
    “No! No! Wrong foot!”
    Ella stepped forward, and her foot landed directly on Leo’s boot. He quirked a brow, and his eyes sparkled with obvious amusement.
    “No, no. Merde! ” Jean-Pierre shook his head. “This is what happens when you allow riffraff into cultured society.” His voice was a low mumble, but she heard him all the same. She’d heard worse in Lady Buckley’s home. Apparently, Leo had heard the man too, for his gaze jumped to Jean-Pierre and his hold tightened.
    He was angry? For her? She felt ridiculously pleased with that realization. But before Leo did something they’d all regret, Ella stepped back with the correct foot.
    “Finally,” Jean-Pierre cried. “Dancing is an art; treat it as such.”
    Ella sighed, relieved to have done something right.
    “Now, one, two, three…create a box…two, three…turn…two, three.”
    Leo swept Ella around in dizzying circles.
    “You…you already know how to dance!” she got out in a breathless gasp as he moved her around the room.
    “Of course not. I am merely a brilliant pupil.”
    The pianoforte struck up a tune. Ella wasn’t sure if she danced correctly or not. Leo was in complete control, and she merely followed his lead.
    “Marvelous! Brilliant.” Jean-Pierre cried from across the room. “Just ease up, my lord. You don’t want to eat her. Romantic, soft, not so demanding.”
    Leo ignored the man, his gaze continuing to pierce her very soul as he twirled her from corner to corner. With his attention on her, she couldn’t seem to focus on dancing, or much of anything…but him.
    “Yes, well, demanding works too, I suppose,” Jean-Pierre muttered.
    Ella couldn’t help but laugh. It was ridiculous. She danced in a beautiful ballroom with a handsome man, while a strange Frenchman yelled directions from across the room. Ridiculous, yet lovely.
    Her body floated as if she danced on clouds and only Leo’s solid presence anchored her to earth. She closed her eyes and allowed him to