Ashe wasn't lying when he told her that friends had described him as having Latin hips, for just as they claimed, the boy could move. And move he did. Thankfully, his progression from his inherited English hips to those alleged Latin ones was slow, probably so he would not scare the living daylights out of her. She felt out of place in the salsa club at first, but the gradual progression of the man who said cuteness instead of ass to the man now teasing her with hips that really moved helped Riley to relax and finally let go.

It surprised her that no one recognized him, or if they did, they didn't seem to care. This was New York after all, and after a week of working hard, New Yorkers were ready to play even harder. Many of the couples were already moving perfectly to the music, the men leading their partners through intricate twirls and dips, and Riley felt self-conscious about the lack of movement of her hips. So, for the first twenty minutes, she stood stiffly facing Ashe, wondering if she'd just made a big mistake.

She felt like Baby in Dirty Dancing at the beginning of the movie, awkward and unable to do the simplest dance moves. But as couples drifted past her effortlessly, some of them urging her to dance and let it all out, Riley knew she wasn't the type to give up so early in the game. After all, the night was young, and if other couples could move like Shakira after a few drinks, then she could too. Heck, she didn't even need alcohol to do that. She had Ashe.

It started with him moving his shoulders to the music, his eyes always on her, pinning her beneath his gaze as he beckoned her toward him by crooking his index finger and reeling her in. No doubt he had been born with expressive eyes, but he'd just turned them on full force into come-hither eyes that took no prisoners, and soon, Riley couldn't care less where hither was. Wherever that was, she was there.

The movement drifted from his shoulders to his torso, his hands taking hers and moving her along with him. If he took a step forward with his left foot, it meant that she had to take a step back with her right. He'd murmur the directions now and then as he brought her closer to him, his mouth against her ear.

"Left foot forward." "Right arm up." "Move those hips, Riley." "Just let go. That's it, petal."

When he guided her across the floor hours later, holding her arm with one hand, the other lightly pressing along the small of her back or her side or wherever he had placed it with a gentle nudge that told her where to go, Riley had finally figured it out. He was leading her, a gentle nudge with his right hand telling her to move her left leg back and her hip with it.

Another gentle touch along her waist and the lifting of her arm over her head made her spin around straight against his chest, where he'd greet her with a wide grin, sometimes biting his lower lip as he watched her slowly let go. Gradually, she began to move her shoulders, then her hips, and soon her whole body. Shakira be damned—she could dance!

Riley was perspiring by the time she figured she'd finally got it, when she'd forgotten to worry about her form, who might be watching them, or whether she was making a fool of herself. She was enjoying herself in a way she'd never done before. Ashe only had eyes for her, and that was what mattered. Everything else seemed irrelevant. What mattered to her then was the music and the way he held her, spun her and even ground one hip along hers, teasing her with a wink, a touch, a glance. With each movement, she grew hotter and bolder.

By the time they walked off the dance floor and out of the club, it was past midnight. They'd been dancing for hours and Riley's feet were screaming for relief. But so was her mouth, yearning for a kiss, and even more, from Ashe.

All night she'd been teased with gentle, playful nips of his lips, light kisses that did nothing but inflame her and make her want so much more. But she wasn't about to jump him on the dance floor, not when he was moving her so effortlessly, and she was following him as if it was the most natural thing in the world to do. There was no questioning at all, not even when they got into a cab that took them back to her apartment, still breathless, their skin covered with a light sheen of sweat from all the dancing.

Even inside the cab, Ashe didn't kiss her, though his hand never let go of hers and, when she rested her head on his chest, Riley could feel his heart beating fast. Was he as nervous as she was, she wondered? Or was he only going to walk her to her door and bid her good night? Why hasn't he kissed her yet? Oh, my God, was it something she did? Or didn't do?

But the moment they were inside her apartment, Riley forgot all about the maybes. There was only the feel of his mouth on her lips and his tongue tasting her, claiming her. His hands gripped her hair, pulling her head back as he licked the salty sweat from her skin, her fingers gripping his shoulders as she clung to him. She thought she was going to faint from the blood rushing lower, much lower, through the burning core of her, till she was on fire.

He tasted so good, Riley thought, before realizing she was thinking too much. With her back against the wall where Ashe had pinned her, one hand gripping her waist and the other lifting her thigh against his hip, she wondered if they were still dancing. She felt dizzy, overwhelmed and happy all at once, and with her body tingling wherever he touched her, horny as hell. How long had it been, she wondered? She'd been so scared of wanting to be with anyone else, she hadn't been with anyone but Gareth.

Three years was a damn long time.

"Has it been that long?" he murmured, his eyes seeming to swallow her whole into its depths, so blue and so deep.

She stared at him. Did she just say it out loud? "No! I mean, yes...shit, I'm so embarrassed—"

He silenced her by nipping her lower lip playfully, before kissing her again, this time even harder than before, his tongue slipping between her teeth, sweeping the inside of her mouth, tasting her. It made her belly do flip flops, unleashing a thousand butterflies with nowhere to go. She felt him hard against her belly, and she held her breath at the realization that she could produce such a response in him of all people—Ashe Hunter.

But then she heard Paige's voice inside her head, telling her that Ashe was only after one thing, that after he'd get it from her, he'd move on. Riley forced herself to stay in the present, pushing thoughts of Paige aside. She decided then to chuck guilt and shyness out the door. She wouldn't need them, not when Ashe was making her feel as beautiful as she felt now.

He lifted her up in his arms and carried her to her bed. Then he kissed her again, more deeply this time. Riley's hands moved down his body, wanting to tear his clothes off and feel his bare skin under her fingers. He tugged at her dress as she knelt before him, helping her lift it over her shoulders, leaving her with her lace undies.

"You're so beautiful, Riley," he said as he nuzzled her neck, his stubble sending shivers up and down her spine. She was still kneeling on the bed in front of him, her hands now undressing him.

"I want to see you," she breathed, unbuckling his belt. As he pulled his shirt over his head, Riley paused to gaze at his flat belly, the six-pack she had seen in online pictures, though she much preferred the real thing in front of her. She knew he worked out, having read on an online site about his training with a personal trainer, and another site had posted a picture of him leaving a yoga studio in Hollywood a few days earlier. Whatever he did to take care of himself, the results were more magnificent in the flesh, and Riley sent silent thanks to the trainers and nutritionists who'd helped to produce the man before her. Genetics probably helped a lot, too.

She bent forward and kissed the taut skin of his belly, feeling the muscles ripple beneath her touch, tightening as he breathed raggedly. He was beautiful, his body perfect, like a Greek god who just happened to step down from Mount Olympus and decided to show up in her bed. As Riley pushed his jeans down his hips, she knew those online pictures hadn't lied. He was just as the online sites proclaimed him—perfect—though she soon forgot all that when she gazed up at his face, for she knew that he was Ashe Hunter first, a man with incredible blue eyes and a gentle smile—a man she was falling hard and fast for.

When Ashe pushed her back down on the bed, Riley could only feel his arms holding her, enclosing her and keeping her safe. It was strange, she thought then, how long it had been since she'd felt that way. When he gazed at her with lidded eyes, she felt as if he saw right through her defenses, the walls she'd built around her heart for so long crumbling into ashes. When he kissed her again, slowly this time as he savored the taste of her, she wished she could freeze the feeling like a snapshot, meant to be kept for later after reality would set in, and he'd be gone. But for now, he was there with her, seeing her.

As he slowly made love to her, she was desperate to reach the finish line, her body screaming for more. But Ashe decided to take his time. He made Riley suffer a wait that included an agonizingly slow, delicious tour of his mouth and hands along her body, from her neck and shoulders down to her breasts with their pierced nipples and their barbell clips and lower again to her belly. He paused along each hip, sucking gently at the skin above her hipbones till he left her quivering beneath his touch, hearing her whimper his name beneath him, her fingers digging into the skin of his shoulders. She muffled her moans with her hand against her mouth as he continued to move down, much lower to the burning core between her legs that begged to be filled, and soon.

When he entered her, taking his time and not wanting to hurt her, Riley knew then that she was lost, so lost in the man that was Ashe. He was so much more than just a collection of pixels on a screen, so much more than any of the gossip rags proclaimed him to be. But that was only because he'd allowed her to see a part of him that he hardly revealed to anyone else, or, at least, it was the one thing she wanted so desperately to believe as he made love to her. And as he filled her, all that mattered was him making love to her, breathing against her ear and saying her name.

So this was following her heart, she thought, as Ashe took her to the edge and back till he let her fall, only to follow right behind her, the sounds of his release sweet music to her ears. Was it to catch up with her or to cushion her fall, making her aware that he was there with her? Riley gave up asking the questions she could never answer and simply let go.

She knew that she had fallen for him too fast, and if the emotions were not returned, then she'd live with the consequences. At least, she'd followed her heart, and not someone else's. She'd sought her Anahata and found it dancing the salsa and the merengue, in an Englishman with Latin hips and maddening skills in the bedroom she'd never experienced before.

But she couldn't have known all this unless she'd given it a try, that leap of faith taken when the path ahead seemed uncertain. Riley had hidden from the world since her break-up with Gareth, drowning her misery in drugs she knew nothing about—an ignorance that almost killed her. Since then, in the mistaken belief that it would make life better, she had simply done what everyone told her to do, thought whatever they wanted her to think, while simultaneously making everyone believe that she was happy.

But Riley knew now she couldn't fool everyone, not even herself, and this time, she was going into this with her eyes wide open. And if a world of hurt awaited her at the end of this ride with Ashe, this time, she would no longer be surprised.

She'd expect it.