Atterbury

The day Ramon walked into the fitness centre, as hush fell over the room like a collective intake of breath. All female eyes were on him as he walked toward the front desk to sign in. He was Cuban, with smooth, dark skin and a light stubble shadowing his face, underneath brooding eyes. I wondered, was it a requirement for Latino men to have brooding eyes? But it was his lips that did it, I decided. It was like he had stolen them off Enrique Iglesias.

My friend, Karen, had twisted my arm to get me to sign up for a private salsa lesson. She felt I had sunk into a rut after breaking up with my fiancé and first serious boyfriend (yes, I know it sounds bad) 11 months ago, and she was probably right. But I would much rather have been home, eating cake, and watching 'Law and Order' reruns. Instead, here I was, practically terrified at the prospect of being in proximity with this new salsa teacher. I looked down at myself. An off-the-shoulder white blouse and a simple black skirt that lifted slightly when I twirled. I had added simple heels with very thin gold straps. No tripping over my feet in front of Mr Latin Lover.

I decided he was a little too good looking. It was almost intimidating. I wondered how I was going to handle spending hours at a time with him in a small, cramped dance studio each week. He finished signing in, nodded towards me, and walked into one of the dance rooms. I swallowed hard, resisted the urge to run, and followed him.

The dance begins

An hour into the lesson, we were already getting on each other's nerves. He pressed play for the 10th or 11th time, and leaned against the wall, as the music began.

"OK, go."

I stared at him. "Go where?"

"Let us see what you can do."

I crossed my arms. "Ahm, you haven't taught me nutten yet. What I suppose to do?"

He stared at me. "I cannot understand your English."

"What you mean?" I retorted.

Running a hand impatiently over his head, he said, "Just dance, please."

I shot him what I hoped was a venomous look and began to move to the music. The song was catchy and soon I was really getting into it, twisting my waist and shaking my hips for all they were worth.

Suddenly the music stopped. I looked over at Ramon, who was shaking his head and pinching the bridge of his nose.

"What's the problem?" I demanded.

He walked over to me slowly. "This is not the dance hall."

"Excuse me?"

"All this," he gestured at my behind. "You are using it in the wrong way. This is not a Sean Paul music video application."

"Do you mean audition?" I asked incredulously.

Ignoring me, he went on with his lecture. "You must use your whole body, not just your hips." He walked over to the CD player and started the music again. "I will show you, okay?"

I was about to give him a rude reply, but then he fixed his dark eyes on me and began to dance, and I lost my train of thought.

I watched him as he moved in a circle around me. He was bossy and annoying, sure, but Lord, he was sexy. He was simply dressed in a plain grey T-shirt and faded jeans, but his biceps seemed to strain slightly against his cotton sleeves, and every now and then as he turned, the hem of his shirt lifted and I would catch a glimpse of tanned abs.

He came closer and said, "Now we dance together, OK?"

I rolled my eyes and let him take my hands, feeling extremely awkward. I tried to watch his feet and mimic their movement, but he bumped my chin with a finger.

"Up here, senorita," he said, pointing to his eyes. "Focus on the music. Whatever you are feeling, let it show."

"You sound like a bad actor in a cheesy Lifetime movie," I grumbled, but his nearness was beginning to make me edgy. I licked my lips nervously, praying that Revlon all-day lip colour really did work for 24 hours. I felt sweaty and ungainly next to his smooth gracefulness.

Long minutes passed as we moved around the floor. I glanced down at my feet again and lifted my head quickly, remembering I was supposed to be looking at his eyes. He was staring right at me, a thoughtful look on his face.

"What can I do to make you more comfortable?" he asked. I shrugged, trying to concentrate on not stepping on his feet.

Suddenly I felt his hand slide up my back and down again, his fingers playing against my ribs before he ran them all the way down to my thigh. I inhaled sharply and almost froze, but he was still dancing. He leaned into me, somehow still dancing, still moving, and I gasped as I felt his teeth graze my ear. This wasn't happening.

And yet it was. He ran his hand up to my back and slid it under my blouse. Our gazes were locked and the gleam in his eyes made my stomach lurch. I didn't know whether to slap him or kiss him, but before I could decide, he pressed his lips to mine, and wrapped his arms around my waist, lifting me just enough to match his height. I tried to make sense of what was happening. I knew if there were ever a time to say no, get off me, what are you doing, this was it, but my thoughts tilted crazily as he pressed me against the wall and the kiss deepened.

Soon the song ended and only the sound of our breathing filled the room.

A week later...

"Jasmine, you cyan be serious about this guy," my friend Karen said dryly.

"For the last time, nothing is going on!" I yelled into the phone.

She snorted. "That's why I found you wrap up in his arms like a Harlequin book cover?"

"He's just teaching me to dance," I said feebly.

"This is like a bad version of Dirty Dancing," she went on. "Only it not going end in a dance off, it going end in him dogging you out, and me picking up the pieces for a month."

Tired of listening to her, I muttered, "I have to go. Lata."

"Nobody puts Baby in a corner," she yelled, and was still cackling when I hung up on her.

Jasmine the idiot

As annoyed as I was with Karen, I knew she was right. Ramon was just passing the time here in Jamaica, looking for a good time. I had played right into his hands.

"Jasmine the idiot strikes again," I mumbled, and opened the fridge to look for some chocolate to bury my sorrows in.

I was halfway though a slice of cake and a full-fledged bout of self-loathing when I heard a soft knock on my door. I looked through the keyhole and was surprised to see Ramon waiting on the front step.

I opened the door, and there he was, in all his glorious Cuban beauty. His eyes ran over my bed-rumpled clothes, and he smiled.

"I am thinking maybe dinner, a movie?"

Laughter bubbled up my throat, as a thrill of pleasure ran through me. "A movie?" I asked dryly. "Will you understand the words?"

He grinned and as I stepped back to let him inside, my heartbeat quickened. Maybe it was about time I did something reckless. Again.