Page 30 of One Last Dance

The low sound of voices gossiping snapped her to attention. “And did you see her shoes? Louboutin’s. I’m so jealous.” The voice came from a stall behind her to the right. An answering voice replied from the one next to it.

“Well, she is a dancer. Clearly, she has to take care of her feet. What better way than to pamper them? Anyway, I thought she seemed nice.”

They were talking about her. Louboutin’s? Sophie glanced down at the crystal-studded heels. Louboutin’s? They could be worth a thousand dollars at least!

“You’re such a soft touch, Jeanie,” the first woman sighed. “She’s obviously with him for his money.”

Jeanie giggled. “I don’t know. Have you looked at Henry Medina lately?”

Sophie quickly dried her hands and ducked out the door. While it was good to know that the faceless Jeanie thought she was nice, she really didn’t want to meet her under those conditions.

When she finally found Henry in the crowd of the party, he was talking to Carl. The blond man begged off as she approached.

Henry eyed her as she neared. “You still look a bit flushed.”

“There were some women in the bathroom talking about me,” she blurted. Henry’s brows shot up.

“Whatever they were saying, ignore it.”

She extended her leg slightly, pointing the polished toe that peeped out of her crystal-studded heel. “So these aren’t Christian Louboutin’s?”

Henry’s gaze dropped to her lip and he swallowed.

“No, they are.”

“How could you spend so much money on me?”

“I wanted you to look nice.”

“I can look nice in something less than thousand dollar shoes!”

“Trust me, I know. Better than nice, as I remember.”

Her breath caught in her throat. His tone was playful, but the heated intent in his dark eyes was anything but. She didn’t doubt for a minute that he was thinking about kissing her. And not just a brief brush of lips like she’d done before.

“Pardon me, pardon me, so sorry to interrupt.” The tiny little man’s smile was wide. He was balding, with a bad combover. “Mr. Medina, can I get a picture of you and your lovely date?” He was clearly a reporter.

She was pretty sure, from the twitch at the corner of his mouth, that Henry knew exactly what she’d been thinking. “Certainly, Alphonse. Try and get a better shot than last time, okay?”

Alphonse tittered nasally. “No telephoto lens here, Mr. Medina! Though, you must admit, I caught the anger in the beauty’s eyes!”

Realization slammed into her chest and Sophie drew in a long, slow breath. This little worm was the man that had taken the picture of her inside Henry’s building. The picture that had been splashed all over the front page and caused all this trouble. Her spine stiffened. “Why are we letting this—”

Henry’s arm tightened around her waist. “Hush, dolce. Alphonse was just doing his job,” he whispered. He turned his attention back to the photographer. “You’ll have to forgive Ms. Becker, Al. She’s a little put out with you. She prefers her privacy these days.”

Alphonse bobbed his pumpkin shaped head up and down. “Of course, of course. Romance is a private matter for most people. But you’re here tonight!” He beamed at her.

Sophie stiffened, then relaxed. “I realized trying to keep our relationship private only made people more curious. So, here we are.”

“So, it was your decision to stay private? Not Henry’s?”

Sophie laughed. “Well, Henry, were you trying to keep me hidden?”

“Would you want to share such a rare jewel, Al? No, Sophie wanted it private, but I didn’t mind at the time. It meant I got to keep her all to myself, too.” He winked at the man.

Alphonse wheezed laughter, snapping a photo of them as he did. “How did you two meet?”

“I was practicing the tango. Henry barged into the studio and demanded I dance with him.” Sophie shot Henry a look from beneath her lashes.