Island Affair (Keys to Love #1)(103)

Maria grinned with pleasure.

Still, Yaz couldn’t stop remembering the hurt in the little girl’s eyes over the past weeks because of her father’s absences. Legs shaking, she strode to the corner table at the front of the room and jabbed the stop button on her iPod speakers. “Everyone, let’s take a five-minute water break.”

Mr. Garcia and Maria stepped to the side of the room so the other class members could head to the lobby area.

Anger over the weeks of disappointment he’d brought on his daughter pulsed a heavy, deep bass beat in Yaz’s chest. She sucked in what was supposed to be a calming breath and counted to ten. Then twenty.

So much for her brief fantasy of a friendly night out with a hunky stranger. Her first since long before she’d left New York to come home. That definitely wasn’t going to happen. Not with this man.

*

“M’ija, I’m sorry I’m late.”

The trite words burned Tomás’s lips with their insignificance. No matter how many times he apologized, he knew he’d never forget the dejection crumpling Maria’s shoulders when he’d finally spotted her sitting in the back of the room. Knowing he’d put the sadness there was like a swift punch to his gut.

He tried so damn hard to be a good father. Still, more and more often it felt like he was falling short.

“It’s okay.” Maria gave him a sad version of her normally sunny smile. “At least you made it for a little while this time.”

This time.

Guilt latched onto him, sinking its claws into his shoulders. Talk about feeling like a loser single parent. Lately, his drive to be the best at work had him short-changing his daughter. Sure, he’d landed a prize client today, but the extended negotiations had made him leave the office late, remorse riding shotgun on his mad dash out of the city.

“Come on, Papá.” Maria linked their fingers together. “I want you to meet Ms. Yazmine. ’Member, I told you about her.”

Ha, it was impossible to forget. All Maria talked about was her new dance instructor. Apparently the lady walked on water.

Maria pointed to a tall, slender woman standing at a corner table up front. The previously crowded room and his anxiety over not being able to find Maria when he’d first arrived had to be the only explanation for his not noticing the beautiful instructor earlier.

Now, there was no missing her.

Ms. Yazmine’s black hair was pulled back in a sleek bun low on her nape. On someone else the style might have looked severe. On her, it accentuated her smooth forehead, high cheekbones, elegant neck, and sun-kissed olive skin. She wore a black, figure-hugging spaghetti-strap leotard with tights, and a short, filmy skirt fluttered over the thighs of her long, toned legs.

Hands clasped, feet set in a dance position he couldn’t name, Ms. Yazmine had him picturing a different kind of position altogether. One not quite appropriate for their current surroundings.

Heat pooled low in his body. Ay, ay, ay, this woman could sell sand in a desert. She was an ad-man’s dream.

Hell, any man’s dream.

A guy could probably get used to having a woman like her dancing around in his life.

Tomás sucked in a surprised breath, wondering where that thought had come from.

“Vente.” Maria paired her command for him to come with a tug of his hand, dragging him across the floor. “Ms. Yazmine, I want you to meet my papá.”

Tomás could have sworn he saw her flinch, but the instructor set her iPod down and slowly turned away from the desk. She gave him a stiff, yet polite, smile.

“My apologies for being late. It’s nice to meet you.” Tomás held out his hand, noting Ms. Yazmine’s hesitation before she placed her cool hand in his.

“I’m glad you could finally join us, Mr. Garcia.” She might appear delicate, but her grip was as firm as her voice. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d make it.”

There was no missing the reproach. Clearly they were starting off on the wrong note.

“Longer than anticipated meetings, shifting schedules. Sometimes they can’t be avoided, no matter how hard I try. But I’m here now, ready to give this a shot.” He swung an arm out to encompass the room, tamping down his irritation at having to explain himself. After all, he was twenty minutes late.

Experience, and his mamá’s advice, reminded him that he’d catch more flies with leche quemada than vinegar. Something she’d often said as she spread the sweet caramel confection on his morning toast.

“Maria and Mrs. Buckley have been trying to teach me at home, but I’ve been told you’re the expert.”

Yazmine arched a brow. Probably letting him know she wouldn’t buy his compliment so easily. Strangely, he found that appealing.

“I appreciate the thought,” she said. “My students make my job easy though. They work hard both in and out of class.”

“Well, I’ve got a mean salsa. I can handle a merengue, or a Mexican polka, but ballet . . . ?” He shook his head with a grimace. “Not really one of my strong suits.”

“I can probably help with that.” The edges of her generous mouth curved up, smoothing the censure from her voice.

Aha! A crack in her prima donna shell.

“Sí, Papá can’t really get the grapevine.” Maria’s dark brown curls bounced as she crisscrossed her feet to demonstrate the step. “But I said you could help him. ’Cuz you helped me. You’re the bestest dancer in the whole world.”