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I haven’t a thing in the world against tango.” They might have been discussing a person. He flashed a dry smile, and she was startled by his electric appeal. He wasn’t just built. He had strong, attractive facial features, and that dimple. His eyes appealed, too, the color very deep, his stare direct. Despite herself, she felt a little flush of heat surge through her. Simple chemistry. He was something. She was professional and mature and quite able to keep any reaction under control—but she wasn’t dead.
    He leaned forward suddenly. “I think I’d love to tango,” he said, as if he’d given it serious thought.
    And probably every woman out there would love to tango with you, too, buddy, she thought.
    She had to smile suddenly. “Are you sure you really want to take dance lessons?” she asked him.
    â€œYes. No.” He shrugged. “Doug really wanted me to get into it.”
    Shannon suddenly felt hesitant about him. She didn’t know why—he was so physically impressive that any teacher should be glad to have him, as a challenge, at the least.
    A challenge. That was it exactly. Just as he appealed to her, he created a sense of wariness in her, as well. She didn’t understand it.
    She sat back, smiling, tapping her pencil idly against the table as she looked at him. She spoke casually. “Your brother is a police officer. Are you in the same line of work, Mr. O’Casey?”
    â€œQuinn. Please, call me Quinn. And no, I’m not a cop. Although I was a cop once.”
    He didn’t offer any further details.
    â€œSo, what do you do?”
    â€œI’m with a charter service down in the Keys.”
    â€œFishing? Diving?”
    He smiled slowly. “Yes, both. Why? Are only certain men involved in certain lines of work supposed to take dance lessons?”
    She shook her head, annoyed to know that her cheeks were reddening. She stared down at the paper. “No, of course not, and I’m sorry. We just try to tailor a program toward what an individual really wants.”
    â€œWell, I guess I just want to be able to dance socially. And I’m not kidding when I say that I can’t dance.”
    Those words were earnest. The dimple in his cheek flashed.
    She smiled. “Doug came in with the movement ability of a deeply rooted tree…Quinn.” His name rolled strangely on her tongue. “He’s made incredible progress.”
    â€œWell, he just kind of fell in love with it, huh?”
    Her smile deepened, and she nodded. “You don’t think you’re going to fall in love with it, do you?”
    He shrugged, lifting his hands. Large hands, long fingered. Clean and neat, though. Of course. Fishing and diving. He was in the water constantly. Face deeply bronzed, making the blue of his eyes a sharp contrast. “What about you?”
    â€œPardon?” she said, startled that they had suddenly changed course.
    â€œWhen did you fall in love with it?”
    â€œWhen I could walk,” she admitted.
    â€œAh, so you’re one of those big competitors,” he said.
    She shook her head. “No. I’m an instructor.”
    He arched a brow, and she felt another moment’s slight unease as she realized he was assessing her appearance.
    â€œI bet you would make a great competitor.”
    She shrugged. “I really like what I do.”
    â€œI guess competition can be dangerous.”
    His words sounded casual enough. She felt herself stiffen. “Dangerous? Dancing?”
    He shrugged again. “Doug told me someone had a heart attack and died at the last big competition.”
    She shook her head. “What happened was tragic. But it was an isolated incident. I’ve certainly never seen anything like it before. We’re all shattered, of course…but, no, competition isn’t usually dangerous.” She was tempted to say more but pulled back, telling herself not to be an