Abrazo

Chapter 1

His name was Aras. That was all I knew as Emily and I followed the receptionist down the long hallway leading to the grand ballroom.

"We just had a couple from Russia join us," the receptionist said. "A husband and wife. Their English is hard to comprehend at times, but their teaching skills are impeccable, especially Aras's. He specializes in teaching children."

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Emily lift her hand to her mouth and begin gnawing at her knuckles—a nervous habit she had picked up in the past.

"If you're not comfortable with him, we will end the lesson at once," I promised her. "We can leave anytime."

I was no stage mom. I just wanted my daughter to go after her dream. Although I had been raised with none of the advantages Emily had, my parents had insisted that I could accomplish anything if I was willing to work. I, in turn, instilled this belief in Emily even at her young age.

From the outside, the studio blended in perfectly with the surrounding shopping mall district; however, the moment we stepped through the glass double doors, we entered a world of nouveau chic. No expense had been spared in the effort to portray luxury and privilege.

Staff members, with their flawless skin and regal attire, sat perfectly perched behind a stately mahogany desk, while poster-sized framed photographs of every professional who taught there lined the bright orange walls. Both men and women, with dazzling smiles and lavish apparel, shined like works of art under their individual spotlights. It was the epitome of the Walk of Fame.

"This is Velna, Aras's wife." The receptionist pointed at a photo of an attractive blond who appeared about my age. "She's not here today, but I'm sure you'll be meeting her in the near future." The elegant features of her high cheekbones and pencil-thin lips stood out against the hot pink three-tier pearl choker wrapped around her throat and a plunging canary yellow blazer; everything about her screamed eccentric.

"She's beautiful."

The words had no more than parted my lips when I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the framed glass. I had never put a great deal of emphasis on my outward appearance. I skimmed my fingertips along my ponytail and glanced down at my jeans and simple sweater. What Clark, my husband, had referred to as my "natural beauty" always gave me the assurance I needed; however, at this moment my confidence melted into embarrassment.

"Along the hall you'll find several smaller studios." She motioned to the line of doors. "We use them to train for upcoming showcases, and to teach rhythm, yoga, and other exercise classes."

I folded my arms and nodded, pretending to soak in every bit of information she provided.

She stepped forward and dramatically threw wide the double glass doors in front of us.

"And this is our magnificent grand ballroom," she said with an exhale. "This space is reserved only for our leading professionals and their top competitive students. And of course for Aras."

I cleared my throat to cover the laughter that tried to escape. This woman appeared to be in complete awe of him.

"Sounds as if he is a very impressive teacher," I speculated.

"He is," she affirmed. "I ... I mean to say we are grateful he chose our dance studio as his home." She glanced at the large, round wall clock as the balls of her cheeks turned pink. "Have a seat." She motioned toward a gray short-loop carpeted area filled with purple velour furniture and round, wood-topped tables on silver bases. "Aras will be with you shortly."

Emily and I chose the first two retro-style chairs just steps away to await the man who had been so grandly described to us.

"I can't believe we're actually here." Emily's voice broke as she stared around the room in amazement. "This is a dream come true."

It was then that I realized we were not in a typical dance studio. Four crystal chandeliers, one in each corner, hung over the polished oak floor. In the center, a multitiered glass-and-chrome fixture cast the light back in myriad colors across the entire area before us.

"I'm glad," I replied, pulling her close. "Nothing makes me happier than seeing you smile."

As much as I loved watching my daughter's enthusiasm build, I secretly found it hard to believe that Aras could be as astounding as the receptionist had portrayed him. Everything looked and sounded just a little too perfect.

"Good morning."

I turned toward the heavily accented male voice that came from behind me. Oh. My. God. Never before had I ever seen such a superlative embodiment of Adonis. He looked to be in his early thirties. His profile was strong and defined, with features chiseled out of stone. His amber hair, cut tight along the sides and longer on top, was slick as a bullet.

"Hello." He offered his hand. "I'm Aras."

His eyes were blue like the sea, crystal clear and shimmering. Losing myself within them, I could almost hear the waves crashing along the shore. He was tall, clearly over six feet, with a lean, muscular build. The permanent crease that ran the length of the front of his charcoal slacks gave a sharp-edge appearance from the side, yet the wide-leg fabric flowed with ease in every subtle move he made. With his white button-down giving a glimpse of the smooth chest I'm sure lay just underneath, he resembled a model stepping out of the pages of GQ rather than a dance instructor. The sight of him left me breathless.

"Lillian." I almost melted as his long fingers enclosed mine. They were an artist's hands, fine and tapered.

No one other than my husband, Clark, had ever affected me so intensely. The day we first met, all other men ceased to exist. Even through his last months when his body began to deteriorate, my attraction for him never wavered. He was the only man who had possessed the ability to heighten my senses with only a glance. Until today.