Shield knocked on her bedroom door an hour later, dreading the alone time with the president.
Thomas opened the door and stepped out. She’d changed from the casual attire she always wore at breakfast to a tailored gray silk blouse and charcoal skirt. “I’m ready.” She’d taken a few steps down the hallway before Shield noticed her shoes.
“Madam President.”
Thomas stopped. “Yes?” she replied without turning around.
“Your footwear.”
“What about it?” she asked, still with her back turned.
“Not suitable for a dance lesson.”
Thomas looked down at her low-heeled black pumps. “They’re comfortable.”
“But inappropriate. You’ll have to learn to dance in heels, because I presume that’s what you’ll be wearing tomorrow night for the dinner.”
The president turned and walked past Shield back toward her room. “I’ll make the adjustment.” When she reemerged a short time later, she was wearing three-inch lavender heels, and the added lift brought her up roughly to Shield’s height.
Thomas swept past without a glance and headed down the Grand Staircase to the East Room, the largest room in the White House, where the entertainment portion of the state dinner would be held. A small stage had already been set up on one side for the orchestra, and folding chairs were stacked against one wall. The rest of the room was bare; the grand piano had been taken out, and the Aubusson-style carpet had been removed from one end to expose the polished oak parquet floor for dancing. Either the president or Moore had evidently called ahead, because a White House aide was standing by with a portable music player and speakers.
“Good morning, Madam President,” he said as soon as they entered. “I’ve gotten the music list from the orchestra and have a couple of their waltz selections for you to choose from.”
“Thank you,” Thomas replied. “That will be all for now. I’ll call you if we need you.”
As he departed, Shield disconnected her communications device. She went to the president and faced her. “First, let’s go over the hold. You place your left hand on my right shoulder, with your elbow bent.”
Thomas placed her hand on Shield’s upper arm.
“Higher, please.” Shield took her hand and moved it to her shoulder. “Very good. Now…” Shield extended her left arm. “Put your right hand in mine, in a loose grip, and I’ll put my right hand around your waist, like this.”
Thomas stiffened as soon as Shield touched her.
“I know I’m not a man.” Shield couldn’t help herself, remembering the president’s previous comments. “But please try to relax.”
Thomas avoided eye contact when she replied. “I didn’t mean…”
“You try to maintain this hold, and this distance, throughout the dance,” Shield said, standing about a foot away. “On the first beat, I step forward with my left foot, and you step back with your right.”
The president moved forward instead, which resulted in a chest-to-chest collision. “I’m sorry.” Thomas looked uncomfortable.
“No need. It takes getting used to.” Shield hurriedly put the correct distance between them. “On the next beat, I step forward and to the right with my right foot, making a kind of L, and you mirror what I’m doing with your left foot, stepping back. Your partner, presuming he’s good at this, will be subtly leading you with his hands.”
She demonstrated, tightening her hold slightly on the president. For someone who busied herself with paperwork, phone calls, and meetings, Thomas’s hands felt rougher than Shield expected. “Next, shift your weight to your left foot, while you keep your right foot stationary. On the third beat, you slide your right foot over to your left and stand with your feet together.”
Thomas still appeared tense as she looked down at her feet as if willing them to move. Shield placed her foot between both of Thomas’s and nudged her right foot to the left. Thomas looked at her bewildered.
“You can do this,” Shield said, and Thomas charily moved her foot. “Very good.”
“On the fourth beat, step forward with your left foot, while I step back with my right foot. Great. Now, on the fifth beat, I step back and to the left with my left foot, tracing a backward L and shifting my weight to my left foot, while you mirror me with your right foot, stepping forward.”
Thomas followed her lead.
“On the last beat, slide your left foot toward your right, until your feet are together. That’s the pattern. Now we repeat from step one, and as you dance each pattern, your partner will move you across the floor, turning your orientation slowly to the right by slight variations in the placement of your feet. This is where you really pay attention to how he’ll be leading you with his hand on your waist and with pressure against your palm. Shall we try a few patterns without the music first?”
“You’re the teacher.”
They took it from the top, and although still rigid in her movements, Thomas at least remembered the steps. After a half dozen patterns, Shield released her hold, and Thomas immediately pulled back a few steps like she couldn’t wait to let go.
“I think we’re ready for the music,” Shield said sternly. She hadn’t expected Thomas to launch into a tight embrace, but she didn’t know why she had to act so scared, almost relieved, Shield had let go. She walked over to the CD player. “I’m sorry I’m making you uncomfortable, but can you hold on long enough to try it with music a few more times?”
Ryden tore her gaze away from those penetrating eyes. Kennedy looked frustrated. She understood the sentiment, since she knew she wasn’t a natural at this, but did the bodyguard have to be that obvious? “I think I can manage.”
She’d never felt at ease when anyone invaded her personal space, but being close to Kennedy was unbearable for reasons she couldn’t understand. Her touch was firm but gentle, her scent intoxicating, and her shoulders slender yet strong. Kennedy moved with the smooth grace of a feline predator, something Ryden had never witnessed before. In complete contrast to the men she had gotten close to, who were rough, hurried, and anxious to grab her ass and make her feel disturbingly like an object, Kennedy made her feel uncomfortably like the woman she always dreamed she could be.
“Very well.” Kennedy pressed the Start button and came to stand before her. She put one arm around Ryden’s waist and held the other up, waiting for Ryden to place hers. “Madam President?”
Ryden tentatively placed her hands.
“Do you remember the moves?” Kennedy’s eyes searched hers.
“I…think so.”
“Follow me and you’ll do fine,” Kennedy said, and moved into her.
They danced for ten minutes with Ryden counting steps to herself. She avoided eye contact because the few times she had dared a glance at Kennedy’s profile, she lost her footing.
“You’re doing great,” Kennedy said when Ryden followed her spin. She hadn’t realized when she’d stopped counting and simply allowed Kennedy to lead her smoothly across the floor.
Ryden smiled. “This isn’t so bad.” She felt weightless.
“I’m glad you think so.” Despite her encouragement, Kennedy remained serious and distant.
“You protect me, teach me about wine and, now, how to waltz. I’m a genuine handful.”
“Just doing my job.”
“Not exactly. I’m sure your responsibilities don’t include making up for my ineptness.”
“I do what’s necessary.”
“I wonder what’s next, then.” The words spilled out of her before Ryden realized what she was saying.
“That would depend on you, Madam President.” Kennedy gazed so intently at her Ryden had to look away.
“The girls in Tuscany must be all over you.”