And finally, because good things, like troubles, should always come in threes, here's a sneak peek at Lisa and Redmond's first practice session:
She stood up, dropped her fleece onto the bench, and took his hand, willing herself not to notice the way his strong fingers encircled hers, making her feel safe and protected. Whatever his body told her, it was a lie, she told herself. He’d never been anything but trouble, and he never would be. Their partnership was a convenience, nothing more. But his hand on her back, where her low-cut dress gave way to bare flesh, still felt warm and firm and right. And when he shifted his hold, her body still responded, sending soft shivers down her spine.
He pressed the play button on the CD player as he passed, and after a moment’s pause the music began. Even though they were dancing a rapid jive, skipping and spinning and dipping, she still had time to notice how his eyes were fixed on her with almost frightening intensity. That was something she’d forgotten about him. The way he did everything as if his life, or maybe more than that—the fate of the world—depended on it. It was as if time stretched when they were dancing. In between heartbeats he could move his feet in perfect unison with hers, adjust his routine to avoid other couples on the floor and fit around her occasional slips, and still favour her with a long, lazy smile whenever she followed a particularly tricky move.
Finally, just as Lisa was becoming breathless the track began to slow down. Redmond’s effervescent energy softened to an easy swing, and as the music drifted to a halt, he swung her into a slow, languorous drop.