Florentine by Mazarin Stone

Florentine by Mazarin Stone

Author:Mazarin Stone [Stone, Mazarin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: gay romance
ISBN: 978-1-64405-658-5
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Published: 2019-09-18T16:00:00+00:00


THE RAIN has moved off when they step outside, the pavement shimmering wet and the air heavy with humidity. There’s a tiny bit of a breeze that ruffles Alex’s fringe, and the cooler air that’s come after the rain soothes his heated skin.

Mahiro walks next to him and darts sly little glances every so often, glances that hold the promise of something more after they reach… well. Home, Alex supposes, but they’ve not yet flagged down a cab to decide. Now that they’re out on the sidewalk, soaking up the feel of the city, Alex is content for the moment to walk alongside him, drag out the anticipation that wound taut in the heat of the conservatory. He reaches out and tangles their fingers together, earning him a smile.

“I feel like we’re taking this just a bit backwards,” Alex muses as they walk. “I mean, we’ve already, well.” Alex feels oddly shy talking about it in the open like this, but…. “But I’m just now holding your hand.”

“Honestly, it feels more intimate to do this,” Mahiro says. “It carries a lot of weight, of symbolism. Like kissing.” Mahiro stops, pulls Alex to a halt with him. “And I like to save some things to share only with people I really care about.”

Alex’s chest feels slightly constricted. “I’m really happy to hear that,” he finally says, and leans in to kiss Mahiro’s cheek. “And I’m honored.”

Mahiro just smiles and begins walking again. Alex follows, wondering where they’re heading, if anywhere. “There’s so much more we should talk about,” Mahiro says quietly. “I mean, we’re still really getting to know each other. There’s a lot I’ve not—”

Mahiro is interrupted by the flare of a trumpet from the small open square they’re passing, a trio of guitar, trumpet, and bass set up and rising to life after the rain. A few people have stopped to watch, and the slow, sensual beat of a tango swirls around them in the night air. Mahiro stops and watches, then turns to Alex with a grin, all previous conversation forgotten.

“Do you dance?” he demands.

“Well, um. A little, I mean, yes, but I’ve not—”

Mahiro grabs his hand and pulls him into the square, draws him up straight against his body where it’s held in a perfect frame. “I lead,” he says, and his hand settles on the small of Alex’s back and pushes his posture into the familiar arch he’s known for years on the ice.

The musicians stare with wide eyes as Mahiro leads Alex across the square in the slow, sexy steps of the tango, Alex falling into the sensuality of Mahiro’s steps drawing over and around his own, the flare of Mahiro’s movements pushing them together from chest to hips as they dance. He remembers the lessons under Madame Orney, her emphasis on ballet barely influenced by his coach’s insistence his skaters learn other types of dance, but the attention he did give his lessons pays off as Mahiro presses lightly on his hip and raises his eyebrows, and Alex spins around his body in a perfect boleo.



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