Tribute

and stepping quickly to him. “Wait, wait. Sorry. I can teach you.”
    This time, Spock snorted.
    “Others have tried; all have failed. I have no rhythm. I am rhythmically impaired. I’ve learned to live with it.”
    “Bull. Anyone who has your kind of moves horizontally can have them vertically. Here.” She took his hands, set them on her hips, then put hers on his. “It starts here. This isn’t a structured sort of thing, like a waltz or quickstep. It’s just moving. A little hip action. No, unlock your knees, it’s not a goose step, either. Just left, right, left. Shift your weight to the left, not just your hip.”
    “I look and feel like a spastic robot.”
    “You don’t.” She shot Spock a warning glance, and the dog turned his head away. “Relax. Now, keep the hips going, but put your hands on my shoulders. That’s it. Feel my shoulders, just a little up and down. Feel that, let that go up your arms, into your shoulders. Just up and down. Don’t stiffen up, keep those knees loose. There you go, there you are. You’re dancing.”
    “This isn’t dancing.”
    “It is.” She put her hands on his shoulders, then slid them down his arms until they held hands. “And now you’re dancing with me.”
    “I’m standing like an idiot in one spot.”
    “We’ll worry about the feet later. We’re starting slow, and smooth. It would even be sexy if you took that pained expression off your face. Don’t stop!”
    She did a quick inward spin so her back pressed into him, and lifted an arm to stroke it down his cheek.
    “Oh, well, if this is dancing.”
    Laughing, she spun back again so they were front to front. “Sway. A little more.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, lifted her lips to a breath from his. “Nice.”
    He closed the distance, sliding slowly into the kiss while his hands ran down her back to her hips.
    “Feels like dancing to me,” she whispered.
    He surfaced to see he was facing in the opposite direction, and several feet away from where they’d started. “How’d that happen?”
    “You let it happen. You stopped thinking about it.”
    “So, I can dance, as long as it’s with you.”
    “Just one more thing.” She danced back with a provocative rock of hips, and began unbuttoning her shirt.
    “Whoa.”
    “I believe the celebration called for naked dancing.”
    He glanced in the direction of his closest neighbors. Dusk had fallen, but torches tossed out light. He glanced down at his dog, who sat, head cocked, obviously fascinated.
    “Maybe we should move that event inside.”
    She shook her head, and her blouse slid down with the movement of her shoulders. “In the grass.”
    “Ah, Mrs. Berkowitz—”
    “Shouldn’t spy on her neighbor, even if she could see through that big black walnut tree.” Cilla unhooked her pants, kicked off her shoes, which Spock retrieved and carried territorially to his ratty towel. “And when we’ve finished dancing naked, there’s something else I’m going to do on the grass.”
    “What?”
    “I’m going to give you the ride of your life.” She stepped out of her pants, continued to sway, turn as she ran her hands over her own body, marginally covered now in two tiny white swatches.
    Ford forgot the dog, the shoes, the neighbors. He watched, all of the blood draining out of his head as she flicked open the front hook, opened her bra inch by delicious inch. The torchlight glimmered gold over her skin, danced in her eyes like sun on a pure blue sea.
    When the bra floated to the ground, she ran a fingertip under, just under the low-riding waist of her panties. “You’re still dressed. Don’t you want to dance with me?”
    “Yeah. Oh yeah. Can I just say something first?”
    She trailed her fingers down her breasts, smiled at him. “Go ahead.”
    “Two things, actually. Oh Christ,” he managed when she lifted her hair, let it fall over those glowing shoulders. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. And at this moment? I’m the luckiest man in the known universe.”
    “You’re about to get luckier.” Tossing her hair back, she started toward him. She pressed her naked body to his. “Now, dance with me.”

NINETEEN
    O n the morning of the Fourth, Ford rolled out of Cilla’s bed. It didn’t surprise him she was already up, even on a holiday. He considered it his duty as an American to sleep in, but apparently she didn’t share his staunch sense of patriotism. He groped his way downstairs, and followed