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I remember her sashaying into the room with that 'All that and a bag of chips' attitude. I knew from simply looking at her that she'd never had to beg... never had to work at getting any man to do her bidding. She was perfection personified and she knew it, from her deep raven locks to her dainty feet and all the space in between. He, of course, was not just 'any Man'. He was Master/Dom/Top and by the end of this adventure, He would skillfully bring out her true self, the one she kept locked away. "I can't do theflamenco!" Trust me." And she took another three steps, dropped my hand and as shesashayed away she whispered. "Spin your way after me and stop beneath theband's rostrum."I looked back at John but he just smiled and nodded, then I lookedtowards Peter who was standing there giving me that challenging, haughtylook and something stirred inside me, I hadn't found the man yet whocould lose me in ballroom and Latin American and I'm dammed if I'm goingto let some bloody Clapton-Mexican. More

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