Looking back, she wished she’d handled things differently. That, after discovering her dance partner boyfriend had dumped her, hooked up with another dancer in the show and moved the girl into his apartment—leaving Nadia without an act, without a guy, and without a home all in one rough hit—she’d acted with grace and aplomb and simply gone on. Perhaps after kicking him where it hurt most. But whether it was embarrassment, or shock, or just plain mental and physical exhaustion, she’d fled.
The only right decision she’d made was in going straight to her mother. Oh, Claudia’s gratification at finding her only kid tearful and dejected on her doorstep had been its usual version of total rubbish, but when her mother had told her to get over it and get back to work, it was exactly what Nadia had needed to hear.
Nadia went to work on the other ankle with a groan that was half pleasure, half pain. It meant she was dancing again. Meant she was getting closer to rekindling her life’s dream.
But for now, she had one more class to go before she could ice up—her duet with Ryder Fitzgerald. She figured it was about fifty-fifty he’d show up at all.
And then, with a minute to spare, his curvaceous black car eased around the corner and into her rain-soaked view to pull to a neat stop a tidy foot from the gutter. Ryder stepped from the car, decked out once again in a debonair suit. Nice, she thought. He’d ignored her advice completely.
And then he looked up.
Nadia sank into the shadows. Dammit. Had she been quick enough? Last thing she needed was for Mr Testosterone to think she’d been waiting for him, all bated breath and trembling anticipation. She nudged forward an inch, then another, till through the rain-slicked window she saw he’d already disappeared inside.
With a sigh she slid from the window seat and padded over to the door. She twirled the hoop away and back, caught it in one finger and tossed it in the air before turning a simple pirouette and catching the ring on the way down.
She tossed it lazily onto the pile on the floor, plucked dance heels and a long black skirt from the back of the pink velvet chaise, and stepped into it so as to make the slinky black leotard and fishnet tights with the feet chopped off more befitting of the job ahead. Wouldn’t want the guy to get the wrong idea.
Though if there was any man she’d met since coming home who she’d like to give the wrong idea... A week on and she could still remember exactly how good it had felt having the heavy weight of his hands on her hips. How lovely the strength in those arms, the hardness of his chest, the sure, slow, sardonic curl of his smile that made her lady parts wake up and sigh—
“Gak!” she said, shaking her head. Her hands. Stamping her feet. Anything to rid herself of the ominous cravings skittering through her veins. It didn’t matter that she was a worshipper of the brilliance of the human body and all it could achieve en pointe, upside down, and most definitely horizontal; she’d be playing with fire if she went down that path. Her entire career hinged on what she did the next couple of months and that was not a gamble she was willing to take.
The beat of another set of stomping shoes syncopated against her own as the sound of a man’s footsteps on the stairs echoed through the studio.
With a deep breath, she pulled herself upright, shoulders back, feet in first. She ran a quick hand over her ponytail, and then plastered an innocuous smile on her face as the door creaked open and the man of the hour stomped inside.
“Why if it isn’t Mr Fitzgerald. I’d made a bet with myself you’d not show. Seems I won.”
He glanced up, skin gleaming, wet hair the colour of night, the rain and heat having added a kink. A drop of rainwater slid from a dark curl on his forehead then slowly, sensuously down the length of his straight nose.
She swallowed before saying, “Get a tad wet, did we?”
He shook his hair like a wet dog, rainwater flying all over place. “This is Melbourne, for Pete’s sake. It’s tropical out there.”
When Nadia was hit with a splat she called out, “Whoa, there! Ever tried dancing on a wet floor? Doable, but chances are high you’ll come off second best.”
She moved a ways around him, doing her all to avoid the puddles littering the floor, to grab a towel from the cupboard by the front door. Then turned and draped it from the crook of her finger.
His smile was wry as he realised he had to come and get it. Only he didn’t look down as he took the three steps to take it, before rubbing the thing over his face and hair, all rough and random, in that way men did.
When he moved the towel to the back of his neck, eyes closed, muscles in his throat straining, Nadia gripped her hands together in front of her and pinched the soft skin at the base of her thumb to stop herself from moaning.
She must have made a noise anyway, as Ryder stopped rubbing and looked at her, hazel eyes dark over the white towel. Knowing eyes, hot and hard. Then he slowly, deliberately, held out the towel, meaning this time she had to go to him.
Eyebrow cocked, she barely got close enough to whip the thing out of his hand, only to be hit with a waft of his natural scent. Hot and spicy, it curled over Nadia’s tongue until her mouth actually began to water. She dropped the towel to the ground and used her shoe to vigorously wipe the floor.
As if he knew exactly what was going on inside her head, Ryder laughed softly.
Nadia blamed the rain. Rain made people crazy. The last of the Tiny Tots that morning had literally gone wild, hanging from the barre like monkeys.
She hooked the towel over the heel of her shoe and flicked it up into her hands. “Now that’s sorted, I think we need to take a step back.”
“Back from where exactly?” he asked, his deep voice tripping luxuriously over her bare skin.
“Learn to stand before we start to move. Tonight we’ll work on your posture.”
“What’s wrong with my posture?”
Not a single thing. “It’s a process, Ryder. A journey we are going on together. A journey in which I impart my wisdom and you do as you’re told.”
“So what are you telling me to do, exactly?”
She looked at him—hands in pockets, legs locked, suit jacket as good as a straightjacket for all the movement it offered him—and then, before she could stop herself, she said, “Strip.”
Quick as a flash, he came back with “After you.”
She hid her reaction—instant, hot, chemical—and, with a flick of her hand, she spun on her toes till she was standing side on. “Unlike you, I came wearing appropriate attire. Can you not see my spine, the equilibrium in my hips, the tension in my belly?”
So much for not playing with fire. The gleam in the guy’s eyes turned so flinty it was amazing they hadn’t sent up sparks.
Then, right when Nadia was on the brink of recanting her rash invitation, a muscle twitched in Ryder’s jaw and his dark eyes began to rove. Over her neck, her collarbone, her breasts, her ribs, her belly, not lingering at any one spot longer than any other. Which only heightened the tension pulling at every place his eyes touched.
Point made—and points lost too, she rued—she
