you ordered the chicken fricassee for me?” she offered, trying to stick to the truth the way he’d showed her earlier.
“No one could blame you for being wooed by the food here.” He quit typing and peered over at her in the firelight.
They hadn’t put any other lights on in this room, although there was a glow from the kitchen. Sofia had been enjoying looking outside and the view was easier to appreciate with less light behind her.
“Dancers are perpetually starving,” she admitted. “So I’m more susceptible than most to good food.”
“Why are you always starving?” Quinn set aside the laptop long enough to clear their plates and set the dishes on a serving cart that had been delivered half an hour ago.
“It’s a figure of speech. I expend a great deal of energy, for one thing. And, for another, the body preferred by most directors is very slender.”
The topic had come under more debate over the last few years with a move to recognize healthy bodies of all sizes in dance. But ballet was rooted in traditions on every level, and she didn’t know any company that truly embraced this philosophy yet.
“I’m surprised. I would think the moves require a great deal of strength.”
“They do. But we need to build that strength in different ways. Repetition of lighter weights, for example.”
“But why?” He took the seat closer to her now, sharing the couch even though he was a couple feet away. He’d brought his laptop with him but hadn’t opened it yet.
“Choreographers like a company of dancers that are all roughly the same size and build. There’s more symmetry to it when we all move.”
“And you’d still get that if you all agree to be ten pounds heavier. And wouldn’t more muscle minimize injury?”
“Yes and no. Some say a lighter frame puts less strain on the joints.”
“You can’t eat enough. You work constantly. You’re subject to intra-squad jostling for position—so much so you’re willing to fake an engagement to keep your detractors quiet.” He counted off the negatives on his fingers. “So if you’re willing to go through all that, I have to think there’s one hell of an upside for you.”
“There is.” She shifted positions, straightening as she warmed to her subject. “I watched Sleeping Beauty with my mother as a child. It was a performance in the middle of nowhere—a tiny troupe traveling through Prague. And I was captivated by Aurora like any other little girl who attends the ballet.” Sliding off the couch, she moved to an open spot on the floor to show him. “I thought the dancer was the most beautiful and elegant woman in the world.” She took a position for the Rose Adagio dance in her stocking feet, imagining a princely suitor before her as she mimicked Aurora’s questioning pose with one leg raised and curved behind her. “When she took the roses from each of her four suitors...” She mimed the action, having danced the role many times herself. “I knew I wanted to be her. Not just Aurora, but the dancer who brought her to life.”
Quinn’s blue gaze tracked the movement of her arched foot as she lifted it in the exaggerated extension that her Russian teachers had stressed. The warmth in his eyes—his attention to her body—did not inspire the same feelings as when she captured an audience’s imagination on stage. This felt personal in a way that heated her skin and made her all too aware of her appearance.
Not just her body, which was perpetually displayed in dance. But the stroke of her braid against one arm. The rush of air past her lips as her breath caught.
“So you dance for the love of it. Because it was your dream.” He kept the conversation focused, which she appreciated since she’d forgotten what they were talking about for a moment, distracted by the sparks that crackled between them.
“I have never wanted to do anything else.” Which was why she feared the end of her career, a moment that could sneak up on her on any given night, with her body constantly battling injuries.
She needed to reach the top of her field now—as quickly as possible—to achieve the fame necessary to parlay the experience into success afterward. And she needed to dance the starring role for Fortier to make that happen.
“Ballet is your passion.” Quinn let the word simmer between them for a long moment before returning his attention to the laptop. “And I think I know when we fell in love.”
He began typing.
“You do?” Her heartbeat stuttered in her chest. She forced herself to sit back down and resume normal conversation in spite of the nerve endings flickering to life all over her body.
Too late she realized she had sat closer to him than she’d been before. She told herself that was only so she could peer over his shoulder at whatever it was he was typing. She caught a hint of his male scent, something clean like soap or aftershave that made her want to breathe deeply.
“It was the first time I saw you dance.” His fingers paused on the keyboard, the sudden quiet seeming to underscore the moment and stirring to life a whole host of complicated feelings.
His words should not affect her this way. Especially since they were spinning tall tales for the media and not discussing anything remotely real.
“Name the performance. I’ll tell the whole world how your movements on the stage captured me. When I watched you dance, I saw how passion guides you and knew we were a match.”
“You toy with me,” she accused, scuttling back to her previous position on the couch. “Your words are like your kisses—all for show. But I find them confusing.”
“I’m not toying with you.” He passed her the laptop. “You should read this over.”
How could she concentrate on the words when her blood ran too hot and she kept imagining the way his eyes had followed her body while she danced?
“I’m sure it’s fine.” She set the laptop on the couch between them. “Jasmine will review it before she sends it out.”
“Sofia?” He moved the laptop to the coffee table, edging closer. “I don’t know how else to approach this to make you more comfortable. But you wanted to put on this show. I’m trying to help you.”
His voice, deep and masculine, sent a shiver through her.
“Thank you. But I would prefer if this remained a performance for the benefit of others. I don’t want to play at the game when we are alone.” She felt his nearness in the same way that she knew without looking where her dance partner would be at all times. Except that was practiced, a trick she’d learned through study and repetition. With Quinn, her cells seemed to seek out his presence, attuning themselves to him without her even thinking about it.
“The only reason I kissed you in the park is because I’m attracted to you. I won’t pretend otherwise.” With a shuddering breath, his eyes, which a moment ago blazed with heat, seemed to ember as his voice lilted with resignation. “But I can put a rein on that, and I have.”
“How? How do you put a rein on it, as you say?” She wondered if he had tricks of his own. Something she might learn for herself.
“It’s not easy. And it gets tougher the longer I’m with
