The Dance Off Page 6

  He’d crammed the board into his bedroom after she’d died, and brought it with him to every place he’d lived since. He’d created the perfect corner for it when he’d built his own home—gorgeous down-lighting, a fantastic modern ergonomic chair, a wall of ten-foot-high shelves in which to keep old plans. And yet he’d never actually used the thing since she’d died.

  Not about to change that, he ran his hands over his face and headed to his bar, where he poured himself a Scotch. Straight. He drank enough for it to burn its way down his throat, then sucked in a stream of cold air as a chaser.

  His eyes glazed over the moonlit view of Brighton Beach and he thought of Sam’s earnest face as she’d set him free, again struggling to picture what his life would look like without her as his responsibility any more.

  But he had to ease off. To begin to let her go. She was ready. Or trying to be at least. All grown up, Nadia had said.

  He emptied the glass, the burn not near strong enough second time around. At least, not enough to burn out thoughts of Nadia Kent. A woman who drew him in only to twirl out of his grasp. Infuriating. Intriguing. As for their attraction—it was wild, hot, barely in either of their control. It was like no other connection he’d ever felt.

  But it didn’t matter.

  Sam was the reason he could look at himself in the mirror every morning and not cringe when he saw his father’s jawline looking back at him. But even if the day came when she was no longer his number one focus, even with time on his hands and a hole in his life, he was not looking to fill it with a woman. Even one as enthralling as Nadia Kent.

  He glanced again at his barren drafting table. Felt the restlessness rise, and struggled harder to press it down. Because the older he got, the harder he worked, the more successful he became, the less he was satisfied. And the more he wondered if, despite every effort to the contrary, he was beginning to experience the germination of his father’s identical inability to endure. With work, with family, with relationships of any kind...

  Ryder closed his eyes.

  Of all his father had done in his life, it was the women the man had hurt who stuck deepest. His mother. Sam’s mother. Hell, even when Fitz had been married to Sam’s mother there had been so many others they’d long since morphed into a blur of false laughter and real tears. So many, even now Ryder found himself catching certain perfumes in a crowd and feeling nauseous.

  In fact it was probably the smart move to remember. To shine a big bright light on their pain. Because he couldn’t be sure he wasn’t more like his father than he’d ever admit. Which was why he’d never risk committing to someone only to find out one day that it wasn’t enough.

  And even while he knew it was counterproductive, that he’d regret it in the morning, he purged the ugly memories as well as the cavernous blankness that was his future the only way he saw how.

  Nadia.

  He eased himself deep into an armchair, closed his eyes, breathed deep and found the scent he was looking for. Exotic, spicy, hot. Her taste erasing all others. The memory of her skin warming his ice-cold hand. The memory of her smart mouth easing the knot in his belly. Her red-blooded response to his touch, the burning pleasure, the aching tension, filling him up.

  As he sank into every nuance of that kiss he wondered how hard the week would be, waiting to see her again. Wondered if he could. Wondered what it was about her that made him wonder at all.

  FOUR

  Nadia paced, trying to diffuse the surfeit of energy coursing through her body, while out of the corner of her eye she watched the old clock on the wall as it ticked down the minutes to ten o’clock.

  Rehearsing her audition piece hadn’t taken the edge off; in fact her concentration was so shot she’d damn near killed herself! A friend had once broken a wrist rehearsing after a couple of champagnes. With the bumps and bruises now covering her body, Nadia was going to add Don’t Fly Frustrated to the list of aerial acrobatic no-nos.

  It had been a week since she’d seen Ryder. Since he’d kissed her till her bones had turned to syrup. And since then she’d spent every one of those nights writhing under the influence of the hottest sex dreams of her life.

  Even the kids in her Tiny Tots class that morning had picked up on her dark mood, if the higher than average number of them clinging to their mothers’ legs was anything to go by. Nadia had breathed deep and blamed the incessant heat of the past couple of weeks.

  Sam hadn’t helped either, making little comments through the entire lesson the Thursday before, laughing as she’d asked what Nadia’s intentions towards her brother were.

  Argh! She didn’t need this. With her pedigree she could have taken her pick of classes populated with an embarrassment of hot young things with dancers’ vigour, endurance, and sex drive, which was why she’d taken a job that put her in the path of senior citizens and two-year-olds in tutus.

  Because she was so close. Less than two months now till the producers were coming to Australia. To see her. To give her a second chance. And she was ready. Pride mended, body more supple and stronger than it had ever been, ambition rekindled and honed to ferocity.

  And then Ryder Fitzgerald had gone and kissed her and turned her into a walking livewire with the attention span of a fruit fly.

  She was going to make him pay; it was the only way. She was going to work the man so hard before the end of the night he’d be begging for mercy. If he turned up, that was.

  A minute ticked by. Nadia dragged her fingers through her shaggy hair before throwing her hands in the air and growling at the walls, her voice echoing in the lofty space.

  “Should I come back later?”

  Nadia spun to find Ryder standing in the doorway, the arch framing him like a painting. When her eyes rose to meet his it was to find his gaze was focused intently on her stomach, which was bare except for a silver Lycra bra-top over which she’d thrown a button-down shirt so she wouldn’t cool down too fast.

  Sensation feathered across her belly as she remembered all too clearly how those same eyes had looked the second before he’d kissed her senseless. All hot, and dark, and fierce. As if he’d wanted to eat her alive.

  Frustrated to the point of pain, she wrapped the two sides of the shirt across her torso and near snarled as she said, “Honestly, would it kill you to take five minutes to change into something more comfortable?”

  Just to make her feel more foolish, from behind his back he brought forth a gym bag. And it wasn’t even new. It was pretty bruised and beat up in fact, with grass stains and sweat marks, as if the guy wasn’t always immaculate, as if he knew how to get down and dirty if the situation called for it.

  Nadia jerked her head towards the only bathroom at the far end of the hall. With a nod Ryder strolled away, one hand in his suit trouser pocket, pulling the fabric tight across his most excellent derriere.

  Nadia whipped a couple of buttons through the holes of her shirt before yanking the tails into a tight knot above her belly button. She glanced at the clock. She couldn’t even growl at him for being late. She’d find a reason soon enough.

  She wouldn’t be her mother’s daughter if she didn’t have a steel spine and a smart mouth. Both of which might have got them into trouble during their lives, but at least they always landed on their feet. Well, her mother had anyway; now retired and married to a mining magnate and living in an awful mansion in uber-posh Toorak.

  Nadia, on the other hand, had spent her life climbing, reaching, happy to take her mother’s scraps if it meant getting a lick of attention from the woman. But now all the climbing was done, and she was perched on the highest, thinnest branch, waiting for her moment to take the big leap into her own life. Nobody’s scraps, no more. And nothing was going to stop her!

  The far door creaked and she glared at Ryder as he walked her way, his suit now hung from a hanger in perfect straight lines
. But as for the rest of him...

  His feet were encased in battered trainers. Above them the calves of a runner, golden brown and covered in a smattering of dark hair. Knees lost beneath cut-off cobalt-blue track pants, the edges frayed from where they’d been hacked away. A long navy tank-top hung low and loose from shoulders gleaming with muscle.

  Nadia swallowed right as her gaze hit his mouth, meaning she didn’t miss the moment it kicked into a knowing smile.

  “Lose the shoes,” she spat, turning and walking the hell away, ostensibly to find the remote for the stereo. “We’re not playing hoops here, Ryder. This is dance class. Which means you need to be grounded. Connected to the music, to your partner, to the floor. And with the heat cooking this place tonight—” and the mood she was in “—you’re gonna sweat more than you have in your entire life.”

  “Sweat I can handle.”

  “Yeah?” she threw over her shoulder. “Tell me so again in an hour.”

  His smile cocked higher, sending the pulse thudding through her straight to her belly.

  He dumped the bag at the base of the chaise, hung his suit from a nail on the wall, and nudged his shoes off by their heels.

  Oh, yeah, she thought with a secret smile of her own. A decade and a half of yoga had taught her the kind of pain that felt good when you were doing it, but kicked in with a screaming vengeance when your muscles came out of their trance thirty-six hours later. And he was going to feel each and every one.

  That’d teach him to kiss and run. That’d teach him to mess with a Kent.

  She pressed the requisite buttons. No more soft and swishy Norah Jones to make it easy on him. The hard thrash metal song chosen by a firm of accountants who’d hired her to choreograph a flash mob for their CFO’s birthday thundered through the speakers, and for good measure she cranked it up.

  As if the music wasn’t making the building shake, Ryder ambled to their usual spot, near the centre of the room, beneath the soft glow of an ancient chandelier, and then held a hand to her.

  As if that kiss had actually changed things. As if in giving her his jacket the other night he had shifted the balance of power his way.

  Screw yoga, she thought, ignoring the temptation of that hand. Maybe she’d just stamp on his toes.

  She was going to wipe that sexy smile off his sexy face, whatever it took. Because if the past few days proved anything, it was that if she didn’t take control of this thing it would take control of her. And if she wasn’t completely on her game come audition day, before she could say “Cyd Charisse” her reliability, her determination, her reputation as a serious dancer would be in question and any chance of a first-class professional dance career would be in ruins.

  Nadia cranked the music up louder still, and, hands on hips, sauntered his way. Her eyes slid over him, as if she was trying to decide which part of him to hurt first as she worked him over and good.

  Ryder stood stock still, his eyes on hers, until they weren’t. They were on her hips. On her bare stomach. Sliding past her breasts. Before they landed on her mouth. And there they stayed, long enough the urge to lick her lips was overwhelming. When, despite herself, she gave in, he breathed in so long and slow his chest expanded till his top lifted, revealing a sliver of taut stomach, and a glimpse of the dark trail that disappeared into his shorts.

  Nadia jabbed at the remote, shutting the music down. The silence that followed felt louder still. Stifling. Pressing in on her until she felt as if she were going to explode.

  And explode she did. “Why on earth did you kiss me the other night?”

  At that, the sexy smile finally disappeared, which gave Nadia about half a second’s respite before Ryder’s hot eyes cut right to hers. “Why do you think?”

  “Argh!”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I figured by all the hand-wringing that’d be about your answer. How about you answer me this: Why did you kiss me back?”

  “I’m polite that way.”

  At that he laughed, the delicious deep sound reverberating about the room till it pelted against her skin like blissfully warm rain.

  “You, Miss Nadia, don’t have a polite bone in your body.”

  “I say please. I say thank you. If it’s warranted.”

  “If you think it’s not?”

  “Then tough!”

  His laughter this time was softer, deeper, more intimate. More knowing. It tripped and trickled all through her leaving a warm glow in its wake.

  “Anyway,” she said, shaking it off, “it doesn’t matter why. All that matters is that we both agree, here and now, it won’t happen again.”

  After the neat little speech he’d given her before the kiss, she fully expected him to agree. To make some excuse about how busy he was—eighty-hour weeks, solo winters in exotic Belize, the mysterious bachelor pad... About she and Sam being friends. How he was attracted to her, but...

  “Why?” He took a step her way and, while her subconscious told her to bolt for high ground, she didn’t move. “Why shouldn’t it happen again?”

  Simple enough question, with several fine answers. Yet as he prowled closer, all body heat and sex appeal, she could feel his wall of warmth before it should have been physically possible to do so, and there didn’t seem to be a single reason why she shouldn’t whip his top over his head and run her hands all over him, drag him to the floor and gain the release her body had been dying for all week.

  At the very least she wouldn’t send any more toddlers home in tears.

  His hands gripped her waist, tugging her closer. She felt her breath leave her in a whoosh. He smelled like man, and sex, and it had been so long it was all she could do not to whimper.

  Instead, she found her strength in the only place it still resided—she lifted their arms into a dance hold. And breathed through her mouth so as not to be bombarded by his masculine scent.

  When the song began, she pressed and he pulled. Then he stepped towards her a fraction before she’d been about to encourage him to do so, kicking her out of step. And again when the time came to turn, he moved ahead of the beat instead of waiting for her cue. The frustration gnawing at her from the inside out finally gave.

  She ducked out from his hold and glared at him. “Maybe you’re used to being in charge out there in those suits of yours, but in this room I’m the boss. Can you handle that?”

  “I thought the man was supposed to lead.”

  “Only if he knows what the hell he’s doing. Until then, it’s my job to make sure you don’t injure yourself.”

  “Somehow I get the feeling you’d like that very much.”

  “And there I was thinking how good I’d been at keeping my feelings to myself.”

  The words dried up as the two of them stared one another down, breaths coming hard and heavy, awareness licking between them.

  A dark eyebrow kicked up Ryder’s forehead. “Fastest way to a stomach ulcer.”

  His retort was so unexpected; Nadia coughed out a laugh. Then laughed some more. Laughed, a little hysterically actually, till she had to bend over and clutch her side. But, thankfully, a measure of the tension that had been coiling her in knots all week scattered along with it.

  When she caught her breath she looked the guy dead in the eye. “Then this is how I see myself avoiding one.” She counted off her fingers. “No more Hollywood dips. No more flirting. No more pressing one another’s buttons. And definitely no more kissing.”

  “I liked the kissing,” he said, false contrition glinting in his gorgeous hazel eyes.

  Yeah, she thought. I hear that.

  Hands on hips, Nadia blew a wave of hair from her forehead. “Ever wish Sam hadn’t decided on dance lessons?”

  “Every damn day.”

  “Well, at least we’re in step there.” She checked the clock. Fifty minutes st
ill to fill. “Speaking of Sam, she picked the song she wants the two of you to dance to. I think now’s as good a time as any to hear it.”

  “Can’t think of anything else I’d rather do.”

  A smile kicked at the corner of her mouth as she found the whimsical Norah Jones song Sam had chosen and pressed play.

  Ryder’s brow furrowed, before he nodded once. “I can handle that.”

  “Can you handle some choreography to go with it?”

  Beneath his deep tan, the man paled.

  “No pirouettes, I promise. Only one overhead lift, right at the end. It’s tricky, but if you think you’re not man enough to pull it off...”

  His colour was back, and with it came a dangerous gleam in his eyes.

  “You think I’m joking?” she asked.

  “I think you have a sadistic streak. Makes me wonder why.”

  He said it as if it was a good thing, which sent utterly masochistic curls of pleasure straight to Nadia’s belly. “I’m not a nice person.”

  “Nah, it’s something else,” he said, his gaze dropping to her mouth and staying there. “You’re plenty nice.”

  “While you don’t play fair.”

  “Where’s the fun in that?” When his eyes lifted back to hers they were lit with laughter. And heat. And promise. And absolute resolution. Despite her pleas he had no intention of backing down.

  She looked at the impossible man before her in consternation. “You’re really ready for this?”

  “Raring.”

  You better be, she thought.

  For the next half-hour she clapped out the counts as her old ballet teacher used to, till the shouts of her commands—knees straight! shoulders back!—echoed off the walls.