The Dance Off Read online

  And soon they were both sweating. Not glowing, not perspiring, but dripping wet. While Sam’s song trickled through the room like water over stones in a brook, looming rolls of thunder in the distance brought with them an oppressive heat the industrial fans above merely seemed to push about the room.

  But Nadia didn’t let up. Especially when Ryder actually seemed to respond. The man was tall and broad, which could make for a Frankenstein approach to dancing, but he had natural grace when he stopped trying to cage his instincts and just let go.

  Nadia eased herself into Ryder’s frame, adjusting only slightly, using her body to urge him where he needed to go. And this time, as one, their feet began to move. Slowly, gently, no push or pull, just the music pulsing through the floorboards and rocking them to and fro.

  Nadia nodded. Good boy.

  The music swelled around them, all harp chords and piano keys, and the singer’s husky voice crooning about spinning round and round, moving so fast. Nadia moved Ryder forward, and then he moved her backward, the rhythm so natural she let him. He slid his hand an inch further around her back until her belly met his, and she let him do that too. He tucked their arms nearer their sides, which wasn’t classic dance hold, but even while it made Nadia’s breath swell she didn’t put a stop to it. The rhythm had other ideas as the dance swirled around and through them, binding them together and shutting out the world.

  It was bound to happen, considering the way their bodies had fitted together in that kiss. That mind-blowing kiss—

  Lightning lit up the room, followed by a crack of thunder, and then out went the lights. Then the fans. Music too. Not for the first time that week, but it was the first time they didn’t flicker straight back on.

  The heavy silence, the oppressive stillness in the air, the shards of moonlight the only thing between them, it should have been the perfect chance for Nadia to cut her losses and call the lesson over. Except neither of them stopped swaying.

  In fact, Nadia might even have leant her head against Ryder’s chest. Curled her fingers into the loops of his top. Melted a little when his chin landed gently atop her head. Melted a whole lot when his hands slid around her waist, across her tailbone, his thumbs dipping into the elastic of her skirt.

  It was madness. Completely the opposite of what she’d set out to do with her hour. And not an altogether appropriate way to earn a fee.

  But boy did she miss this. Not just the dancing, but the human connection. Skin on skin. Heat on heat. Feeling a part of something. Feeling discovered. Feeling wanted. And with every sway the sweetest sensation poured through her; a fragile serenity, not only filling nooks and crannies but opening them wide, till all that feeling pressed to the outer edges of her everything. And her heart became a bruising beat against her ribs.

  Then, before she could talk herself out of it, she lifted onto her toes, wrapped her arms about Ryder’s neck. And then easy as you please her mouth met his. Hot, wet, open, lush.

  His tongue met hers, and she turned to liquid, melting against him as if she wanted to vanish right on inside. And with a groan he lifted a hand to the back of her head, the other gripping her backside, leaving her in no doubt just how much he wanted this. And the warmth inside soon spun into a crazy heat.

  She tugged his top over his head, all but growling at the sight of him. Rippling, hot, golden, even in shadow. No wonder she’d been so bent out of shape all week. How could she function on a normal level, when there was this to be had?

  Her nails scraped through those tight curls of hair covering his chest and he sucked in a breath between his teeth, and grabbed her by the wrists.

  She shot him a look through the darkness. Really?

  And with a flicker of the muscle in his cheek, he eased his grip. Shuddering deliciously as she continued her exploration. All that heat. All that strength. She kissed her way across his chest, the salty taste of him turning her thoughts into a faint grey haze.

  She felt him bunch beneath her touch before the groan tore from his mouth. And then his hands were on her shoulders, clever thumbs pulling her shirt away giving his mouth better access to her neck, his tongue tracing her collarbone, his teeth nipping the swell of her breasts. And when her collar slipped another inch and his mouth found her nipple, at the curl of his hot tongue she began to tremble.

  Nadia dragged her fingers through his hair and held on tight as Ryder proved himself greedy, taking her mouth, taking everything he wanted, leaving her weak, loose, nothing but impulse, and sensation. With no thoughts to cling to except a dull buzz inside her head.

  It buzzed again, and through the haze Nadia realised it was the trill of a phone chirruping through the heavy air.

  When Ryder pulled away Nadia went with him, following his lips with hers. Not done yet. Not even close.

  When she came up with nothing but air, her eyes flickered open to find his: dark, tortured. The want she saw there, the reckless desire, teetering on the very edge of control and chaos, scared her. Scared and thrilled her. Because it exactly mirrored her own.

  But instead of throwing her to the floor and having his way with her, he said, “I have to get that.”

  That? Oh, the phone.

  “It’s nearly eleven at night,” she said, her voice ragged, her fingers tugging at the beltline of his track pants. “You really don’t.”

  “It’s nearly eleven at night. I really do.”

  He unhooked her hands, gave them back to her, then turned his back and answered his phone. Leaving Nadia to wrap her arms about herself to control the suddenly very cold shivers wracking her.

  Ryder murmured into the phone so that Nadia couldn’t hear what he was saying. Then he hung up, and grabbed his things, turning to her only when he had everything in hand. “I have to go.”

  Nadia breathed out long and slow, slowing her heart, tempering the mortifying disbelief that this was happening again from ratcheting up to cyclonic levels inside her.

  Then he dumped his things and swore effectively as he came to her, taking her by the arms and bending his head so that he was eye level, which was really the only reason she didn’t boot him out of the flippin’ door and demand he stay the hell away from her.

  “Meet me,” he said, command kindling at the edges of his voice. “Continue this. Tomorrow.”

  Not sticking a high heel in his ass was one thing, but asking for more? Not on your sweet life, chump. “I’m busy.”

  “All day?”

  “Yep. Right this second, though? Not so much.”

  And there it was. If he wanted her, he could have her. Right there, right now. But not at his beck and call.

  She’d been there, dancing to someone else’s tune. And the fact that it wasn’t a man who’d used her affections against her, who’d let her dangle, kept her at a distance even when they’d lived in the same city, danced in the same company, didn’t mean it hadn’t left a mean scar.

  Ryder’s jaw clenched, and he looked as if he wanted to shake her, or kiss her, or toss her over his shoulder and spank her. In the end he did none of the above; he rolled his eyes to the exposed beams he was so in love with, and left, muttering under his breath something about women being the death of him.

  “Dammit!” Nadia cried out once he’d gone, shaking out her hands and pacing and kicking things.

  If it wasn’t so late she’d be on the phone to her boss telling her to find someone else to look after Ryder Bloody Fitzgerald. She’d absolutely do it in the morning. First thing. Before her feet even hit her cruddy apartment floor.

  Till then...

  Till then she stretched her arms high over her head, lifted till the arches of her feet screamed at her to stop, shook out her hair and danced to the sound of the rain drumming on the windows. Danced till sweat dripped into her eyes. Danced until her breaths grew ragged, her heart hammered, and her legs could
barely hold her.

  Power still out, muscles shaking and spent, she rugged up, turned things off as best she could, and left.

  By the time she got downstairs, the storm had passed. And Ryder’s luxe car was long gone. Not even a dry patch on the edge of the otherwise drenched and shiny street evidence he’d ever been there.

  For that she had the burn of self-disgust riding deep in her belly and the crescents of still-tender love bites on her chest.

  Nadia twisted her summer scarf into a ball at her neck, and walked the other way.

  * * *

  It was closer to dawn than midnight by the time Ryder turned onto the beach road leading to his Brighton home to find a pancake-flat, electric-blue sports car facing the wrong way and blocking his driveway.

  Angry and frustrated, and wishing that he were back in his suit and not the ridiculous workout gear he’d worn to score points with Nadia, he pulled to a stop beside the outrageous car. The window of the mid-life-crisis-on-wheels slid down at a sulky pace.

  Ryder said, “What do you want, Fitz?”

  Ryder’s father glanced up at Ryder’s home, three stories of luxury living the younger Fitzgerald had designed himself, the daunting wall of dark windows looking out over Port Phillip Bay and the white stucco walls gleaming, even in the cloud-shadowed moonlight.

  “Nothing more than I deserve,” Fitz finally drawled.

  Knowing he could spend a week giving his father the earful he truly deserved, considering the hour, and the fact that he wanted to spend as little time in the same vicinity as the man as humanly possible, Ryder decided on brevity. “I know what you tried to pull tonight. Just leave her the hell alone.”

  The man actually laughed, his light hazel eyes crinkling as he let loose a deep booming sound that made Ryder’s teeth hurt. “Don’t be ridiculous, kid. She’s my daughter.”

  “And any good father would respect his daughter’s decision.”

  “Respect? That’s rich. Not only did she choose you to walk her down the aisle over me, she didn’t even invite me to the damn wedding. I’m the only one should be harping on about a lack of respect right about now.”

  Yeah, Ryder thought, should have occurred to him “respecting others” wasn’t a concept in his father’s emotional vocabulary.

  The man leant towards the window leaving only his eyes still in shadow. His infamous crooked smile, the one all those women had seemed hell bent on falling for, crinkled his age-defying face. “Come on, kid. Put in a good word. You know it’s the right thing to do.”

  Ryder rolled his fingers into a fist before shoving it into the deep pocket of his track pants. Then he curled the fingers of the other hand over the window sill of the sports car, and felt a kick of satisfaction as his father reared back. “The right thing? Sam is your daughter, Fitz. One who has given you more chances to be an actual father than you could ever deserve. And your sweet, kind, only daughter is about to get married, and unlike you she plans for it to be the only time she does. So after a good deal of soul-searching she decided to spend that special day with Ben’s family, a few close friends, her mother, and me. That’s it. Because even while she loves you—heaven only knows why—she recognises that if you are there the whole day, her wedding day, will be about you.”

  Fitz scoffed, but Ryder went on, lifting fingers stiff from gripping the metal and pointing one at his father’s nose. “And if you have even the slightest twinge of affection for Sam you’ll do the right thing and suck it up. Because if you dare to turn up, if you send her a message, if you so much as think about her on that day...”

  Before he did anything stupid, anything he’d truly regret, Ryder sucked in a deep breath and leant back, then he banged a fist on the roof of the car, only just stopping himself from denting it.

  Either way, Fitz took the hint and with a kind of roar only a top of the range substitute for actual manhood could achieve he took off down the road in a screech of tyres and guttural noise.

  Only after the sound of the car faded did Ryder close his eyes and suppress his anger. Or at least he tried. The man’s influence echoed in the back of his mind, motivating him to do better, to achieve more, to prove the man wrong. But it had been a while, years in fact, since the effect had been so acute.

  He couldn’t remember feeling so incensed since that moment on the worksite during that long-ago internship, when his father had dismissed him so inexorably. A switch had flipped inside him that day. Emotions cooled. Ambitions honed. He’d lived that way ever since.

  But in that moment he felt anything but cool. Standing on the quiet footpath, the first rays of morning blinking on the horizon, he struggled to get any hold of his emotions at all. His muscles screamed for relief. His heart pounded inside his chest.

  And he knew that this time he didn’t only have his father to blame.

  He’d been playing with fire of late, in the hope he was cool enough not to get burned. Fire by the name of Nadia Kent.

  The quixotic, bewitching, tempting creature had hooked herself into places deep inside him he’d long since kept locked away. She called to his darker emotions, luring them out of hiding. Feelings that could only do more harm than good.

  And the whole time he was staring down his father, when his ire ought to have been all about standing up for Sam, there was no getting away from the fact that the deepest root of his fury was that he’d been dragged away from her. From that hellfire kiss that had been swarming them both headlong into something much more.

  Not that he’d give his father an inch, ever, but the episode was just the wake-up call he needed.

  With every effort he slowed his heart, reclaimed his breath, corralled the mixed emotions roiling inside him and pressed them back down. Deep. Deeper even than he ever had before, along with the big dark vault he kept especially for anything to do with his father.

  Until the heat relented. His enmity abated. And every part of him felt blissfully, mercifully, icily cool.

  FIVE

  Times like this Nadia wished she could drive.

  Living out of hotels, or in share houses, there’d never been much point. But as her arms ached and her fingers turned numb under the strain of grocery bags she’d filled on her weekend trek to the Queen Vic Market it felt like a really long walk to the train.

  And she wasn’t even done yet.

  The boom of boutique butchers competing for business thundered across the white noise of happy crowds while mounds of mouth-watering cheeses, curtains of speckled sausages, and trays of speckled brown, free-range eggs fought for greedy eyes. But the final stall on Nadia’s list sold wine. Great, gleaming bottles of the stuff.

  Nadia tipped up onto her toes and over the seething swarm of locals and tourists alike spied her target. Then, eye on the prize, she nudged her way through the crowd. When she stepped back to make way for a group of little old ladies sucking down fresh-made caramels she glanced away to discover that smack bang between her and the Promised Land stood Ryder Fitzgerald.

  But before she had the chance to do anything about it Ryder looked up and straight into her eyes.

  Surprise washed across his beautiful face. Surprise and heat. The kind that landed in the backs of her knees with a fiery whumph. But the moment passed as his brow furrowed into a scowl and wiped out everything in its path. Seriously, she thought, locking her wayward knees, like he had anything to damn well scowl about.

  Resisting the desire to cut and run, Nadia stood stock still as Ryder began to stride her way.

  She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. Not that it mattered any. She was dressed in her weekend gear of skinny jeans, pink ballet flats, a sleeveless top and thin summer scarf, her hair was a day late in the washing and twirled up into a messy bun, and she wore no make-up bar lip balm and wind burn. She was hardly at her best.

  While he looked
...breathtaking. His sharp jaw unshaven, his face all dark and glowering, his hair spiking up a little from the effects of the light drizzle outside, and in jeans and a dark grey T-shirt he was all broad shoulders and lean hips and the kind of swagger that came naturally or didn’t come at all.

  “Nadia,” he said, her name in that deep voice doing things to her blood she had no hope of containing.

  “Hiya!” said she in a high sing-song voice she’d never used in her life.

  “Shopping?”

  “Lunch. A bottle of wine to go with it, then home.”

  He eyed the two heavily laden bags then his eyebrows raised a smidge. “Expecting company?”

  “Just me.”

  His eyes moved from her bags to her flat tummy, and she wondered if he could see the flutters she felt. Hoped not. Hoped so. Lost all hope in herself.

  “Anyway, I need to get in line before it all sells out. So...” With a quick smile, she saw a gap in the crowd and slipped through.

  She felt rather than saw him follow, the heat of the man burning against her back till she couldn’t help but arch away from it. And then he was at her side, walking with her as if it was all planned. As if the last time she’d seen him he hadn’t had his mouth on her, and his hands, and so very nearly more.

  Knowing she couldn’t outrun him, and needing that promised bottle of red more than ever, she said, “Doing a little shopping yourself this fine Saturday?”

  He held up a bag of sugared almonds, before tossing one in his mouth. “Best in town.”

  Nadia tried not to stare as his tongue darted out to swipe the sugar dusting his lips, tried not to remember the other skills that mouth could boast without boasting at all. “They’d need to be if you braved this multitude for them.”

  A smile darted across his eyes, her tummy rolled over on itself, and she looked determinedly dead ahead. “So how’s life been since you bolted Tuesday night?”

  There, take that.

  “Busy.” The look he shot her was cryptic to say the least. Unfortunately it wasn’t accompanied with anything like an explanation.