Dance of Dreams

by Nora Roberts

  I’d be lousy company, she told herself with a wry smile. No champagne tonight, she decided quickly as she creamed off her makeup. Just a huge glass of milk and an entire bag of cookies, all to myself. No one to share them with but Nijinsky. Ruth pulled on jeans. No brooding, just gorging.

  “Come on in!” she called out when there was a knock on her door. She pulled a T-shirt down over her hips as Francie popped her head in.

  “Where are you hiding?” she demanded. “They’re already into the champagne.”

  “I’m skipping out,” Ruth told her, picking up her purse.

  “Oh, but you can’t.” Francie was still in full costume and makeup. Her darkened lips pouted. “I want you to meet my neurosurgeon.”

  “Can’t tonight.” Ruth shot her a grin and a wink. “Big plans.”

  “Oh?” Francie drew out the word knowingly. “Why didn’t you bring him by?”

  “I’m not sharing with anyone,” she told her. She let out a big, anticipatory sigh. “All mine.”

  “Wow.” Francie’s brows shot up. “What’s he like?”

  “Delicious.” Ruth couldn’t resist as she swung through the door. “Absolutely delicious.”

  “Have I seen him?” Francie called out, but Ruth just laughed and dashed for the stage door.

  Two hours later Ruth sat in a living room chair. Nijinsky lay sprawled at her feet, belly up, his front paws posed like a fighter’s, ready to lead with the left.

  Ruth yawned. The old movie on TV wasn’t holding her attention. Still she was glad she had slipped out on the party. Her mood had been wrong. The crowds and the laughter and the company jokes would have depressed her, while the solitary time had lifted her spirits. She thought of taking the free hours she would have the next day to go shopping for something useless. Nick would be working her again soon enough. It might be fun to rummage through antique shops for a candle snuffer or pillbox.

  Closing her eyes, she stretched luxuriously. Maybe this was the time to steal a couple of days and drive up to see Lindsay and Seth. She frowned when Nick’s image flew into her mind.

  His quiet, gentle kiss had cracked the very foundations of her defense against him. For days she hadn’t allowed herself to think of him in anything but professional terms. He was the main reason, she was finally forced to admit, that she hadn’t been able to face the cast party.

  She wanted him. No matter how many times, over the past days and weeks, she had refused to accept that thought, her desire simply hadn’t changed. But yes, it had—she wanted him more. The longing was difficult enough, but when hints of something else, something more complicated, intruded, Ruth tightly closed the door on it.

  “I’m too tired to think about that now,” she told a totally disinterested Nijinsky. “I’m going to bed.” When he made no sign of acknowledgment, Ruth rose and stepped over him to switch off the television. Leaving the plate of cookie crumbs for morning, she flicked off all the lights on her way to bed.

  ***

  Nick stared up at the dark windows of Ruth’s apartment. It’s one o’clock in the morning, and she’s asleep. If I had any brains, I’d be asleep, too, he said fiercely to himself.

  He jammed his hands into his pockets and started to walk. You’ve no business here, Davidov, he told himself. You’ve known that all along. The night was cooling with the first true hint of fall. He hunched his shoulders against it. He’d been an idiot to come. He had told himself that over and over as he had steadily walked the blocks to her apartment building.

  If she had been at the party, if he could just have looked at her . . . Oh, God, he thought desperately, he was long past the time when looking was enough. The nights were driving him mad, and no other woman would do. He needed Ruth.

  How long had it been going on? he demanded of himself, never giving a glance as a police car sped by, sirens screaming. A month, a year? Five years? Since that moment in Lindsay’s studio when he had first watched Ruth at the barre? He should have known, with that first impossible stir of desire. Good Lord, she’d only been seventeen!

  How was he to have known she would taste that way when he kissed her? Or that she would respond as if she had only been sleeping—waiting for him? How was he to have known that the sight of that small, slim body would torment him day after day, night after night? Even when he danced with her, the thought of taking her, of having her melt against him, throbbed through him until he knew he would go mad. He began to walk away.

  Nick stopped and turned around. Good God, he wanted her. Now. Tonight.

  ***

  The banging at her door had Ruth sitting straight up in bed. What was the dream she had been having? Nick? She shook her head to clear it. Even as she reached for the clock, the banging started again. Sliding from the bed, she groped for her robe.

  “I’m coming!” she called, urged to hurry by the ferocity of the banging. Pulling the robe on as she went, she rushed through the darkened apartment. “For heaven’s sake, you’re going to wake the neighborhood!” Ruth peered through the peephole, blinked and peered again. She fumbled for the chain; he pounded again.

  They stared at each other when the door was opened. Ruth stood bewildered by the traces of temper she saw in his eyes. Her hair was a riot of confusion over the hastily drawn on robe. Her cheeks were still flushed with sleep, her eyes heavy. Nick took a step forward, knowing he had crossed over the line.

  “I need you.”

  Her heart skidded at the three simple words spoken quietly, roughly, as if they fought to be said. Before she knew what she was doing, Ruth held out her arms to him.

  Then they were pressed together, mouth to mouth. The hunger was raw, unbelievably strong. It was a devouring kiss—long, desperate, deep. Ruth clung to the wildness of it. She felt his hand tighten its grip on her hair, pulling her head back as if in fury. His mouth left hers only to change angles and probe deeper. There was a hint of brutality, as if he would assuage all his needs by a single kiss.

  “I want you.” It was a groan from a well within him as he drew her away. His eyes were dark and burning. “God, too much.”

  Ruth gripped the front of his sweater until her fingers hurt. “Not too much,” she whispered. She drew him inside.

  Her throat was dry with the pounding of her heart as she closed the door and turned to him. They were only silhouettes as they stood, inches apart, in the dark.

  She swallowed, sensing his struggle for control. It wasn’t control she wanted from him. Not tonight. She wanted him to be driven—for her, by her. The overwhelming need to have him touch her was terrifying. Slowly, hardly conscious of her actions, Ruth reached up to draw the robe from her shoulders. She let it slide soundlessly to the floor as it left her naked.

  “Love me,” she murmured.

  She heard his low groan of surrender as he drew her into his arms. His mouth was hot, his hands rough and possessive. She could feel the urgency of his need.

  Ruth tugged at his sweater as they moved toward the bedroom. Somewhere in the hallway she pulled it over his head and threw it to the floor. His muscles flowed under her hands.

  They were at the bedroom door when she fumbled with the snap of his jeans. She felt his stomach suck in as her fingers glided over it and heard the hoarse, muffled Russian as his teeth nipped into her shoulder. His hips were narrow, the skin warm. He dug his fingers into her back when she touched him.

  “Milenkaya,” he said and managed a rough laugh. “Let me get my shoes off.”

  “I can’t.” The need was overpowering. She’d already waited so long. “Lie with me.” She pulled him toward the bed. “Take me now, Nick. I’ll go mad if you don’t.”

  Then they were naked, and he was on top of her. Ruth could hear his heart’s desperate race, his ragged breath against her ear. He was trembling, she realized, as he entered her. Her body took over, knowing its own needs, while her mind shuddered
with the onslaught of sensations. One moment she was strong, the next weak and spent. Nick lay atop her, his face buried in her hair.

  “Sweet God, Ruth.” He heaved out the words on labored breaths. “Untouched. Untouched and I take you like a beast!” Nick rolled from her, running a hand through his hair. When he sat up, Ruth could see just the outline of his chest and shoulders, the glimmer of his eyes. “I should have known better. There’s no excuse for it. I must have hurt you.”

  “No.” She felt drugged and dizzy, but there was no pain. “No.”

  “It should never have been like this.”

  “Are you saying you’re sorry this happened?”

  “Yes, by God!”

  The answer hurt, but she sat up and spoke calmly. “Why?”

  “It’s obvious, isn’t it?” He rose. “I come to your door in the middle of the night and push you into bed without the smallest show of . . .” He groped for a word, struggling for the English equivalent of his meaning.

  “Pushed me into bed?” Ruth repeated. “And of course, I had nothing to do with it.” She kneeled on the bed and tossed back her hair. Nick saw the glimmer of her angry eyes. “You conceited ass! Who pushed whom into bed? Let’s just get the facts straight, Davidov. I opened the door, I told you what I wanted, I took your clothes off. So don’t act like this was all your idea. If you want to be sorry you made love with me, go right ahead.” She continued to storm before he could open his mouth to speak. “But don’t hide behind guilt just because I was a virgin. I was a virgin because I wanted to be. I chose the time to change it. I seduced you!” she finished furiously.

  “Well.” Nick spoke again after a long moment of silence. “It seems I’ve been put in my place.”

  Ruth gave a short laugh. She was angry and hurt and still throbbing. “That’ll be the day.”

  Nick walked back to the bed and touched her hair with his hand. There were times he thought it would be easier to speak in Russian. His feelings were more clearly articulated in his native tongue.

  “Ruth, it is sometimes, when I am upset, difficult to make myself understood.” He paused a moment, working out the way to make himself clear. “I’m not sorry to have made love with you. This is something I’ve wanted for a very long time. I am sorry that your first experience in love had to be so lacking in romance. Do you see?” He cupped her face in his hands and lifted it. “This was not the way to show an innocent the delights of what a man and woman can have.”

  Ruth looked at him. She could see more clearly now as her eyes grew accustomed to the dark. His face was a pale shadow, but his eyes were vital and alive. She felt the warmth flowing back. She smiled.

  “There’s another way?” she asked, keeping the smile from her voice.

  His fingers traced her cheekbones. “Many other ways.”

  “Then I think you owe it to me to show me.” She slipped her arms around his neck. “Now.”

  “Ruth—”

  “Now,” she repeated before she pressed her mouth to his. With a groan, Nick let her taste fill him again. He lingered over the kiss, exciting her with his lips and teeth and tongue. Ruth felt her blood begin to swim.

  Gently, so that his thumbs just brushed her nipples, he cupped her breasts. They were small and firm and smooth. The points were taut, and he stroked easily until he heard her breath quicken. Taking his mouth to her ear, he whispered words that meant nothing to her. But the sound of them, the flutter of warm breath, dissolved her. He slid his hands to her back, supporting her as she kneeled on the bed. Already she was trembling, but he used only his lips to entice—waiting, waiting.

  Slowly, with infinite care, he began to stroke her until her skin was hot against him. He seemed to find the skin on the inside of her thighs irresistible. Again and again he returned there with teasing touches. Once he caressed the triangle between her legs, and her body shuddered as she pressed against his hand. But he retreated to mold her hips and take her deep with a kiss.

  The sound of her own breathing was shouting in her ears. As he pressed her back on the bed, she moaned his name.

  “There’s more, milaya,” he murmured, feasting on the flavor of her throat. “Much more.”

  Her breath caught in a gasp and a moan all at once as he took her nipple between his teeth. His tongue became moist as he suckled. Ruth pressed him closer, unaware of the seductive rhythm her body set under his. He took his mouth to her other breast, and shock coursed through her. She called for him mindlessly, steeped in sensation.

  His mouth roamed lower and lower as his hands reached for her breasts, still hot and moist from his mouth. He guided her, as he had once guided her to music, setting the pace for their private pas de deux. Again he was the composer, she the dancer, moving to his imagination. Her mind was swept clean. She was utterly his.

  She opened for him, and as he entered her, his mouth came greedily down on hers. He moved inside her slowly, ignoring the desperate pressure in his loins for his own release. He took her as though he had a lifetime to savor the ultimate pleasure.

  Seconds, minutes, hours, they were joined until both were wild with need. With his mouth still fastened on hers, Nick took them both to the climax.

  Drained, aching, Ruth lay tight against him, her head nestled on his chest. He stroked her hair now and then, winding the ends around his fingers. Under her ear Ruth could hear the deep, steady rhythm of his heart. There was no light through the windows. The room was dark and warm and silent.

  This, she thought languidly, this is what I’ve been waiting for. This is the end of my privacy. He knows all my secrets now. Tonight I’ve given him everything I’ve ever held inside me. She sighed. “You won’t go,” she murmured, closing her eyes. “You won’t go tonight?”

  There was quiet for a moment, their own personal silence. “No,” he said softly. “I won’t go.”

  Content, Ruth curled against him and slept.

  Chapter Nine

  Nijinsky leaped onto the bed, wanting his breakfast. He stared, slant-eyed, at Nick for a moment, then calmly padded over his legs and stomach to stand on his chest. Feeling the pressure, Nick stirred and opened his eyes to look straight into the cat’s. They regarded each other in silence. Nick brought his hand up and obligingly scratched Nijinsky’s ears.

  “Well, priyatel, you seem to have no objection in finding me here?”

  Nijinsky arched his back and stretched, then settled his full length on Nick’s chest. Still absently scratching the cat’s ears, Nick turned his head to look at Ruth.

  She was curled tightly to his side. Indeed, his arm held her firmly there. Her hair looked thick and luxurious spread over the pillowcase. Her breathing was even and deep, her lips slightly parted. She looked impossibly young—too young to feel that wild desire she had shown him. She looked like the sleeping princess, but Nick knew she was more Carlotta than Aurora. She was more fire than flower. He bent down to kiss her.

  Ruth awoke to passion, her body tingling into arousal. She sighed and reached for him as his hands began a sure, steady quest. Nijinsky, caught between them, made his disapproval vocal.

  Ruth gave a throaty laugh as Nick swore. “He wants his breakfast,” she explained. Her eyes were still sleepy as she smiled up at Nick. Experimentally, she lifted her hand to rub his chin with her palm. “I’ve always wanted to do that,” she told him. “Feel a man’s beard the first thing in the morning.”

  Nick slid his hand down to fondle her breast. “I prefer softer things. Your mouth,” he specified, lowering his head to nibble at it. “Very soft, very warm.”

  Nijinsky padded forward to butt his head between theirs. Nick narrowed his eyes at the cat. “My affection for this creature,” he stated mildly, “is rapidly fading.”

  “He likes to keep on schedule,” Ruth explained. “He always wakes me right before the alarm goes off.” On cue, the clock set off a low, monotonous buzz. “See?
” She laughed as Nick reached over her and slammed the button in. “What first?” she asked him. “Shower or coffee?”

  He leaned over her still, and his smile was slow. “I had something else in mind.”

  “Class,” she reminded him and slipped quickly from the bed.

  Nick watched her walk naked to the closet and pull out a robe. She was slim as a wand, with long legs and no hips—a boyish figure, had it not been for the pure femininity of her gait. As she reached inside the closet, he saw the small thrust of her breast under her outstretched arm. The robe passed over her, and she crossed it in front and belted it. She turned and smiled.

  “Well?” she said, flipping her long hair out of the collar of the robe. “Do you want coffee?”

  “You are exquisite,” he murmured.

  Ruth’s hands faltered at the knot of the belt. She wondered if she would ever grow used to that tone of voice or that look in his eyes. She knew what would happen if she walked back to the bed. Her body began to tingle, as if his hands were already roaming it. Nijinsky growled.

  “Since I’m the first up,” she said, casting the cat a rueful glance, “I’ll have the shower first.” She arched her brows at Nick. “You can make the coffee.” As she darted into the bath, she called over her shoulder, “Don’t forget to feed the cat.”

  Ruth turned on the shower and stripped. Should it feel so right? she asked as she bundled her hair on top of her head. When I woke next to him, should I have felt that he simply belonged there? She had experienced no shyness, none of the awkwardness that she had been certain would have come with the morning after her first time. Ruth stepped under the shower and let the water hit her hot and strong.

  But I knew it would be him. Somehow I always knew. Shaking her head, she reached for the soap. I must be crazy. How could I know it would be like this? She soaped herself and let her mind drift. They had had meals together between classes and rehearsals. They had been at the same parties. But there had never been any planned, conventional dates between them.