Before Daylight

by ANDIE J. CHRISTOPHER

  “You’re not my real husband.”

  Of course, the waiter picked that moment to come back and refill their waters for the umpteenth time. The way he stumbled and just saved himself from spilling ice water all over their food gave it away. Along with his red face.

  Laura blanched and Charlie’s collar seemed to tighten although he had the first two buttons on his shirt undone. They all stared at each other in a long, awkward silence.

  “I’ll have another glass of wine, please.” Her request surprised him. He would have expected her to cut their evening off right there. Instead, she was volunteering to spend more time with him.

  “Right away Ms.—ahem—Mrs.”

  “It’s just Ms.” Laura flipped her hair over her shoulder in flirty gesture towards the waiter. “And he’s not my husband.”

  He completely understood what she was trying to do, and he ought to have backed her up. But he hated her saying that he wasn’t her husband.

  “Whatever you say.”

  After the waiter hurried away, Laura turned off all that flirty light she’d been using on the other guy. “This is why having dinner was a bad idea.”

  “Seriously, why is it so bad that some guy thinks you’re married to me?” Charlie honestly didn’t get it. It wasn’t like she’d be the only married dancer in the company. After she’d stormed into the editing room, he’d done some research. One of the other principal dancers—the guy who partnered with Laura most often according to the website—was married, too. And to a man, so Charlie felt a little less jealous about his hands all over her.

  “It’s just a bad time for me in my career for this to happen.”

  Maybe she was worried because she didn’t remember the wedding night? Maybe she thought that he’d lied to her about that?

  He guessed the evening couldn’t get any more awkward, so he ought to clear it up. “Nothing happened the night of the wedding. You’re not pregnant.”

  Again, she blanched. “I didn’t think I was.” She sighed. “But the possibility that I could be. That I could even be thinking about it is enough to doom my career.”

  “Everyone raves about your performances.” He gestured towards the bar, where the waiter was presumably fetching her wine. “The waiter was practically singing you an ode earlier.”

  She looked down before saying, “But I want more.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I want to move to New York. I want to dance for the New York City Ballet before I retire.”

  “New York sucks.” Charlie hated New York. On principal because he was a Chicagoan at heart. And practically, he hated how crowded and impersonal the city was. He much preferred Miami, with its color and more chill vibe. “Why would you want to live there when you could live here?”

  “But it’s the best company in the country, and I’ve always wanted it.” She threw down her fork, and it rattled against the plate. “Haven’t you ever wanted more? Better?”

  He’d moved here because he’d wanted to prove something—to his parents and himself. He’d wanted to get out from underneath the shadow cast by his father’s reputation and build something of his own. Moving to New York he could have done that. But he’d wanted something smaller, that he could control without having to take heart medication. He didn’t want a sprawling media empire; he wanted freedom. But, based on what she was telling him, she wanted bigger, brighter lights.

  Disappointment made its way through his system, and not for the first time that night. He’d expected the date to be fun and light. Instead, she’d just revealed the core of why the two of them were doomed before the accidental wedding—they wanted different things.

  If he were a mature, sane adult, he’d pay the check and drive Laura home. He’d call her next week and make sure the papers were filed without problems and pretend that none of this ever happened. She’d move to New York, and he wouldn’t see her for a few years. By then, this whole sham marriage would be a faded memory. Hell, maybe they’d be able to laugh about it.

  But part of him wouldn’t allow him to do the adult thing. He wanted Laura, wanted to be around her. It was inexplicable and irritating because she clearly didn’t feel the same way. Though, his dick and maybe his heart wouldn’t take her reluctance for an answer.

  “I want more with a lot of things.” Her. He wanted more with her.

  “And I’d bet you don’t let anything get in your way when you want those things.”

  She had him there. “Nope.”

  “And you don’t want to stand in the way of me getting what I want, do you?”

  He was totally honest with her—if not with himself—when he said, “I want you to get everything you want in life.”

  She gave him a beguiling half-smile. “And if I can’t get that because I married you?”

  “I’d feel terrible about that, and that’s why I signed those papers.”

  “But you’re not happy about it.”

  The air changed between them when she left those words hanging there. No, he wasn’t happy about annulling the marriage. He was man enough to know that it was the right thing to do, but his ego was fragile enough to chafe at the fact that this girl didn’t like him.

  She was right, he was a driven guy, and he always got what he wanted. He just appeared to be laid back about everything. There was more of his father inside him than he’d ever admit out loud.

  She saw right through him, and that’s what got him about her. He’d always loved women who gave him shit; there was no better way to get his dick hard, if he were being completely honest. And this woman didn’t even let him get away with polite shit when it would be appropriate.

  So, he decided to push her back. She thought she knew his MO, but she was wrong about him. If only he had the chance to show her that. They connected on a sexual level, and maybe that was something he could work with.

  “No, I don’t like it.” He shrugged, trying to seem cool. “I’m kind of disappointed that I’ll never get to fuck my wife.”

  Chapter 5

  Laura choked on her wine. It went down the wrong pipe and she coughed until the people around them stared at her. Charlie got up and rounded the table, patting her back and rubbing—a gesture both soothing and menacing given what he’d just said to her.

  “I’m fine.”

  He stopped the rubbing, but he didn’t move his hand. “Are you sure?”

  Not really, but she said, “Sit down. You’re mortifying me.”

  That made him move his hand, immediately. “I just wanted to be sure that you were okay.”

  “So that you could maybe fuck me?”

  He smiled and she scowled in return. “I’ve got you thinking of the possibilities, then?”

  “No.”

  “How much do you remember from the night of the wedding?”

  More than she’d ever admit out loud. After seeing the video, a lot more about the rest of the night had bubbled up. She remembered kissing, touching, asking for more. Frustration that he wouldn’t go all the way. She’d embarrassed herself trying to push him further. And the memory now flooded her with heat and longing for something it would be stupid to ask for.

  Even if he wanted it, too.

  “I remember enough to know that we don’t need to go any further.”

  “I disagree.”

  “Do you ever take no for an answer?”

  “No.” He swirled the last of his one glass of wine before downing it. “Do you ever say yes to anything that isn’t already in your life plan?”

  “No.” At least not before now, when she desperately wanted to say yes to an affair with Charlie. Despite the fact that they didn’t have much to say to each other, he was gorgeous. And his touch against her skin made her nerves dance. It wasn’t love, but it was lust. It was connecting to a feeling when she hadn’t been sure she hadn’t lost the capac
ity to feel long ago.

  “Listen, I think there’s a reason you sought me out at the wedding. And there’s a reason you drank too much.” He lowered his voice to a course whisper that rasped along her skin like a lover’s touch. “And there’s a reason you married me.”

  She leaned back in her chair. “What do you think that reason is?”

  “You’re not sure about your path.”

  Even though deep inside she knew he might be right about that, she wasn’t going to admit it out loud. “What makes you think that?”

  “I know that when I want something, I’m not going to risk fucking it up by losing control.” That statement made her curious to see what Charlie would be like if he ever truly lost control. “And I think we’re the same that way.”

  “And you think us fucking will clear my mind? Convince me to stay here in Miami?” To live out the rest of her career—which was growing shorter by the day. And then what? Teach classes at local studios? What would she do with herself without the discipline of pushing herself ever further? Turn into her mother, and that was maybe the scariest thought to ever cross her mind.

  “No.” His face changed; his whole energy shifted from a man trying to convince a woman of something to a man who knew he had a woman convinced. “But I think it will be fun, and you deserve some fun.”

  “But if we do this.” She motioned between them. “Then, we can’t get an annulment.”

  “The way I see it, the papers are signed.” He reached across the table and took the butter knife she hadn’t realized that she’d been clutching out of her hand. “And neither of us is dumb enough to tell a judge that we actually consummated the marriage. This wouldn’t be part of the marriage that never happened. This will be part of the affair we should have instead.”

  He sounded so fucking reasonable. And him touching her was convincing. Maybe she had hit on him and plied him with alcohol because she wanted to let loose. She’d never done anything like that before. Her entire late adolescence and early adulthood had kept her wrapped up tight. Even if she hadn’t left home to stay at the academy during her high school years, she doubted her parents would have put up with any public misbehavior.

  Charlie was presenting an opportunity to live a portion of her life that she’d skipped. This incredibly gorgeous, enticing man wanted her. She wasn’t a stranger to being an object of desire, but this was something else. Behind whatever image he cultivated, there was an intensity that pulled her in, even as she feared that his attention would pull her under and make her dreams of reaching the pinnacle of her career less compelling.

  It would be a dumb move to get along, but she couldn’t quite get herself to say no. “So, we go home from this frankly mediocre date and have sex?”

  “I was thinking we could try the whole date thing again.”

  “Why do you want to date me?” It didn’t make any sense. “Or, are you just an entitled asshole who can’t stand taking ‘no’ for an answer?”

  “I am an entitled asshole, but I can accept rejection.”

  “Then why won’t you let this go?” She was irritated, yes. But it was more curiosity at this point that was keeping her from leaving the restaurant and hailing a car. “What is it about me in particular that you can’t accept a no from?”

  He shocked her by running a finger over the back of the hand she had laid on the table. It sent waves of something through her body that seemed too big for her to call lust. “Do you need me to tell you how gorgeous you are?”

  She didn’t need that and just raised her eyebrows in response.

  “You don’t need me to tell you that. People tell you how beautiful you are all the time. The issue is that you’re more than beautiful. You’re compelling and a little bit mean. It makes my dick hard when you lift that aristocratic nose at me.”

  “So, you’re saying I’m a challenge?”

  “Not just a challenge.”

  “What then?” She could barely breathe waiting for him to say the next thing. He seemed so angry about having to articulate why he wanted her, as though he didn’t want to want her as much as she hated the heavy fog of lust he pushed her in to whenever he touched her.

  “You’re just different from any other woman I’ve ever met. I hate the idea of you leaving Miami, but I get your ambition. I understand the need to get away from your family and everything you’ve ever known. I think we’re a whole lot more alike than we are different. And I just—I want to explore that.”

  “I haven’t felt this way about someone else either.” She hadn’t wanted to say that, hadn’t intended to, but she couldn’t help herself.

  “How do you feel?”

  She took a sip of wine, squaring herself up. By nature, she was not an effusive person. She was calm and calculated, disciplined. Ever since she’d started dancing, she hadn’t been prone to outsized emotions; she’d channeled all of it into her art. Feeling overpowering lust for a person rather than a piece of choreography was new to her.

  “I feel like you see me when you look at me.” She took a deep breath. “You don’t see the dancer, and you don’t accept that I’m as cold as I try to make people think I am.”

  “Why do you do that?”

  “Because it’s better than the alternative.”

  He leaned forward, and even across the table she could feel the space around her closing in. “I’ll keep your secrets about the non-marriage. And I won’t let anyone know that you aren’t the hard-assed bitch that people think you are.”

  “Then I guess I owe you another date.”

  * * * *

  Laura’s second date with Charlie hung over her head like a sword of Damocles for the next week. The only good thing about that worry was that it took her mind off how poorly rehearsals for Carmen were going. She’d danced this ballet numerous times, but this time something was off. And she couldn’t even discern the problem, much less figure out how to fix it.

  She and her partner were rehearsing the climax of the ballet, and they’d been at it for hours. Every time they ran through the steps, a hand would slip or be in the wrong place, the lines of their bodies would be off. She was lucky that he hadn’t dropped her multiple times.

  Finally, the choreographer for this new version of the ballet stopped them and told them to take a break. He said there was a sponsor coming in that he needed to greet, but she knew it was an excuse not to have to look at them any longer.

  Disgust with herself flowed through her veins like a familiar drug. She had a tolerance for it, given her perfectionism and profession. And she fought mightily to keep it from pulling her into full-on self-hate. A lot of younger dancers ended up with serious eating disorders because of the demon-drug of perfectionism that they all imbibed. She’d never been one of them, and she’d always viewed her body as a machine that needed fuel. Her dancing had never improved through a diet—only more practice.

  And now, it wasn’t helping. She and her partner sat with their backs against the wall under the barre, breathing heavily and gulping water. Her leotard was sticky against her skin and soaked through with sweat. She smoothed back tendrils of hair that had escaped the severe bobby pins and bands that kept her hair in place.

  “What’s going on with you?” John, her partner, asked. She wouldn’t call him a friend, exactly. She didn’t really have many friends other than her cousins, but they were friendly acquaintances.

  “Not sure.” John pressed his lips together. She was usually a reliable partner, and he was clearly getting frustrated with her. Guilt for fucking this piece up surfaced.

  “How’s your groin? Still aching?”

  Yes. The answer was always yes, but she would never say that out loud. “It’s fine. Completely healed.”

  “You know, you don’t have to pretend it doesn’t hurt.” He put his hand on her shoulder, and it felt comforting. Also patronizing, but comforting just the same.
“We all hurt.”

  The door to the studio opened again, and Charlie walked in with Matthieu. Everything became sharper, the sweaty leotard, John’s heavy hand, and the air against her skin. When Charlie looked at her, all the blood in her body seemed to pool at the apex of her legs and her nipples. She wasn’t sure why seeing him here—having him walk into this room—made her feel so aware of him. Perhaps it was the shock of seeing him on her turf. Or maybe it was just Charlie.

  He was just as devastating in today’s suit as he’d been at dinner. Today, the shirt was crisp white and the suit was black. It hugged his shoulders like a lover. His unbuttoned jacket revealed his flat stomach. She couldn’t help herself but look lower from her vantage point on the floor. And apparently, he was free balling. Her skin flushed and she looked up just in time to see his reaction to her.

  His gaze narrowed when he registered John’s hand touching her bare skin. Instinctively, Laura moved away, standing up, less gracefully than she normally would.

  She was unsteady on her toe shoes, and it was only when he leveled a panty-melting glare at her that she squared her shoulders and approached him.

  The choreographer, a man who she’d worked with multiple times, put his arm around her. She thought Charlie’s eyes would bug straight out of his head. And she didn’t miss his fist bunching when Matthieu kissed her cheek.

  “Mr. Laughlin tells me that you two have met.”

  Good thing she hadn’t eaten anything in several hours. She would have choked.

  “Yes. Briefly.”

  Charlie finally took his gaze off of where Matthieu touched her. “I’d say it was more than brief.” She opened her mouth to issue a denial, but he cut her off. “I’m a friend of the family. We met at a wedding.”

  Matthieu, having no clue what was going on and that the two people having a conversation around him were plotting ways to kill each other slowly in their heads. At least, that was what Laura was doing. Charlie was probably still trying to figure out how to sleep with her.