“No way,” she whispered aloud.
“No way what?” a voice said behind her.
She whirled around to see him standing there watching her. “How long have you been there?”
“A couple minutes.”
She cocked her head to the side in a challenge.
“A few minutes. Maybe a few more than a few.” He took a couple steps closer and she shivered again. “So, back to my question, no way what?”
No way was she answering that one. “Why were you standing there?”
“I like watching you.”
“Why?” she repeated.
“Well, you’re not exactly hard on the eyes, you know.” Another step closer. “And you’re interesting when you’re quiet.” He smiled. “Cute too.”
“How do you know I’m interesting if I’m not saying anything?”
“Because you’re in your pensive mode and that’s always interesting.”
Now he was only inches from her, reaching out, pulling her into his arms, and she swore she’d never felt so good, so safe and so at home.
“Are you okay?” he whispered.
“Fine.”
“Sad it’s almost over? After all your work?”
“Kind of. But it’s okay. There’s our spring performance to look forward to. That one’s more relaxing for me because Linda and Ben do a lot of the choreography and work for it.”
Chris held her more tightly against him. “Need help backstage?”
“As if you’ll be around.”
“I’ll be around,” he said with total confidence.
“Why? You’ll be finished with your article soon. Speaking of which,” she said, relieved to be able to steer the subject a little bit off kilter. “When are we having another private photo shoot?”
“I’m finished.”
“What?”
“Sent the article off yesterday.”
“Seriously? You have enough photos?”
“Plenty.” More than enough. Selecting the ones to use had been the challenge.
“So, why are you still here?” She pulled back so she could see his face.
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“Me?” she whispered.
He smiled, feeling an impish grin forming on his face. “I’m working on a book too, remember?”
“Oh. I forgot.”
He wanted to tell her he was lying. It had nothing to do with the book. He could work on that anywhere. There was only one reason he was still here, only one reason he was planning to stay here. But he knew it would send her fleeing to the nearest refuge, a dance tour no doubt.
When her cell phone chirped out Tchaikovsky, he decided he’d been saved by the bell. First she listened, then she started dancing around as she processed the news she was given, then after she hung up, she threw her arms around him in excitement.
“Big news?” he asked, having a suspicion what it was.
“Very big. I’ve been invited to perform in San Francisco.”
“When?”
“For three weekends, beginning New Year’s Eve.”
He couldn’t conceal his disappointment. He tried, but he couldn’t. And she’d seen it. “What?” she challenged.
“Nothing,” he lied. Nothing except that he’d had big plans for that night. The biggest plan of his life. “What will you be performing?”
“A pas de deux. One of the dances that was supposed to be performed was cancelled because one of the dancers has a family emergency so they want to use my new dance instead.”
“You seem very excited. Is it a special performance?”
“Very special. There will be six performances in all. Two will be private performances. One for diplomats and their families from various countries.”
“Royalty.”
“Actually, yes, I do believe there will be some princes and princesses attending.”
“No queens and kings?”
“Possibly.” She smirked in response to his challenge.
He was relieved to see the focus shift from himself back to her. “It does sound exciting.”
“Very.” Except that she’d be leaving a lot sooner than she’d expected. Her time with him would be cut short. But then, maybe that was for the best, she thought. She was getting way too attached . . . and obsessed with the man. But, as she’d said more than once, the best cure for getting over a man was getting under him. Well, she hadn’t put it quite that crudely, but it was basically the point.
She slipped her arms around his waist and snuggled against him. “So, now that the article is finished—”
“What?” He knew all too well what.
“Have you forgotten? You promised me sex.”
“Not quite what I promised . . . ”
“Actually, it was more like a torrid affair.”
“As I recall, those were your words. And that conversation was before I confessed my real reason for not giving into you.”
“Oh, yeah, that.”
“Besides which, I still have a book to finish.”
“You’re stalling.”
“Yes, I am.”
“Well, get over it because like I told you before, I’m not good at taking no for an answer.”
“Warning heeded.”
“Good, now when do I get to see the final article?”
“When it’s on the pages of the magazine.” And since she would realize exactly how long ago some of those photographs had been taken, after he’d admitted to stalking her for several months.
“Damn, you’re stubborn.”
“I try.”
“Yeah, well you succeed. I think I should get to see it in advance. After all, it is about me.”
“It’s about dance.”
“And me.”
“And you. And your passion.”
“Speaking of passion . . . ” She brushed her lips against his neck and fluttered kisses downward toward his chest.
“Hey, we’re likely to have an audience any minute.”
“Well, we can always pick up where we left off after the show.”
“We can, but we won’t.”
She snarled at him and let him go. Not much time left, she realized. She started to tuck her cell phone back in her pocket but didn’t. There was a surefire way of getting Chris to give into her, she realized. It worked with every man on the planet. She would make him jealous.
“Excuse me, I have a call to make,” she said as she strutted away from him toward the girls’ dressing room. She would get Denny to come rehearse here with her. He could stay at the farmhouse with her, and they could dance at her studio. That would kill two birds with one stone. They’d be in shape and well-rehearsed for their performance, and she could make Chris jealous. Hopefully jealous enough to get him into bed.
She was up to something. He could tell. There had been a hint of a gloat in her eyes ever since that phone call. It had lasted through the entire matinee performance. Of course, she had been focused on her dancers and had busied herself with making certain everything and everyone was in place, but mischief had been dancing in her eyes the entire time.
It could simply have been that she was invited to perform at such a special event. In fact, that was likely part of it, but there was something else there, something that had appeared just before she pressed her phone back up to her ear to make that call. She was definitely up to something.
He wasn’t thrilled about her going off so soon. He’d wanted more time with her. Damn. Was he like every other man she’d been with, wanting more? Well, who could blame them? She was magnificent. She was everything he could imagine ever wanting in a woman. She was dedicated, passionate, loving, kind, vibrant, and fun. He rolled his eyes at himself. Not enough adjectives in the English language. He was avoiding the truth. He had reacted to the news of her leaving. And it had not been a generous reaction. And she had seen it, and immediately lumped him in with all the other men who had wanted more of her, had wanted her to give up some of herself.
&n
bsp; How did he convince her that that wasn’t it at all? He was happy for her. He just wanted to spend New Year’s Eve with her. He had planned to propose on New Year’s Eve. He thought perhaps by then he could convince her that she was safe with him. His reaction had only succeeded in setting him back a giant step.
But he was flexible. He could postpone his proposal. He could look at this as an opportunity. A test. He could show her that he would wait patiently for her to come home to Canden Valley. Instead of going to San Francisco with her—although he might be tempted to visit—he would wait for her, prove he could and was willing to wait for her. He would pass her test. He would prove his unconditional love and acceptance of who she was. And he would come out the winner.
Now he just had to figure out what she was up to.
Chris stood outside the book café, staring through the window. He couldn’t believe it. She was with another man. His heart was hammering in his chest and he felt as if he were going to lose it right there on the main street of Canden Valley.
What the hell was she doing? Talking, laughing, flirting, obviously into the guy. Damn. Maybe he should have slept with her. Then she’d be sitting at that table laughing with him. Until she tossed him into her pile of been-there-done-that rejects.
She’d turned down his invitation to dinner and the movies two nights before. She claimed she was tired from the performances, needed to rest. That didn’t sound like Anne. He should have delved more deeply into it. Especially considering that here she was on a date with another man. A morning date. A morning-after date? Had she spent the night with this guy? Was that why she’d turned him down? Now his stomach was convulsing.
Two choices, he told himself. Walk away. Go back upstairs to his apartment and get his bike and take a long grueling ride. Or pull himself together and walk into the café as if nothing were wrong.
He knew his curiosity would not allow him to opt for the first choice, so he took several deep breaths, plastered a smile on his face, and pushed open the door. He went up to the counter, slapped a five dollar bill down as he ordered a cup of coffee and a raspberry scone. Then he turned around, both in hand, widening his smile, and approached the couple’s table.
“Oh, hey, Anne, I didn’t see you there.”
Anne raised a single eyebrow. Yeah, right, like I believe that. You were staring at us through the window for five minutes. “Hey, Chris, this is Denny.”
Chris set down his mug and plate and reached out to shake the man’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“Chris is my photographer,” Anne explained to her companion.
“Oooh! That Chris. I hear you’re magnificent.”
Anne gave him a pointed glare and he sat more upright. “A magnificent photographer,” he said in a more subdued voice. “She said you’re really good at capturing her at the perfect moment.”
Yeah, like right now, Chris thought. Damn you, Anne Jameson. Do you have to rub another man in my face? Just because I won’t sleep with you? “And you are?” he asked.
Anne smiled sweetly, first at Denny as she wrapped her arm through his, then at Chris as she looked into his eyes. “Denny is my dance partner. We’ve been together for a very long time. He came to rehearse for our big event.” She gave Denny a sultry look and added, “And other things.”
Chris coughed and sat down at the table. “Mind if I join you?”
“Well, we were actually having a private discussion,” Anne protested.
“I’m sure it can wait. So, tell me about this dance you’ll be performing.”
Anne glowered. Why wasn’t he more upset? He should have been more upset. He had started out upset. She’d seen him go pale through the window, and then she’d seen him flush with fury. So, why was he sitting here calmly sipping coffee and munching on a scone?
Denny gave him a brief description of the dance, and Chris said, “Sounds incredible. Do you mind if I take some shots? I might be able to use them for my book.”
Denny grinned. “Of course not. We’d love that, wouldn’t we, Anne?”
“I suppose it would be okay. But just for a little while. Denny and I really want to spend time rehearsing alone. Time alone,” she quickly added.
Chris nodded and finished scarfing down his scone. “What time will you be rehearsing?” he asked through a full mouth.
“In fifteen minutes,” Anne said, her arms crossing against her chest in annoyance.
“I’ll be there.” Chris stood up, grabbed his mug and plate to clear, and said good-bye.
He was smiling as he trotted up the stairs to fetch his camera.
Chris walked into the studio just as Lady Gaga burst into song with “The Edge of Glory.” He stood mesmerized as the couple danced together, swirling and bounding through the air in perfect rhythm with each other. Their movement was fluid, their transitions seamless as he tossed her into the air as if she were weightless, and she leaped into his arms as if he were her savior, the love of her life.
And then there were the quieter moments, looking into each other’s eyes and dancing as if their hearts belonged to each other, as if their love were as boundless as their movement, as if no one else existed.
“Did you get some good shots?” Denny asked after the song had ended.
“Uh, no, not yet. I, uh, like to just watch first so I know what to expect.”
Denny turned back to Anne. “Shall we go again?”
Anne nodded, her eyes never leaving Chris’s. She’d never seen him so emotional. Had they touched him with their dance, more deeply than she had done even when she was dancing for him alone? Even when she was making love to him through her dance?
Or was he feeling jealous? Had she accomplished what she’d hoped to by bringing Denny here to rehearse?
She started the song over and they took their positions. This time Chris had the camera perched, ready for action. He took several shots, many of which he was certain he would use in his book. They ran through the dance two more times and each time he took more shots. Some of these would be his favorites, he knew. If he could get past the jealousy.
After they finished running through the dance the fifth time, they sat on the floor to stretch. Chris loved this part of the dance, where they sat in various positions stretching and talking as if this wasn’t work.
He packed up his camera and started out of the studio. He could feel two sets of eyes watching him walk away. Would Anne follow him or would she let him walk away? It all depended on her willpower, he decided, which was not her strong suit.
He smiled as he heard bare feet padding across the floor behind him. He turned just as she reached him. He let her speak first.
“Don’t we get to see the pictures?” she asked.
“Maybe later.”
“But Denny wants to see them.”
“As I said, later.”
“But he’s only going to be here a couple days.”
“Oh, he’s staying?”
“Of course.”
“Where?”
“At the ranch, with me.”
“Your parents don’t mind?”
“Uh, no, of course not. They’re used to my, uh, male friends staying there with me.”
“Tolerant parents.”
“Yes, they are. So, can we see the pictures?”
“Sorry, he’ll have to wait until they’re in print.”
Anne’s smile was arrogant with even more cockiness than usual. “Jealous?” she challenged.
He could feel his smile matching hers. “Was that your motive for bringing Denny here? To make me jealous?”
“No, it was to rehearse. Making you jealous was just a bonus, the icing on the cake. Obviously it worked.”
“Hardly.”
“Seriously? You have jealousy written all over your face.”
“You’re confusing jealousy with amusement.”
“Ha!”
“Ha, yourself. I’m completely amused by your efforts.” And relieved to know what she’d been up to.
“What was the plan? Bring Denny here on the pretense of rehearsing for your big show and hang all over him whenever you saw me so that I’d be so jealous I’d fall into bed with you?”
“Something like that,” she mumbled.
Chris shrugged. “Good plan. It might have worked if he weren’t gay.”
She feigned fury and said, “What? You’re stereotyping him because he’s a dancer?”
“It has nothing to do with his being a dancer.”
She sighed in defeat. “So, how did you know?”
“Instinct,” he claimed. When she cocked her head to the side, he added, “And the way he was looking at me.”
“How was he looking at you?”
Chris took a step closer and kissed her lightly on the lips. “The way I look at you, darlin’.”
Anne laughed. She’d thought Denny had done a great job of playing straight. But how could she have expected him to react otherwise to the gorgeous hunk standing in front of her. “Maybe it worked anyway. At least for a little while.”
“Maybe it did,” Chris acknowledged. But only because of his vivid imagination which had taken a stroll down a different path as he had visualized himself dancing with her the way her partner had. Lifting her into the air and holding her there, then easing her back down into his arms, dancing side by side with her in perfect harmony, equally graceful. And all to “The Edge of Glory.” The perfect song for her. Because she truly was on the edge of glory. And he wanted her to be there with him.
Chapter 22
“The man is a dreamboat, sweetie.”
“Yes, he is.” Anne set down two cups of hot chocolate and curled up on the couch beside her dance partner. They hadn’t bothered to shower and change yet, and were still wearing their dance clothes. They were as comfortable as a brother and sister, or cousins. They could even talk to each other about their sex lives. Or the absence thereof.
December Dance Page 20