Ballet Shoes and Engine Grease

by Tatiana March

  Before Nick had a chance to say anything more to Crimson, Kathy returned, clothes folded across her arm. Right there and then, in the middle of the showroom, she stripped him down to his boxers and dressed him in a perfectly cut dinner suit, with a white shirt and a black bow tie. She poked and prodded at the clothing, tugged and teased at his hair, coated his skin with pancake, but he drew the line at letting her smear mascara on his lashes.

  When Kathy declared him finished, Sohaila fiddled with the boom box by her feet and tucked her violin beneath her chin. Todd ushered Nick into position beside the Panther. Guided by Nick’s gentle suggestions, the production team had decided that he should be leaning against the car, and Crimson should rush into his arms.

  “Action!” Todd shouted.

  Patrick hit the light switch, plunging the room into darkness.

  The single beam came on, made a yellow circle the floor. Music. Crimson. Nick’s heart pounded as he watched her dance. At the end, when the violin reached the crescendo, he steadied his stance, propping his hips against the side of the open-topped vehicle, and spread his arms wide. Crimson completed the final spin and flew against him with a force that slammed their bodies together.

  “Did you miss me?” he whispered into her ear.

  “No.”

  “Liar.” He slid his hands down her back and pinched her bottom.

  “Ouch!” she shrieked.

  “Cut!” Todd yelled and walked over. “Nick, the trick is to look relaxed, almost slouching, and then hold her in a loose grip. Crimson, bend backwards. Arch your spine. That’s right. Nick, lean over her. Almost touch your mouth to hers, but not quite, as if you were just about to kiss her. That’s it. With the next take, when you have Crimson in your arms, I want you to keep that position until I call cut. Got it?”

  “Got it.” Nick held the pose, breathing in her scent.

  “Nick, we don’t have all day,” Todd said, laughter in his voice. “Let her go.”

  Nick released Crimson and they took their starting positions again. On the next take, he was better prepared for the impact and managed to hold her just right. He bent over her, one arm firm behind the small of her back, anchoring her close to him, his other hand fisted in her hair.

  “Did you miss me?” he asked, his lips almost gazing hers.

  “No.”

  He twisted a blond curl around his forefinger and gave it a tug.

  She yanked her head back. “Ouch.”

  “Cut!” Todd yelled. “Crimson, you have to keep the position. And be quiet.”

  By now, she’d caught on to his little game. Her brown eyes glittered with rebellion, but Nick could tell she was struggling not to smile. They started again. This time, the take was ruined by the train of Crimson’s flimsy dress getting snagged on his sleeve.

  “Did you miss me?” Nick asked, holding on to her, even after the increasingly annoyed Todd had yelled cut.

  “No.”

  He released her and adjusted his cuffs. “I can keep this up all night.”

  “So can I,” she shot back. “The ballet sequence is only two minutes long and I get to rest between the takes.”

  “Wait!” Kathy stepped forward with a little jar and a brush. “I need to touch up Crimson’s lip gloss.”

  Nick watched as Crimson tipped her head back and pouted her lips. The tiny brush glided along them. The full, plump bottom lip. The bowed upper lip. He felt a few beads of sweat pop up on his brow. His unruly body rose to attention.

  “Wait,” Kathy called out again as Crimson settled in her starting position. “I need to take the shine off Nick’s skin. And…” She cleared her throat. “His trousers do, as they say in that raunchy book, hang that way. Are we okay with that? Or do we need to strip him back to his boxers and cool him with a bucket of ice?”

  Nick kept his best poker face.

  “I don’t know.” Todd turned to Sohaila. “You’re our resident innocent, aren’t you, honeybunch? Does it offend your sensibilities to see him straining in his pants?”

  Sohaila coaxed a fanfare out of her violin. “Not at all,” she said. “It’s good to provide evidence that he has a big gun and is prepared to use it.”

  “All right.” Todd raised his arm. “Action.”

  “No,” Kathy shouted. “Crimson’s gone…crimson. Let her cool down.”

  After a five minute break, Nick had his erection under control, Crimson’s color had mellowed to a pretty pink, and the others had conquered their giggles.

  Action. Lights. Music.

  And then he had her in his arms again. He could feel her breasts flatten against his chest, could feel the heat radiating from her skin, flushed from the physical effort of the dance. The lip gloss must be flavored, for when he bent his mouth to hers he caught the faint scent of strawberry. Unable to resist, he brushed his mouth against hers. Crimson let out a sound of pleasure, a light as a rustling sigh, and melted against him. Her head came to rest on his shoulder without breaking the feather-light contact of their lips.

  “Cut,” Todd yelled.

  Nick lifted his head and studied Crimson. “Did you miss me?”

  “You know I did.”

  “I know,” he told her. “But I wanted to hear you say it.”

  ****

  Crimson gave up all resistance as Nick propelled her toward the corridor. How could she say no to him? She was in love with him. It had started by stealth, with Uncle Stephan talking about him with such longing. Then, she’d seen him in the flesh…and that encounter in the boardroom still had the power to make her toes curl…and Nick had proved to possess some very solid qualities…for example, the way he had nursed her through an asthma attack.

  Kathy called out after them, “Hey, I need the clothes back.”

  Nick didn’t slow his steps. “They fit me. I’ll keep them. Bill me.”

  “What about the cars? Jorge shouted. “Shall we put them back?”

  “Tomorrow’s soon enough,” Nick replied over his shoulder.

  In the covered walkway that connected with the office block, a dozen vintage racing cars stood in a neat row, as if lined up for a starting grid. Crimson edged ahead in the narrow passage left free beside the cars. She turned back to look at Nick, using conversation as an excuse to admire him in his formal clothing.

  “We had to move the cars out to make room for me to dance.”

  He reached out, caught her hand and tugged, transforming her backward glance into a spin that gathered her against him. Crimson started to say something. What, she had no idea, but some panicky instinct made her want to break the sudden spell of intimacy that had wrapped around them.

  Nick silenced her with his mouth. Warmth flooded her, just as it had flooded her every time she danced into his embrace. And now, his strong arms anchored her even closer, welding her whole length to his.

  For six weeks, ever since Nick had kissed her in the kitchen at Longwood Hall, Crimson had dreamed of kissing him again. Now, the reality of it crashed over her, drugging her senses, sending curls of heat spiraling through her. She opened her mouth, inviting him to deepen the kiss. He tasted her, a greedy invasion, fulfilling the promise that had tantalized her as they shared a chaste touch of their lips in front of an audience.

  Nick lifted his head for a fraction of a second. “I have rental car.” His voice was urgent, rough. Then his mouth was on hers again, kissing, tasting, tongue probing deep.

  “No. Not…Longwood Hall…my mother…your mother…are there…” She breathed out the words between kisses.

  Nick broke away from her. Crimson rose on her toes, trying to hold on to the kiss, but Nick seemed to have snapped out of the sensual haze that they’d plunged into. Determination glittered in his dark eyes. “Your office,” he said. “I’m not waiting a bloody second longer. The motel is a rattrap, my condo is too far, and I’m not risking those two old broads listening in the next room with a champagne flute pressed against the wall.”

  The image made her giggle. Crimson couldn�
�t remember ever feeling so lighthearted about sex in her entire life. So carefree. Crazy, she thought as she let Nick push past her and haul her along by her hand, past the antique vehicles that must have seen some naughty frolics in their heyday. It had to be a topsy-turvy world when a girl felt carefree just when she was about hand her heart out to be broken.

  They hurried past Anna’s desk. “She might come up,” Crimson said.

  Nick bundled her through the open doorway into her office. “We’ll keep the lights off. That’s the beauty of a building with glass walls. You can make love in starlight and still be warm.” He wrestled with the lock on the door, made it click into place. Then, with a strange deliberation, he strode up to her, each step filled with purpose.

  “I missed you,” he said softly as he reached for her. “China was hell.”

  China. China. Alarm bells went off in her head. Suddenly, beyond the wall of windows, the sky pinpricked with stars looked vast and cold and scary. She resisted Nick as he tried to pull her into his arms. “I need to ask you something before…before we go any further.”

  He studied her panicked expression. “What is it, Crimson?”

  “I read…in a gossip rag…that Marcela Ballard is in China…has been for weeks…and that her marriage is on the rocks.”

  “I see.” Nick’s voice was cold, as cold as the black sky outside. A blank, forbidding look settled on his face. “What do you want to know?”

  “Did you…” She drew a deep breath. “Did you see her? Sleep with her? Are you still in love with her? Did she follow you to China? Are you why her marriage is breaking up?”

  Without a word, Nick propelled her toward the chair behind her desk and nudged her down into it. “No, no, no, and no.” One corner of his mouth dipped into a smirk. “Was that the right number of nos?” he asked. “I didn’t count your questions.”

  “You owe me one more no.”

  “No.” With a restless motion, he picked up a pencil from the desk beside him, flipped it like a baton between his fingers, then put it away again and exhaled a sigh. Immaculate in his dinner suit, tousled dark curls spilling over his collar, he crouched on his heels before her and took both of her hands in his.

  “It’s no secret that I was engaged to Marcela Ballard,” he told her. “Or Marcela Aceves, as she was called then. But, I swear, I haven’t seen her since the day she broke it off eight years ago.”

  Crimson thought she saw a flash of pain in his eyes. Before she had a change to tell him that she was sorry for mentioning the topic, or to assure him that she believed him, Nick had pushed up to his feet and walked over to the window, where he halted, staring out into the darkness of the night.

  “We’d been engaged just over a year. We were in Japan. It was the last race of the season. I was in the lead for the championship. David Ballard was one point behind me. It was going to be one of those down-to-the-wire finishes. The final race would decide the outcome of the entire series. I had a contract in my pocket to drive for a Formula One team the next season, but I still wanted to win. Obsessively so. You don’t become a champion racing driver unless you have an obsessive will to win.”

  “You don’t…need to explain…”

  Nick shot her a glance at her over his shoulder. A smile curved his lips—a sad, somewhat rueful smile. “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Or would a better proverb be a gift car under the hood? Whatever. I’m telling you something that I’ve never told a single living soul. Don’t ruin it by saying you don’t want to hear it.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He nodded and went on. “I had—still have—a lucky penny. I always put it in a small pocket sewn into the waistband of my racing suit. I’d forgotten it, and I went off to collect it from the team motor home. To get out of the pits, I had to go through an underpass, beneath the grandstand. In a shady corner, I saw Marcela in the arms of David Ballard, her head resting on his shoulder. I froze. Went icy cold. I started to pull back, but I must have made some sound, because Marcela turned around. She looked at me with so much guilt in her expression that I knew it wasn’t just a couple of friends exchanging good luck wishes. She walked away from David, to me, just a few steps, but I remember it seemed to take forever.

  “She told me she was sorry, pulled my ring from her finger, and held it out to me. I must have taken it. I can’t remember. I must have put it somewhere. I thought I put in that little pocket on my suit, because I never made it to the team motor home. I went back to the pits. On the first lap of the race, I crashed, taking a tight hairpin curve at nearly eighty miles an hour. I don’t remember any of it. Not getting in the car, not starting on the grid, not losing control of the car or slamming into the safety barrier. I remember walking off and refusing to see a doctor. Later, I had cause to regret it. The next day, I couldn’t move my legs. I had a long period of rehabilitation, and I was left with a weakness in my spine. Another crash, even at a moderate speed, and I might never walk again. It was too big a risk to take, so I chose to give up my racing career.”

  Crimson watched him. He remained standing by the window, shoulders rigid, gaze locked on the night outside. He lowered his voice. “Marcela was—is—a devout catholic. No sex before marriage. While we were engaged, I was faithful to her. I was twenty-four, living in a world full of glamorous women. Glamorous, available women. It made me bitter to think that all my honorable abstinence had been for nothing. For a couple of years, I went off the rails with women. Made up for lost opportunities.”

  “I’m sorry, Nick.”

  He turned around to face her, the night darkness through the glass panels framing him. There was genuine warmth in his smile. “Water under the bridge,” he said. “The only thing that bothers me now is where that damn ring ended up. It must have fallen out of my pocket when the car rolled over. Four carats of marquise cut diamond buried somewhere in the wreckage. I could have given it to my mother for Christmas and saved myself bit of money.”

  Crimson stood up and went to him, her arms wide in invitation. “Let’s figure out something that could serve as a bed,” she told him. “I don’t want to be a lost opportunity.”

  Back to Contents

  Chapter Eleven

  Crimson heard Nick growl in frustration as their gazes roamed the dark room, taking inventory of their surroundings in a desperate attempt to find some soft surface to lie down upon. Nothing but the hard nylon carpet beneath their feet, and the linoleum floor in the corridor that separated the two rows of glass fronted offices.

  Outside, in the parking lot, lights flared in the darkness. “They’re leaving.” Crimson turned to study the landscape through the smoky panels of the building. “They are all getting in their cars and driving off. No one will come upstairs.” She turned to Nick. “There’s some sectional seating at the end of the corridor, just outside the accounts office.”

  He was out before she’d finished the sentence. She hurried after him, found him sliding out the coffee table between the pair of lightweight couches and pushing the two short sections together, end to end, making them into a long, narrow bed.

  She smiled at him. “You look like an overdressed removal man.”

  Finished with the task, Nick surveyed the results with satisfaction. “The overdressed part is easy to fix.” He strode over to her, halted in front of her. She could feel the heat of his body, could smell the faint fragrance of the stage makeup that he hadn’t had a chance to remove. He lifted a hand. One fingertip extended, he skimmed across the top of her breasts, the way she’d noticed that he liked to do.

  “Are you sure, Crimson?” he asked. “There’ll be no turning back. No refunds, no cancellations. I’ll try not to hurt you, but I don’t come with a guarantee.”

  “I…” For a moment, she didn’t know what to say. She had expected him to make an effort to overwhelm her, batter down her defenses without realizing they had already fallen. If she’d had any means of resisting him, any hope of standing firm to protect her heart, the surprise of hearing
him so humbly ask for permission had taken them away.

  “You first,” she said, her gaze skimming over his lean, loose limbed body covered in the elegant evening clothing.

  “Sure.” He indicated her flimsy costume. “You have a head start, anyway.”

  It took him less than five seconds to kick off his shoes and strip off his bow tie and send his jacket and shirt and everything else flying in all directions. Instinctively, Crimson crouched to neaten the disarray, but as Nick moved to stand before her, completely naked, she forgot what she was doing. Slowly, she straightened, able to do nothing but stare.

  There was no moon, only the faint glow of stars that peeked down from between the ragged clouds. The eerie, almost colorless light spilling in through the glass panels illuminated his tousled dark curls and classical features. Like strokes of silver from an artist’s brush, the cool, pale light flowed down the powerful curve of his shoulders and painted shadows on the generous dusting of dark hair on his chest.

  He looked like a statue of a Greek god in a museum, and she ached to touch him. Ached to run her hands along the warm, vibrant skin that covered his ribcage, ached to feel the blood pulsing in the veins that corded his muscled forearms. Ached to feel the fire and passion in him, revel in the knowledge that he was alive, a flesh-and-blood man, not something cast in stone or marble or bronze.

  For a full minute, Nick stood still, letting her look, letting her take her time, but there was no vanity in his stance. If anything, there seemed to be a hint of uncertainty in how he simply waited for her reaction. It crossed her mind that he might think she was used to the perfect bodies of male dancers, and was now wondering if she’d find him lacking in some respect.

  Finally, Nick broke the silence. “Your turn.”

  At his softly spoken words, Crimson became all too aware of the power he had over her, of how she seemed to no longer have a will of her own. She made no reply, merely shifted on her feet, shivering a little in the night chill. Not appearing to notice her hesitation, Nick closed the distance between them.