Ballet Shoes and Engine Grease

by Tatiana March

  “Time to level the playing field.” Bending a little, he fisted his fingers in the hem of her scanty costume and started lifting up the garment. “Is this thing delicate?” he asked.

  Her gaze fell on his hands. Big, dark, powerful. The contrast between his strength and the gossamer fabric sent a tingle of awareness through her. His palms had calluses. She remembered seeing him in overalls, pulling a cloth handkerchief from his pocket to wipe away the engine grease on his skin.

  It occurred to her now that despite his education and the blue-blooded family background, Nick Constantine was essentially a masculine man, a very physical man, one who thrived on competition, on challenges. A renewed fear seized her that she might be nothing more to him than a challenge, one more female to be conquered.

  “Are you all right?” Nick asked, alarm in his voice. “Do you have your inhaler?”

  She studied his face, saw the concern in his expression, the sincerity in his eyes, and that sudden stirring of fears vanished, melted into the night shadows outside. “I’m fine,” she told him, and flapped his hands away from her costume. “I’d better take this off carefully, in case it’s needed for any retakes.”

  Slowly, she lifted the garment over her head. His eyes on her were like a touch of fire along her skin. Beneath the silk slip, she was naked, except for a pair of snug, minuscule panties, barely more than a thong. Her costume was cut to flare open as she danced, offering tantalizing glimpses of the top of thighs and the curve of her buttocks.

  “Dear Lord…Crimson, let me...I have to…” Nick fell to his knees in front of her. His hands curled around her legs and slowly swept up, past her hips, higher up, until his fingers could slip beneath the waistband of those almost-not-there panties.

  “You have the most amazing legs I’ve ever seen,” he said roughly.

  “It’s wonderful what thousands of hours of training can do,” she replied.

  He glanced up at her face then. The solemnity in his gaze made her heart leap. Despite her flippant comment, she was trembling with emotion, but she forced a shaky smile for him, a valiant attempt to keep things light, and not read too much into anything.

  With infinite care, as if he had all the time in the world, Nick lowered the flimsy underwear down her legs, his head bent so close that she could feel the warm puffs of his breath on her skin. The sensation sent desire spiraling up inside her. Impatient now, Crimson lifted her feet, one at a time, to help him release the tiny scrap of silk and lace.

  Flicking his wrist, Nick tossed the garment aside. As if sensing her urgency, he reached up between her legs, a light touch of questing fingers. A jolt of raw pleasure flowed through her. Unable to stop her reaction, she arched her back and cried out, the sound rippling along the empty corridor.

  Nick spoke in a thick, husky voice. “Are you ready for me, Crimson?”

  Too frantic to form words, she merely nodded.

  “Protection.” He moved away, still on his knees. The loss of his nearness felt like a current of cold air sweeping over her. Crimson waited, her whole body thrumming with anticipation, while Nick crouched down on the floor, the lean muscles bunching and flexing beneath his bronzed skin as he searched in his scattered clothing.

  He produced a foil square and held it in the air like a trophy. “I left my phone, my wallet, and my car keys in my jeans. The only thing I transferred into the pocket of the dinner suit was this. Can you believe, they make them in different sizes in Japan?” he asked conversationally as he tore open the packet.

  “Large, no doubt?” She managed a wry tone.

  “Of course.” He gave her a smug smile, applied the protection with swift, practiced moves. Then he lifted a brow at her, a trace of seriousness mixing in with the lighthearted banter. “I assume you’ve seen small and medium and can tell the difference?”

  An answering smile tugged at her mouth. “If that’s your way of making sure you’re not my first lover, the answer is yes. I had experienced that part of the male anatomy even before our first encounter in the boardroom. And…” She drew out the moment, darted a meaningful glance at his groin. “…That’s definitely large. Perhaps even extra large. But, as you know, I’ve already proved that I can handle you.”

  “Good. Then I don’t have to worry about going slow.” In a flurry of movement, he jumped up to his feet, scooped her into his arms, and swung her toward the couch.

  She emitted a small cry of alarm as the dark corners of the office and the night shadows outside spun in a wild circle around her. Laughing, he cradled her high against his chest and carried her to the couch. He lowered her onto it, and settled his big body over her, caging her down against the cushioned surface of the sectional seating.

  She felt surrounded by him, by his heat, by his strength, by his scent. Even now, a faint trace of engine oil, of leather and speed and danger clung to him, perhaps from leaning against the race car during the filming. As his legs slid between hers and nudged them apart, a wild need for him soared inside her. She wanted to scream it out, wanted to have the corridor echo with the sound.

  But, instead, she merely said, “Then don’t go slow.”

  Bracing up on his elbows, Nicked got into position and pushed into her, easing his way in stages until he was fully embedded within her. And then he stopped. She lifted her hips to meet his, her whole body trembling with a violent, aching want. He must have sensed the tremors that shook her, but even then he didn’t move. Instead he lowered his mouth to hers in an exquisitely tender kiss.

  “It’s not a race, Crimson,” he said. “Not this time.”

  He scattered kisses on her face, on her eyelids, her cheeks, the tip of her chin, the side of her neck, the curve of her shoulder, and everywhere in between. She buried her fingers in his hair, holding on to him, not wanting the moment to end but yet wanting something more, wanting what he hadn’t given her yet.

  Pausing, Nick raised his head to look into her face. By now, Crimson’s eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and she could make out his features. His eyes, the dark eyes that always seemed so impenetrable, now appeared full of questions. For a moment, she thought he was going to say something, perhaps ask something, but then he brought his mouth back to hers for another deep, hungry kiss that enflamed the need inside her.

  And then he began to move within her, gentle and fierce at the same time, pushing her to take more of him while he cradled her in his safe embrace. She could not think, could only feel. The raw, volatile emotions that soared between them swept her along, as if she no longer had a separate identity, could no longer exist without him.

  When the waves of completion broke over them, in perfect rhythm, perfect timing, she had to force herself not to speak out loud the words that her heart was beating against her ribs. Instead, she wrapped her arms and legs tight around him, buried her face in the crook of his shoulder, and gloried in the feel of his body pulsing in unison with hers.

  ****

  Nick lay wedged against Crimson on the narrow couch. An hour ago, he’d called himself a million kinds of fool for having only slipped one condom into his pocket, but in truth he was enjoying just holding her, dozing and talking.

  “Have you ever been in a serious relationship before?” he asked.

  She gave him a comical scowl. “You mean this is a serious relationship?”

  She’d been doing it all night, he’d noticed. Sending him a message that she was not expecting anything, demanding a commitment. He wasn’t quite sure why the idea sent a tug of irritation twisting in his gut. No commitment was good, right? Any man’s dream, sex without expectations. He tucked the dinner jacket more securely around her shoulders and kissed the tip of her nose. “Okay, delete before. Have you ever had anyone important in your life? I told you about my past, and sharing confidences is a two-way street.”

  He watched in fascination as Crimson grabbed a handful of her hair and used the ends to tickle his naked chest. “I had a big crush in ballet school,” she told him, protesting when he tried
to slap her hand away. “He joined a dance company in Canada and we lost touch. Since then, nothing major. It’s difficult on tour. You never stay long enough in one place. If you date civilians, it’s like a string of holiday romances. If you date other dancers, you know things may get awkward if you break up and they start dating one of your friends.”

  “Real little femme fatale, aren’t you? A lover in every town.”

  “In some of them. Rio is always good. And Paris…and Tokyo…and—”

  He silenced her with a kiss. Just as he was getting into the spirit of things, his hand sliding up to cup her breast, his mind busy considering the best ways to enjoy each other without the benefit of protection, a massive crash rattled the windows, making them both jump. Instinctively, he threw his body over hers as a protective barrier, but there was no debris flying through the air.

  “What the hell was that?” Nick asked as he scrambled up and hastily dressed in the formal dinner suit, wishing he hadn’t left his jeans down in the showroom.

  “I don’t know.” Crimson got up, hurried out to her office. She returned wearing a pair of snug cotton pants and carrying a pink sweatshirt and pants. She tugged the garments on. “Sounded like someone drove at full speed into the building.”

  “Let’s go and take a look. Bring your phone, and don’t forget your inhaler.”

  Nick led the way down the stairs, turning on the lights as they proceeded. In the lobby, he paused to peer out through the main entrance. Nothing unusual in the parking lot, but an edgy sense of danger niggled in his gut. The wind had picked up, howling around the corners of the building. Autumn arriving with a vengeance.

  They jogged down the glass walkway toward the factory, past the silent row of racing cars. No glow of flames through the windows, Nick noted with relief. The canteen was equally peaceful. He shouldered his way through the swinging double doors to the lobby and then into the production hall. Orderly rows of equipment and half finished vehicles stood in the shadows. He snapped on the ceiling lights, blinked against the brightness. Everything seemed fine.

  “Nothing here. Let’s check the other way.” He pulled Crimson back by her arm and swung past her, edging ahead, first in the line of fire, should there be some kind of a threat. They returned to the dark walkway and took the left fork toward the showroom.

  Nick pushed the door open. He knew something was wrong even before the lights came on. Instinct of a dozen car crashes had imprinted on his brain the smell of twisted metal, the vapors of spilled gasoline. Although the brand new Panthers had never been on the road, each had a liter or two in the tank, allowing the engines to be started and the cars moved easily around the floor.

  “Dear God,” he whispered when light fell on the carnage.

  The cables had snapped at one end of the plate of reinforced glass that held the antique Spur in the air. The platform had swung down in a great arc, smashing two of the five brand new Panthers waiting to be collected by their new owners. The other three Panthers appeared intact but probably had some damage to the bodywork.

  Beside him, Nick could hear Crimson gasp. “Oh my God…how…”

  He curled his hand over her elbow to halt her. “Don’t go inside. We don’t know if the remaining pair of cables is sound. They too could snap, and the whole thing could come crashing down.”

  Crimson craned her neck, surveying the destruction in the showroom in fascinated horror, but Nick noticed that she had already turned on her phone. “Call Hank,” he ordered. “He’ll get people out to take the Spur down safely. It’s lucky both cables went at the same time so the platform didn’t tip sideways. The glass is shatterproof and the car is bolted onto the base, so the Spur will be fine, as long as we bring it down carefully.”

  Outside the showroom, the night security guard came up running. Nick roared out a warning, caught the man’s attention. It was the short, burly one, the guy on steroids he’d spoken to before. Nick gestured, making a big circle in the air. Go around to the front entrance. The guard waved his hand to confirm his understanding and set off walking into the night.

  “We work our butts off to make enough profit but we keep getting hammered with bad luck,” Crimson said in angry mutter as she continued to study the wreckage.

  “Bad luck?” Nick frowned at her, relief mixing with his distress. “This is bloody good luck. It’s just money. A couple of Panthers that need rebuilding. Do you realize that if we hadn’t been filming here last night, the vintage racing cars would have been beneath the Spur? They are irreplaceable. A piece of history. This is just a hassle. An inconvenience.”

  They made the call to Hank, getting him out of bed. Next, they used the plastic chairs from the cafeteria, and coils of rope from the factory, to make a barrier to keep people away from the showroom in the morning. While they were busy stringing the ropes between the chairs, the night security guard hurried in through the walkway from the office block.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  Nick shot him an irritable glance. The man was a trained professional, and he had peered in through the glass wall. It should have been bloody obvious to him what was wrong, but perhaps it had been difficult to see into the showroom from the darkness outside.

  “The cables holding up the car on the glass platform have snapped,” Nick informed him, impatience in his voice. He pointed at another coil of rope on a chair. “Can you take that, and a couple of these plastic chairs from the cafeteria, and put up a barricade outside the rear entrance, to make sure nobody tries to get in that way?”

  “Sure,” the man replied, but he didn’t leave at once. He merely stood watching them, his hazel eyes narrowed, his puffed face in a scowl as he stared at Crimson, who was busily darting about in her pink sweats, her hair flowing free around her shoulders.

  Nick suppressed the sharp remark that sprung to his lips. That’s not a way I want you looking at my girlfriend, he was about to say, but then he caught the man’s expression. It was not lustful, or even admiring, but shifty and malevolent. A second later, the guard swung his attention around and looked at Nick in the same way, full of resentment.

  Puzzled, Nick returned the man’s angry glare. It couldn’t be that he had a complaint about his pay or benefits. They didn’t employ him, the security company did. Finally, the guard spun on his booted heels and marched off, and Nick brushed aside his thoughts. The young man was probably the envious type and nursed a grudge against anyone who was richer or better looking or more successful than him.

  With help from Crimson, Nick finished the barricade and put up a warning sign. Through the glass, in the light spilling out, they saw the guard erect a similar rope barrier outside. Then he called out to catch their attention, pointed at his watch, made a spinning motion with his forefinger to indicate that he was setting off to complete his usual surveillance round, and disappeared out of sight.

  Twenty minutes later, Hank came in and took charge as the factory crew started to arrive. In two hours, they had a team of dozen men clearing the showroom in preparation for taking down the glass platform and the antique vehicle still attached to it.

  “Go home,” Hank told Nick. “You’ve been up thirty-six hours solid and you’re jet lagged.

  Swamped with fatigue, Nick lacked the strength to argue. He didn’t feel in a fit state to get behind the wheel, so they asked one of the mechanics to drive them out to Longwood Hall.

  Inside the house, he halted at the bottom of the curving staircase. Despite his exhaustion, he managed a rueful smile at Crimson. “I’d love to wake up beside you in the morning, but I’m too tired to deal with the hassle of sorting out revised sleeping arrangements tonight.”

  He saw Crimson’s eyes widen as she caught on to his meaning—that unless they wanted to sneak around in the night, they would have to deal with a pair of nosy mothers.

  “Of course,” she hurried to reply. “It needs careful planning to…minimize the disruption.”

  They shared a conspiratorial grin. The small sign of mutu
al understanding completed what would have been a perfect evening, if it hadn’t been for the accident with the Spur.

  Nick followed Crimson upstairs, gave her a quick goodnight kiss and went alone into his bedroom, where he stripped naked and crawled between the sheets. His last thought before he drifted off to sleep was that tomorrow Crimson would have to learn the true extent of their problems.

  Statistically, two accidents were unlikely.

  And insurance companies lived by statistics.

  ****

  If Crimson hadn’t been so full of anxiety, she would have enjoyed the noisy breakfast in the formal dining room. The maids, Judy and Martha, bustled about, stacking the heated buffet with dishes that released tempting aromas. Judy, always on the lookout for a potential mate, was making eyes at Todd. Kathy wore a vintage David Cassidy T-shirt, which set her and Martha giggling about their teenage crush on the seventies pop star.

  Outside, a light autumn mist wreathed the landscape, casting a white veil over the green lawns and the tall trees that were turning into vivid hues of red and gold. Nick had informed the film crew about the accident in the showroom, but he had downplayed the damage, making it sound a minor mishap, and it didn’t dampen the rowdy atmosphere.

  Todd glanced at his watch. “Crimson, are you coming with us?”

  “Damn. I’d forgotten.” She turned to Nick who sat at the head of the table, looking tired but freshly shaven and utterly handsome. “I’ve arranged to go down to the film school, to select footage for the final cut and approve the computer generated images.”

  “Go,” Nick said. “I have things under control here.”

  She studied him, as she had done covertly all morning. Memories tingled on her skin, curled in her belly. Had she really…? Had they really…? She felt a blush rise on her skin and closed her mind against the mental images.