Dance with Me

by Alexis Daria

  Both times, she’d been broke and in desperate need of paid work. Dance work. Because it didn’t count if she wasn’t making a living off being a dancer.

  In light of the things she’d done to stick to that goal, that argument was starting to seem more and more ridiculous.

  Renee stretched out her long legs and leaned back on her elbows. Her enormous, round breasts strained the stretchy fabric of her turquoise top. “I told Jeff I was covering these classes for you. He says hi.”

  Jeff, one of the nicest bosses Natasha had ever had. “Thanks. Tell him hi for me.”

  “You could tell him yourself.” Renee rummaged in her purse and pulled out a postcard. “They finally let me produce the burlesque show I’ve been wanting to do for years. You should come by tonight. It’ll be fun.”

  Natasha took the card and dropped it when Dimitri strode into the room.

  “Where are we going tonight?” he asked, grinning at both of them. “Hi, I’m Dimitri.”

  Coño. Why hadn’t he stayed in the car?

  Renee sent him a sultry smile from the floor. It wasn’t meant for him, Natasha knew. It was the only way Renee knew how to smile.

  Dimitri reached down to shake the hand Renee offered, then stooped to pick up the card.

  “Are we going to a show tonight, Tash?” he asked.

  “Um . . .” She glanced at Renee, who wore her usual unreadable, slightly amused expression. Full lips curved, bedroom eyes cold.

  Natasha bit her lip, waiting for Dimitri to react. His brow creased as he read the card. “Babe Planet?”

  “It’s the name of the venue,” Renee offered. “I’m doing a burlesque show tonight. You both should come.”

  He flipped the card over and glanced at the back. “What do you say, Tasha?”

  He raised an eyebrow at her, but she couldn’t read his expression either. Was he curious? Judgmental? Turned on?

  She looked to Renee, who still wore her cat-with-cream smile. No help from that quarter.

  Natasha’s fluttering nerves picked up the pace. As much as she wanted to yell “No!” and hustle Dimitri out of the room, something else was bubbling up inside her.

  The urge to tell him the truth.

  Sharing with him on the drive here had left her feeling lighter. She had so many secrets. She was unburdening them on him, one by one.

  What was one more?

  Besides, she didn’t want to hurt Renee’s feelings. And Renee was an excellent dancer.

  “Sure, let’s go,” she said.

  Dimitri turned to Renee. “Starts at nine?”

  “Yes.” Renee took the hand Dimitri gave her and rose to her feet. After he helped Natasha up and she was balanced on the crutches, Renee leaned in and kissed Natasha on the cheek, leaving behind the scent of rosewater.

  “See you later.” Another wink.

  Dimitri led the way out of the room, winding around the poles, and making sure the door was open wide enough for Natasha to get through easily. Once they were in the hallway, she shot him a dark look.

  “You were supposed to stay in the car.”

  “I found a parking spot.” He lowered his voice. “What, I’m not allowed to take a piss?”

  She huffed. “How did you even get in?”

  “The lovely woman at the front desk is a fan.”

  Sure enough, on the way out, the lady behind the desk grinned and waved. “Bye, Mr. Kovalenko!” she called out.

  Dimitri sent her a charming smile, waved back, and opened the door for Natasha to exit the gym.

  Natasha kept her mouth shut as they got in the car and back on the freeway. By some miracle, he hadn’t peppered her with questions yet, but he had to have figured it out. After meeting Renee, seeing that card, and . . . shit, had she ever said Renee was a former coworker?

  As her mind searched for ways to lie or get out of telling him the whole story, her heart settled into a decision.

  She would tell him. The truth. It was a secret she’d kept for years, but she wanted to talk about it with someone. No, more than that, she wanted to talk about it with him. Maybe he would understand. Maybe he wouldn’t judge her.

  He wasn’t her mother.

  When she’d first met him, she equated Esmeralda and Dimitri in her head, with her need for validation. If she couldn’t get it from her mother, maybe she could get it from him, the guy who expected the best and was notorious for withholding praise. Even when they started sleeping together, it was with that same kind of longing. If the guy who withheld commitment could give her a sign that this was more than just a fling . . .

  He’d given her a sign. He’d said he loved her.

  What if he meant it?

  Her mother never said it. But Dimitri wasn’t her mother. Nothing like her, in fact. He was a natural caretaker, concerned about everyone around him. His family, his restaurant, her.

  What if he did love her? What did that even mean? She had so little experience with it, she didn’t even know. Did he love having sex with her? Having her in his home? Her cooking? What were all the little things that added up the bigger emotion of love?

  Her heart pointed the way to the people who loved her, and showed their love. It was a short list. Abuela. Gina. Maybe Kevin and Lori, in their own, friend-love way.

  Abuela had been there for her until the day she died. She took care of her, made sure she was clean and fed, but more than that, she listened. She valued Natasha’s feelings, and gave her space to vent and explore them.

  Dimitri did that. The night she’d broken down in his bathroom, he’d held her and listened.

  And Gina. Gina had been taking care of her every step of the way since they’d met at fourteen years old. When Gina had applied for colleges and scholarships, she’d gotten extra copies and made sure Natasha filled them out, too. When they were in Los Angeles, Gina lined up auditions for both of them. It had never been a competition between them. Everything they did, they did together. Gina had never left her behind.

  Even now, Gina had offered to pay her half of the rent until the lease was up. She hadn’t left Natasha in the lurch. But at the time, Natasha had stubbornly wanted to prove she could do it herself.

  Who was she proving this to? Her mother? Gina? Herself?

  If Gina had been here, she would have done everything Dimitri had done at the hospital. Badgered the doctors, taken notes on healing and recovery, and made a schedule for Natasha’s meds, ice packs, and physical therapy.

  Dimitri had done all of that. He’d called her friends so she wouldn’t be alone. Picked up her glasses so she wouldn’t be stuck in contacts all day. Carried and drove her around.

  What did it all mean? Was that love? Was that what it amounted to—listening and caring?

  “You’re thinking a lot over there.”

  She blinked, checking the signs out the window. They were almost home.

  Home. Dimitri’s home.

  She rubbed her eyes, suddenly dry and hot, and reached into her bag for eye drops. “Got a lot on my mind.”

  He made a noise of assent in the back of his throat. “Anything you want to share?”

  She used the eye drops as distraction, squeezing them into her eyes and wiping away the tear trails they made on her cheeks. A month ago, Dimitri would have demanded she tell him. Now, he asked her to share.

  A month ago, she would have declined.

  “Yeah, actually. I do. After we get home.”

  Home. A hot flush crept over her skin. There was that word again.

  “We’re almost there,” he said.

  The heat spread. She had an idea.

  28

  The questions were eating away at him. Between Little Lilac and the pole dancing classroom—and the woman he strongly suspected was a stripper—he’d learned a lot about Natasha today, seen other parts of her life that intrigued him, and he wanted to bombard her with inquiries until he knew everything there was to know about her.

  But as antsy as her mysteries made him, he couldn’t d
emand she spill her secrets. She had to offer them willingly. He had to show her he was worthy of them.

  That meant giving her space, when all he wanted to do was wrap her in his arms and beg her to tell him everything.

  For the past three years, he’d made the first move every time, because he wanted her. But all it had ever been between them was sex, because he was scared to ask for more.

  What if she felt the same way?

  And okay, he’d been scared to offer more. The last time he had, he’d been laughed at. No sense making a move until he was sure of the result.

  Right?

  It had been his guiding principle in business and relationships for many years. He didn’t know how to put his heart, or his business rep, on the line. He couldn’t chance failing. He couldn’t chance losing everything he’d worked for.

  He’d lost everything once. While he was grateful to his family for making the choice, moving to America had left a mark on him. The stress and fear of that time never really went away, carried in his blood and in his bones.

  But if he wanted this to work, he had to trust Natasha. He had to show her she was safe. Even if it left him feeling unsteady.

  Once they were in the house, he stopped at the kitchen doorway to suggest they make coffee or a snack, but she kept going on her crutches, through the living room to the sliding glass doors.

  “Where are you going?”

  She shot him a shy look over her shoulder. “It’s hot out. I was thinking it would be nice to use the pool.”

  “Okay . . .”

  When she struggled to unlatch the sliding doors, he rushed to help her, but she got them undone and was out before he could reach her.

  “Tasha?” He followed her to the long, rectangular in-ground pool. She perched on the edge of a lounge chair and set down her crutches. He was about to offer to go back inside for her swimsuit, when she said, “Can you pass me the sunscreen?”

  “Ah, yeah.” He looked around, then grabbed the spray-on sunscreen from the basket of pool supplies by the patio table.

  He walked over to hand it to her and nearly swallowed his tongue when she pulled her thin white t-shirt over her head and tossed it aside on the chair. He didn’t say a word when she reached behind her and unclipped the lacy bra, releasing her soft, round breasts with their dark, puckered points, or when she dropped her hands and undid the button and zipper of her denim shorts and slid them—and her panties—down her long, shapely legs.

  He couldn’t. He was speechless. Here she was, stripping off her clothes in his backyard in the middle of the day, like it was no big deal.

  Thank god he had high fences and foliage, so the neighbors couldn’t see.

  She gave him an expectant look and held out her hand. “Well?”

  He swallowed hard. “Well what?”

  “The sunscreen?”

  “Oh. Right.” He handed her the spray. She used it all over her body, spraying first, then rubbing it into her skin with brisk strokes of her palms. When she got to her ankle, she propped it on the lounger and unwrapped it, using more care as she smoothed the sunscreen over her right foot and leg. The bruising had lightened to a greenish-yellow, and barely showed against her tawny skin.

  When she sat up again, she met his eyes and shrugged. “Tan lines.” Then she flipped over onto her stomach, giving him a great view of her tight ass, and stretched out on the lounge chair. Raising her eyebrows, she held the spray can out to him.

  “Do my back?”

  The innocent tone wasn’t fooling him.

  “Goddamn tease,” he growled, snatching the sunscreen away from her and swatting her butt. When she laughed, he sprayed it all over her back and ass and rubbed it in vigorously. “For the record, I know what you’re trying to do.”

  “Do you?” She sat up to twist her hair into a knot, looking for all the world like a goddess or a nymph about to bathe in a secret, sacred lake. She was all lithe, lean limbs and graceful movements. Her eyes, when her gaze flicked over to him, held the secrets of the Universe, and the smirk playing on her wide mouth urged him to drop to his knees in worship.

  “Uh, yes. I do.” What had he been saying? Oh, right. “You’re trying to distract me.”

  “I’m not. Well, maybe a little.” She picked up one crutch and used it to get to her feet. They were standing a few inches apart, and he was wearing sweats, which did nothing to hide his erection. She glanced down, then patted his cheek. “Just trying to make an uncomfortable conversation a little more fun.”

  He sighed. “I can’t let you use the crutches near the pool. It isn’t safe. Hold on.”

  Moving quickly, he tossed aside his fitted cap—Mets, of course—and stripped out of his clothes. When he was naked, he reached for her, but she held up the can of sunscreen.

  “Safety first.” She sent him a smile full of heat.

  Growling a string of his favorite Russian curses, he sprayed his body and threw the can onto the chair. He had a condom in his wallet, but he’d climb out of the pool to get it if it came to that. “That’s enough. I need to cool down.”

  She eyed his cock appreciatively and then had the nerve—the nerve—to lick her lips. “I see.”

  He scooped her up, their sunscreen-covered bodies sliding against each other, hot and slick. “Woman, if it weren’t for your ankle, I’d toss you right into the deep end.”

  She locked her arms around his neck, pressing her luscious breasts against him in the process. “Don’t you dare. I just straightened my hair this morning.”

  He knew, because he’d watched her do it. She’d sat on the stepladder in his bathroom with no fewer than three heating devices and a collection of bottles, converting her mane of long dark spirals into a smooth fall of waves.

  When she was done, he’d run his fingers over it and said, “You’re always beautiful, but I like your real hair.” In the mirror, her reflection had grinned and her face flushed at the compliment.

  He carried her over to the pool and carefully navigated the steps into the shallow end. She sucked in a breath when her ass hit the water first, then sighed when her body was submerged.

  “Feels good,” she murmured.

  He tightened his arms around her. “Yeah.”

  Rolling her eyes, she pushed off from his shoulders and swam a few feet away, leaving him hard and aching in water up to his chest.

  “Careful with your ankle,” he said, as she frolicked and slid through the water like a mermaid, her body a dark, lean column against the blue, and the light from the sun sparkling on her wet skin.

  Instead of following her, he reached down and gripped the base of his cock in a tight grip.

  She swam back and forth, long arms cutting through the water in a modified breaststroke, then stopped when she saw him. “Are you jerking off over there?”

  “No, but I should.” He gave his cock another squeeze and groaned, wishing it was her hand on him. “Then I’ll be able to focus.”

  She stopped in front of him, treading water. “You want to know about Renee.”

  He did, but that was before Natasha’s wet, naked body was within arm’s reach. The water played with her image, distorting her curves. She was like a siren, calling him beneath the waves.

  “Dimitri.”

  “Yeah?”

  She laughed and put her arms around his neck, bringing their bodies together. Under the smells of chlorine and sunscreen, he caught the sweet scent of figs. Her flat belly pressed against his cock, pushing it up between them, and he groaned again. Unable to resist her, he cupped her butt and squeezed.

  “You want this?” he asked, pulling her closer.

  “Yeah.” She tilted her head and her lips parted, ready for his kiss. But now it was his turn to tease.

  “What did it? Watching me with the kids this morning got you ovulating?”

  She splashed him, right in the face. He hadn’t seen it coming, although he should have, after a joke like that, and water went in his eyes and mouth. He tried to pinch
her butt, but she was too quick, too slick, and she slipped away.

  Wiping water out of his eyes, he grumbled, “You’re going to pay for that.”

  She was over by the side of the pool now, near the stairs that led out. Stretching her arms out to grip the edge behind her, she gave him a wicked grin and spread her legs under the water. “Then get over here and make me pay.”

  He dove under the water and swam along the bottom of the pool with quick, strong strokes until he was below her. On his way back up, he pressed his face between her legs, nuzzling her spread-open pussy with his lips, before he came out of the water for air.

  Her head was tipped back, resting against the edge of the pool, and she was gasping.

  “You’ve done it,” he told her, grasping her waist. “Congratulations. You’ve effectively distracted me.”

  “Good,” she said, panting. “Now fuck me.”

  With a groan, he hauled himself out of the pool and lunged for his pants, which were just out of reach. With wet, shaking hands, he yanked his wallet out of the back pocket, probably ruining the leather in the process, and pulled out a condom. He ripped it open, slipped it on, then slid back to the pool across the wet tiles. When he jumped back in, he splashed her a little.

  “Sorry,” he muttered. “Your hair was already wet.” Then he positioned himself at her waiting pussy and slid right in.

  They both groaned, and he kissed her hard.

  “How do you want it?” he whispered in her ear, reaching for her hands and gripping them tight.

  “How we always do it. Hard and fast.”

  This wasn’t what he wanted. It wasn’t how he’d planned to show her how much he loved and cherished her. But with her body clamped tight and hot around him, her breasts bobbing in the water and sunshine caressing her pointed nipples, he couldn’t resist her.

  If this was how she’d give herself to him, he’d take it.

  Slipping an arm around her back to protect her skin from the wall, he gripped the edge of the pool with his other hand for leverage, and gave it to her exactly how she’d asked for it. Hard and fast.

  She locked those long legs around his hips, rocking against him as he pounded into her. Water splashed around them, and the sun beat down on his back and shoulders.