Dance with Me

by Alexis Daria

  Falling into her mouth, surrounded by the sweetness of figs and ginger, was like coming home. She was soft, and hot, and her tongue went after his in a way that made him groan. He slid his hands down to cup her ass, pulling her flush against him and rocking his hips side to side to press his hardening cock against her.

  She moaned into his mouth, wrapping her arms around him and sliding one leg up, like she’d climb him if she could.

  Tempting as it was to take her here on the rented desk, it probably wasn’t the most professional move.

  “Come home with me,” he whispered against her neck.

  “You missed me?”

  “Hell yes.” He kissed her again, sinking into the lush heat of her mouth, filling his hands with her strong, lean curves. Then he pulled back. “So, wait, you’re accepting me, but what about the job?”

  She laughed and leaned into him. “Yes, Dimitri. I want the job. It sounds fantastic.”

  “Okay, I just want to make sure you don’t think I’m just giving it to you because I want you to come home—my home, I mean. As my girlfriend. Fuck, I hate that word. My woman.”

  “That’s not much better, but I like it.”

  “You know what I mean. I don’t want you to think you’re not successful. I know that’s important to you.”

  She touched her lips to his in a long, slow kiss before she spoke again. “I’m quitting The Dance Off, too. Success is however you define it. Can’t live your life trying to please others.”

  He nodded. “Good. I agree.” He slipped a hand between her legs and rubbed gently. “But I can spend it trying to please you.”

  She moaned and clutched his shirt. “Don’t start shit you can’t finish.”

  Dimitri glanced at the desk again. Fuck it.

  “Get on the desk,” he said.

  Her eyes lit up, and she obeyed, perching her ass on the edge.

  He left her side only long enough to lock the door.

  48

  The look on Donna’s face made up for all the stress Natasha had endured over the past few weeks. The whites of her eyes were visible all around, and her lips parted when her jaw fell slack. She blinked hard and gave her head a little shake. “I’m sorry, what?”

  Pressing her lips together to hold back a smile, Natasha repeated the words she’d been itching to say. “I quit.”

  God, that felt so fucking good. It took all her control not to add “pendeja” to the end, but losing her temper might screw up Penelope’s plans for getting her out of her contract.

  “No.” Donna scowled. “You can’t quit.”

  Penelope cut in. “The way you’ve treated Natasha falls under harassment, and she’s the second client of mine you’ve harassed in the past few months. Don’t think I’ve forgotten what you did to Gina.” Penelope consulted her tablet. “In this case, we have threats, showing up at my client’s place of residence—”

  “Hold on.” Donna leaned over her desk and held up a finger. “Technically, I encountered Natasha at a different cast member’s residence.” Her voice was forceful, but her eyes showed fear.

  Penelope shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. Natasha was currently residing there. And this was after you’d first gone to her home address and didn’t find her there, which could constitute stalking.”

  “Stalking?” Donna fell back in her chair. “I wasn’t stalking her. I’d heard she was injured.”

  “There’s a thing called a phone. And when you didn’t find her, you then tracked her down. Suspicious. Were you working on your own or under orders from your higher ups?” Penelope sent Donna a bland smile. “Just want to see who will be involved in the lawsuit.”

  Donna’s eyes went wide, then her brows snapped down. She met Natasha’s gaze with an angry glare. “This isn’t necessary. You want to date the hot judge? Fine. Just keep it quiet, and you can stay on the show.”

  Natasha smiled. “I do want to date Dimitri, but I don’t want to hide it. And I don’t want to stay. Oh, and neither does he.”

  Donna’s olive complexion paled. “You’re both quitting?”

  Nodding, Natasha folded her hands in her lap. Check and mate. “Your behavior in this meeting will determine how Dimitri breaks the news to Muriel.”

  Donna licked her lips, a sign of nerves. “Natasha, they’ll kill me if we lose Gina, you, and Dimitri before the next season. We’re only a few weeks out, and Kevin—” She snapped her mouth shut.

  Ignoring the comment about Kevin—she’d ask him about it later—Natasha leaned forward in her chair, pinning Donna with a hard look. “You want me to stay. Why? So you can sabotage my relationship with Dimitri by pairing me with Rocky Lim?”

  The expression on Donna’s face said it all. Natasha sat back.

  “Yeah, I heard about Rocky. You’re not as slick as you like to think.”

  Penelope got to her feet and slipped her purse strap over her shoulder. “Well, I think we’re done here. Donna, you’ll accept Natasha’s resignation?”

  Staring at her desk, Donna nodded. Penelope left the tiny office.

  Natasha stood, then hesitated. Donna looked pitiful, but it was her own doing. She couldn’t resist a parting shot. “You don’t have to be as awful as you are.”

  Donna didn’t move, but her gaze lifted to meet Natasha’s. “Actually, I do,” she said in a hollow voice. “Don’t you understand this industry at all?”

  All too well. “Bye, Donna. It’s been real.” She turned to leave. She was halfway out the door when Donna spoke again.

  “You could’ve won this season.”

  Natasha turned back. “You can’t know that.”

  Donna made a sour face. “Of course I can. I know who everyone is paired with, and I understand this show inside and out. Better than anyone. You and Rocky would have made it to the finals, and won.”

  Natasha let that sink in for a moment, to see if she cared. Huh. She didn’t.

  “Oh well.” She left.

  Penelope waited for her in the hallway. She held up her palm, and Natasha gave her a high five.

  “Glad we got you out of here,” Penelope said. “This place is toxic.”

  “Don’t I know it.” Natasha rolled her shoulders, relishing the feeling of freedom.

  For once, she had options, and she was making choices based on what she wanted, rather than out of desperation. Living and working with Dimitri would be a challenge, but the good kind. Dom Navsegda spoke to her, and she already had thoughts on how they could bring more of the concepts in his Idea Book to life. When she’d told him about her plan to combine classical and modern styles of dance, with the eventual goal of using it to teach high school students, his face had lit up, and he’d shot off a text to Alex about starting a nonprofit organization to make it happen. Then he’d calmed down, apologized for jumping ahead, and asked if she wanted his help.

  “Ready to head to the airport?” Penelope checked her phone. “Doesn’t look like traffic’s too terrible.”

  “Let’s go.”

  Penelope dropped Natasha off at LAX, where Dimitri waited with her suitcase.

  “How’d it go?” He dropped a kiss onto her lips, then tapped the logo of the Yankees cap she wore. His own hat bore the Mets logo.

  A few tourists watched them, and at least one raised a phone, but for once, Natasha didn’t care.

  “Perfectamente.” She grinned up at him. “Penelope scared the shit out of her.”

  “Good.” He put an arm around her and steered her toward the security line. “Speaking of scary . . . ready to meet my mother?”

  She glared at him. “You told me she’s nice!”

  He laughed and gave her a squeeze. “I’m kidding. She’d the nicest lady you’ll ever meet.”

  “Nicer than my mom, that’s for sure,” she muttered.

  Dimitri grew serious. “You sure you don’t want to visit her?”

  “I’m sure.” Then she scrunched her eyes shut. “God, she’s going to be so pissed that I quit.”

 
“Do you care?” he asked softly.

  She opened her eyes. “I don’t know. A little? Not as much as I used to. I know quitting is the best move for me—for both of us—and Dom Navsegda is going to be amazing. But I’m still conditioned to wonder what she’ll think about everything I do.”

  “It’ll take time to get past it,” he agreed. “But I’ll help.”

  She gave him a wary look. “How?”

  “I’ll let you know when you’re being ridiculous.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Thanks, Macho.”

  “Anytime, Kroshka.” He kissed the crown of her head, then pulled out his ID as they approached the TSA agent.

  Natasha tried not to worry during the flight, but she couldn’t help herself. By the time they landed at Newark Airport, she was a mess of nerves.

  “What if she doesn’t like me?” she whispered to him in the backseat of the taxi. “What if she doesn’t think I’m good enough for you?”

  “You’re being ridiculous,” he told her in a mild voice. “Again. That’s the fifth time you’ve asked me.”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  “It is. I’ve been keeping count.”

  She scowled, then wiped it from her face as the cab rolled to a stop.

  “Relax. She’s going to love you. Just like I do.” He kissed her before opening the door and climbing out.

  The corners of her mouth tugged upward in a smile. Hearing that he loved her never got old.

  Natasha had expected to have a moment to collect herself before meeting Oksana Kovalenko, but Dimitri’s mother awaited them on the curb in front of Alex’s house, flanked by Alex, his wife, Marina, and Dimitri’s dad, Misha.

  Oksana, a former dancer, was still lean and willowy, with perfect posture. And fast. She swooped in the second Natasha was out of the car.

  “There you are!” She went to throw her arms around Natasha, then froze. “Can I hug you? I feel like I already know you.”

  Natasha laughed, a combination of nerves and giddiness. Had anyone ever been this excited to see her? Gina, Abuela . . . it was a short list. “Of course you can hug me,” she said, and Oksana clasped her in a tight bear hug.

  Natasha shut her eyes, inhaling. Oksana smelled like sweet perfume. Maybe jasmine. But her hug . . . her hug felt motherly.

  Coño, she was going to cry if she didn’t get hold of herself. She’d have to blame it on jetlag.

  Oksana pulled back, but didn’t release her. “Natasha,” she said. “I’m glad to finally meet you.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Kovalenko.”

  “No, no!” Oksana pressed a hand to her chest, scandalized. “Shusha. You must call me Shusha.”

  Shusha? Natasha met Dimitri’s eyes, and he leaned in to explain. “It’s a nickname for Oksana.”

  “Ah. Like Dima or Mitya for Dimitri?”

  He nodded. “We never use full names with family.”

  “That’s okay. Puerto Ricans love nicknames, too.” Her great-grandfather had called her Nati until the day he died. Funny, she hadn’t thought about that in years.

  Oksana slid an arm around Natasha’s waist and walked her toward the house. “And what do you call Mitya?”

  “I call him Macho.”

  Oksana let out a peal of laughter. “Perfect. And you, I’ll call you Natka, if you’ll let me.”

  Did that mean she was part of the family? Natasha’s cheeks warmed as she smiled at Oksana. “I’d like that,” she said.

  Inside the house, Dimitri made the rest of the introductions. Natasha had met Alex already, but she congratulated Marina, whose baby bump wasn’t showing yet, and hugged Dimitri’s father, who spoke less than his wife but smiled just as much.

  These were the people who’d raised Dimitri, who’d given up everything to take their sons somewhere safer, more stable, and with more opportunities. Their love had shaped Dimitri into the man he was today, a man who was by turns stubborn and sweet, creative and cocky, but so, so loving.

  Natasha finally had a moment to breathe when she and Dimitri took their bags up to the guest room.

  “They’re a lot to take in,” he said in a low voice as he set their suitcases in one corner of the room. And embroidered quilt covered the bed, and a print of the Eiffel Tower hung on the wall.

  “I like them.” Natasha dropped her purse on the dresser and sat on the edge of the bed to catch her bearings. “They’re nice people.”

  “I think so.” Dimitri hung the garment bag they shared in the closet.

  Natasha traced the embroidered designs with her fingers. “Macho?”

  Something in her tone must have given her away, because he stopped fiddling with the luggage and sat next to her on the bed. “What is it?” he asked, cupping her cheek. “After that display, you can’t possibly be worried she doesn’t like you.”

  “It’s not that.” Dios, this was difficult. She forced herself to meet his eyes and speak the words that burdened her. “Dimitri. I love you.”

  He stared at her for a second, his warm brown eyes searching her face, and then he kissed her. His mouth pressed hard to hers, tasting of passion, tenderness, and above all, love. The woodsy, green scent of him swirled around her, soothing her nerves. When their lips parted, he rested his forehead against hers and breathed hard.

  “I want to recite poetry to you, or sing, or say something clever or funny, but all I’ve got is, I love you, too.” He squeezed the back of her neck gently and dropped another kiss on her temple. “I love you, too, Kroshka.”

  His words warmed her from the inside out. A feeling of rightness settled over her. Never had she imagined she could feel this way, or that someone would feel like this for her. But she believed him now. He’d shown it in countless ways, big and small. She could no longer deny his love for her, or hers for him.

  She stroked his dark hair away from his face and asked, “What poetry would you recite?”

  He huffed out a breath. “The only one I can think of is by Pushkin, and I’m not saying it.”

  “It’s a love poem?”

  “Yeah. But it ends tragically.”

  “Oh. Well, you’ll have to find another, then.”

  “I will. I promise. Even if I have to write it myself. You’ll have so many sappy love poems filling the house, you won’t know what to do with them.”

  She grinned and stroked the stubble on his cheek. “I look forward to it.”

  Epilogue

  Esmeralda frowned when Natasha showed her around Dimitri’s house, but she didn’t say anything.

  It was the best reaction Natasha could have hoped for, if she was being honest with herself. On some level, she’d hoped her mother would admit she was impressed, but this shouldn’t have surprised her. If anything, it showed her the truth: if her mother couldn’t be surprised by Dimitri’s Beverly Hills home with the three-car garage, swimming pool, and private dance studio—now complete with a pole—then how would she ever have been impressed by Natasha’s little Hollywood apartment?

  Good thing she wasn’t trying for her mother’s validation anymore. The woman had to be impressed, but she was as tight-lipped with her praise as ever.

  Since Esmeralda’s friend hadn’t been able to make it, she’d threatened to cancel the trip, but Dimitri paid for her flight and hotel so she had no excuse not to come.

  In the living room, Natasha let out a sigh of relief at the sound of Dimitri’s SUV rolling up the driveway.

  “Dimitri está aquí,” Natasha said, grabbing her clutch from the chair. “We’re meeting his parents at the studio.”

  Her mother shrugged and slung her bag over her shoulder. “Vamanos.”

  Natasha offered her mother the passenger seat, but Esmeralda refused and sat in the back.

  When Natasha met Dimitri’s eye, a measure of tension eased. He was here. She wasn’t in this alone.

  The ride to the studio was mostly silent. Natasha spoke to Dimitri about logistics—his parents’ hotel room, dinner plans for later at Kras—but her mother didn’
t say a word.

  The punishing silence had been a big part of Natasha’s childhood. When Esmeralda was pissed, she didn’t speak, and often acted like Natasha wasn’t even in the room. For an active child who thrived on company, it had been the worst kind of punishment, and Esmeralda knew it. That she was doing it now meant she was trying to punish Natasha for something.

  And for the first time in her life, Natasha didn’t give a shit.

  Not caring what her mother thought of her, or why she was in a snit, was the most liberating feeling in the world. She should have tried it a lot earlier.

  It was weird attending the premiere as a guest. She and Dimitri had seats right at one of the VIP dinner-club-style tables on the edge of the dance floor, with the other celebrities in attendance, but their families had to sit further back. They’d planned to introduce everyone before arriving at the studio, but Dimitri’s parents’ flight had been delayed.

  Even stranger was how similar it felt to visiting Babe Planet. Maybe it was always weird when you visited a former job after quitting. It might feel the same if she visited Corazón restaurant in the Bronx, where she waitressed when she was a teenager.

  Dimitri leaned in and spoke out of the corner of his mouth. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. Thank you again for arranging everything.”

  “Of course. Nothing makes me happier than taking care of our family.”

  Our family. He’d accepted that Esmeralda was difficult, and had approached her with impersonal good cheer that bordered on dismissive. He didn’t try to charm her, but he also didn’t stoop to her bad mood. It was probably the best approach to take with her mother. If only she’d figured that out years ago.

  Natasha slipped her hand into his and squeezed. Openly touching him at work was also weird, but in a good way. And neither of them worked here anymore. For years, they’d held back, hiding their attraction and affection for each other. But they were consenting adults who—okay, they still worked together, but in a different capacity. They could certainly hold hands in broad daylight.

  They found Dimitri’s parents standing near their table. When Oksana set eyes on Natasha, she rushed forward to kiss her on both cheeks.