The Girl in the Mirror (Sand & Fog #3)

by Susan Ward

  I check my watch. Nine hours, and the stuffiness in the building has me dripping with sweat and ready to drop. Shit, I wish there was a chair somewhere so I could sit as I watch this. But no chair anywhere. Everyone stands except Milo Bassard in his universe.

  My gaze moves to Krystal standing elegantly erect, number pinned to her chest, waiting for instruction having made it through the first four rounds of cuts. Her hair is still perfectly smooth in a ponytail, her body without circles of perspiration, her chin high and her face dainty and beautiful like a character from a fairy tale, though I know by now she’s in pain.

  Every now and again when she thinks no one can see her, a flash of a wince shows on her face. I try to keep away the image of what her feet must look like if the pain is enough to make her facially show it even briefly. The sight of her feet makes my gut wrench—the raw skin and damaged toes—because as painful as they look, I know they feel more painful to her.

  Sometimes I can barely touch her without making her grimace when she needs help tending the injuries left on her body from dancing. The first time I saw her facial muscles go taut as she walked and asked her to take off her shoes, she refused and I thought it cute. To be shy about showing her feet when I’d seen all of her. But it’s not cute. It’s anguishing at times to love her and see the abuse she puts her body through.

  Milo Bassard points at her. “This time only you, Ángel.” Then he turns his back on Krystal, facing the mirror and moving through the choreography as she shadows him so quickly I don’t know how she remembers it. But she always does. Every step, effortless and perfect.

  “Do you think you can manage that?” he says loudly enough for the words to pierce the glass between us. “Or are you going to continue wasting my time?”

  She stares, expressionless, and doesn’t answer.

  His gaze moves slowly, insulting the line of dancers huddled against the far wall. “If you want to be with NBBC you better not dance as poorly as her. I hoped at least two of you today would be worth accepting into the corps. But I don’t think so. I think you will all continue wasting my time like her.”

  My hands are clenched in tight fists before he gets back to his folding chair to watch her. Krystal moves to the music with flawless technique.

  “Stop!” Milo bellows.

  The music cuts and Krystal eases down on her heels.

  “Again.”

  Krystal begins to dance.

  “Stop!” He springs from the chair and brings his face nose to nose with her. “Don’t count in your head. Don’t think of the moves. Feel the moves. Can one of you frigid girls pretend to feel? It’s the difference between moving with the music and moving on the music.”

  He struts away, biting off “Again,” without turning to face her.

  He starts her, then stops it. Over and over again without her making it once through the series of steps. At least I don’t think she’s made it through because even after three years of this my knowledge base of ballet is slim.

  The sound of something crashing causes me to look from Krystal. That prick threw his chair against the wall. Krystal is frozen in the center of the room as he paces around her angrily.

  “When you dance you should entice every man. Not make them want to vomit. I can’t imagine what it must be like fucking you. Are you as timid with men as you are with your own body?”

  The line of her mouth tightens as she struggles not to cry or show any emotion on her face. But she’s crying inside. She’s can’t hide that from me.

  My temper moves to a raging boil. That’s enough of this insanity for me. He’s the most abusive artistic director in New York, a reputation he’s justly earned, and this ends now. She doesn’t need dance enough to have to put up with this.

  I’m almost to the door when Cass hurries from the second window crowded with corps members where’s she been watching since she received word of being accepted by NBBC four hours ago.

  She stops me with a hand. “No, Jacob. You bust in there now and she’ll never forgive you. This is good. He’s testing her limits. He wouldn’t keep her dancing alone this long if he wasn’t thinking of accepting her into the corps. Don’t stop it now. She’ll hate you.”

  My jaw clenches as I stare down at Cassandra, then I let my fingers slip from the handle of the door. “This is fucked up, Cass.”

  She gives me a sympathetic pout. “This is dance.”

  “She’s my wife. You expect a lot if you expect me to stand in the hallway listening to some asshole talk to her that way without doing anything.”

  She grins. “It’s harder on you than it is on Krystal. She’s been a ballerina a very long time. This is nothing new to her.”

  “It’s wrong,” I say, shaking my head.

  “It toughens our psyche so our bodies can transcend. Let her transcend. Besides, a little more of this and she’s going to want to go home and transcend in bed. Or haven’t you gotten any angry ballerina fucking yet?”

  I roll my eyes since it’s not worth telling Cass to stop her frequent vulgar, sexual comments. I move back to my spot at the window.

  Cassandra stays with me. She spreads her arm on the ledge, chin near the glass, watching.

  “She’s doing well,” Cassandra states excitedly. “My father has commissioned for the season a new modern ballet. He must think there’s something in it for her if he wants her to lose form and show emotion. Maybe a solo. Wouldn’t that be great? To gain the rank of a soloist her first year with the company. I can tell by how he’s staring at her that he likes her.”

  Great?

  Not my word for it.

  Not if it means Milo Bassard in our life.

  Milo snaps his fingers. “Come up behind me. Close to my back and move with me, Ángel. Feel only me. Move only on me. Want only me.”

  Knots form in my gut. If he touches her, not even Cass will be able to stop me, and Milo’s next stop is my fist.

  The music starts and they move across the floor, mirror images of each other, and then he turns, lifting her, and her body in a flowing drape arches over his shoulder.

  He sets her on her feet and moves back toward his chair, frowning as though surprised it’s no longer there.

  Krystal waits.

  He doesn’t look at her. “You are excused.”

  She doesn’t move.

  “Get out of here,” he bellows.

  Shoulders square, she gathers her things and moves with measured calm to the door.

  “Stay in the hallway. I may call you back. Probably not, but don’t leave,” Milo commands at her retreating back.

  Once the door shuts behind her, both her body and her expression collapse and tears fill her eyes. Mouth scrunched up, she shakes her head, dropping her bag at my feet before running down the hallway without me.

  I grab her stuff and hurry after her. Krystal is already huddled in a ball, sitting on a narrow wood bench in a locker room by the time I catch up to her.

  I sink down facing her, straddling the wood, then ease her shaking body against my chest as I fold her in my arms.

  “Shush, shush. Stop crying, babe. You were incredible and he’s an asshole not worth even one tear. Who cares what Milo Bassard thinks?”

  Her chin snaps up. “I do. He’s brilliant. And today, his opinion is the only one that matters, Jacob.”

  I ignore the unintended jab from that comment since she’s upset, and kiss her on her head. I don’t want to get her hopes up, but…

  “Cass thinks it went well,” I say, gently caressing her back.

  Her eyes widen to their fullest as she peeks up at me. “Did she say that?”

  I nod then make a face. “It’s why I didn’t go into the rehearsal room and punch him when I wanted to.”

  She croaks, half tears and half laughter. “Did you really want to punch Milo Bassard?”

  I smile ruefully. “Yep.”

  She chokes back a laugh, closing her eyes to shake her head at
me. “Maybe you should have. I won’t ever be a famous dancer. Maybe infamous is all I can ever achieve here. Cass should have let you punch him.”

  We both laugh, tired, then I lie back on the bench, taking her with me. “It’s going to be OK, babe.”

  She makes quiet sniffing sounds. “No one in my family ever fails. Not ever. I’m going to be the first failure in family history.”

  “You’re not a failure.”

  “I am if none of the companies want me.”

  “I want you, Krystal.”

  She rests on my chest, not speaking, and slowly quiets.

  “Do you want to get out of here, babe?”

  She sits up. “We can’t. Milo said not to leave.”

  I nod and fight to keep from my expression my reaction to that. Waiting in the halls. Second misery of auditions. We’ve done that before. It’s like they want to torture them so they can kick them again. Heartbreak after heartbreak. I don’t know how she keeps going on.

  Jesus Christ, three years of this and I can’t even contain my temper anymore and am physically sick by the end of every audition. Watching her suffering and fight through pain. Nope, won’t ever get used to that, not ever, even though I’m a little ashamed of myself for being glad she didn’t succeed today.

  Maybe this is over, this cruel obsession of hers—or maybe it’s an addiction. I’m not sure—and we can move on and start our own life together finally.

  “It was good news about Cass,” she says, her smile shining from her tear-puffy face. “I’m so proud of her sticking it out to become a member of NBBC. It couldn’t be easy for her to audition today. Not with all the bad history she has with her father.”

  “Maybe he’s less of a prick than he seems.”

  “Probably not. She’s the perfect ballerina. On some level Milo Bassard must see it.”

  I kiss her lightly on the lips. “You’re the perfect everything, Krystal. And Milo Bassard is a fool if he doesn’t see that.” I stand up and hold out my hand to her. “Let’s go back to the hallway. This can’t go much longer.”

  After letting me help her up, she goes to the mirror and lightly dabs with a tissue the evidence of her emotional meltdown. With her fingers she fixes her hair back into neat arrangement, then smooths her fingers across her cheeks, stares at herself, and turns to face me.

  I hug her. “Whatever happens, Krystal, you did your best and you should proud of yourself because I’m proud of you.”

  She presses into me, kissing me on the chest, and I tighten my arms around her.

  The door bursts open and she springs back.

  Milo Bassard’s head pops in. “Welcome to NBBC, Miss Harris. You give me anything less every day than you did today and your career here is over.”

  The door slams behind him.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  “Krystal”

  My mouth heatedly moving on his, I flatten Jacob against the loft door, grinding my body into him, unable to get close enough.

  I’ve been on fire since Milo Bassard informed me I would be part of NBBC this season, the high making me dizzy with euphoria and my flesh scorching with want. I’ve never felt the demand of my sex this way before. Success after painful years of failure, it’s like a potent aphrodisiac.

  The wait to be with Jacob has been agony. I’m not waiting another second to fill myself with the feel of him as this wonderful sensation pulses through me.

  I would have made love to him in the lockers at NBBC if he’d let me. I would have done him in the car if he hadn’t stopped me midway into the blowjob. The build of my sexual want during the drive here is nothing less than delicious torture. Home, finally. No, Jacob, not stopping this time.

  Fucking him with my tongue, I work at his belt and he jerks his lips from mine. “Babe, we can’t. Cass and Xavier can’t be far behind us.”

  “I don’t care. I’ve never felt anything like I’m feeling right now. I want to make love to you. Before it goes away. I want to feel you in me while I feel like this.”

  His head rolls on the door as he tries to steady me while my mouth moves in bites and kisses down his neck.

  “I don’t think fifteen minutes is going to be enough to get this out of your system, babe, and that’s probably all the head start we have on Cass. This happy ballerina fucking I think is going to last longer than angry ballerina fucking.”

  Laughing, I free him from his pants and his cock springs out. The sight of it makes my lower muscles clench and I ignore his forceless efforts to put this on hold until later after our friends leave.

  A shudder rolls him head to toe. Oh, he’s as heated up as I am. I glove his erection in my hand before crashing my mouth into his. One stroke and he groans, the sound muffled by our locked lips. His hands dig into my ass and he lifts me up into him as I wrapped my legs and arms around him.

  “No play,” I whisper, nibbling on his earlobe. “I want you now. Don’t make me wait.”

  He takes me to our room and spreads me on the bed. “You better be ready because I’m not waiting.”

  Grabbing my ankles, he jerks me toward him, rapidly undressing us both between raging kisses and touches. The second we’re naked, he covers me with his body.

  I feel his erection pushing in on my slit and I lift my hips as he plunges deeply. Cradling me with his body, he pounds into me. The hard thrusts are glorious, and my nails dig into his back, urging him deeper, harder as I revel in the sensation of dissolving into him.

  My skin is on fire, my limbs are quaking, and without warning I tumble over the edge, clutching on to him as wave after wave of pleasure rockets through my limbs.

  “Ah. Ah. I love you…I love you…” The words punctuate my pants as I shake with my climax.

  His face moves from my shoulder to my ear. “I love you, babe. Oh, Krystal, I love you.”

  Another hard thrust adds to the inferno inside me. My nerves are overly alert and my inner walls like an iron ring around his seeking cock.

  His hands slip beneath me, scooping me into his rapid thrusts. Our sweat-slick bodies continue the frantic dance of our hips. Over and over again. Like there’s no limit for us, not even in this.

  My head sways on the pillow, wanting more though my muscles are drained and languid. By the time he arches up, erupting inside me, we’re both breathless and limp.

  His body eases down on me and his chest moves in quick jolts against my breasts as he struggles to take in air.

  With one arm, he pushes up to stare down at me. “Are you OK, babe? You danced ten hours straight today. You’ve got to be sore. I shouldn’t have been so rough with you. But you got me crazy in the car with the blowjob.”

  My cheeks heat as I laugh. “I’m sore everywhere now.”

  He doesn’t laugh. “Seriously, Krystal. Did I hurt you?”

  I bite my lower lip to hold back my smile. “It was exactly what I wanted. Needed. You never hurt me. Though I don’t think that was totally happy ballerina fucking. I sensed a little bit of angry Jacob fucking in that one.”

  He grimaces. “Not angry. I never make love to you when I’m angry.”

  “Then what was it? It can’t be horny Jacob because you got good love this morning. That leaves protective Jacob? Caveman Jacob? Or angry Jacob?”

  He rolls his eyes at me, annoyed by my need to create definitions for everything, even his moods, before he turns us until I’m lying atop him.

  For a few minutes he doesn’t speak.

  “It’s hard for a man to watch his wife be treated by another man the way you were today. I felt useless when Milo Bassard was berating you, throwing things, and yelling during the audition. I wanted to stop it and I couldn’t. There’s something about him that makes my gut churn every time you’re near him. And I can’t even explain what it is for me when he touches you. I wanted to blot him from your mind and cover your body in only the feel of me. That’s what that was.”

  I stare at him. He’s never s
aid anything like this to me before. It’s my third audition with NBBC. How Milo Bassard directs is nothing new to either of us.

  What’s stirring this up?

  The reality that I’m now a member of the company?

  Or is it Milo Bassard?

  Jacob won’t say it, but we both know with his protectiveness there’s a little jealousy. That tic in his cheek twitches whenever a guy gets close to me or is a tad too touchy or flirtatious.

  I close my hands on his face. “You don’t have to blot Milo out. All I ever feel or think about is you.”

  “There are times it still doesn’t feel real that you love me. And when I watch you in rehearsals, I wonder what the hell you’re doing with me. You can have anyone, Krystal.”

  I shake my head and surround him with my arms. “I have who I want. You and me. That’s all there is. All there’ll ever be, Jacob. Very real. Why do you think I asked you to marry me?”

  He makes a short laugh, amused, before his hazel orbs grow intense. “Just watch yourself with him. OK?”

  My eyes widen in surprise. “I don’t have to watch myself with him. I love you. Not Milo Bassard or anyone else is going to come between us. Not ever.”

  His jaw tightens and it looks like he’s holding back on saying something.

  “What?” I probe.

  He shakes his head. “I don’t think he’s someone we should trust. He makes the hairs on my neck stand up. I don’t know why.”

  I study his face, trying to figure out why this now.

  Jealousy, or is it more?

  That bodyguard thing that never sleeps, suspicious of everyone?

  Or maybe it’s just that what happens in the studio is often incomprehensible to someone who doesn’t dance. Jacob’s not an artist, and he doesn’t know that both the mental and physical workout is part of how a dancer is pushed to reach full potential.

  Ballet is not for the soft. I thought he understood that. He’s always seemed fine with everything before now. But maybe I was wrong.

  I kiss him gently, my hands gliding in light strokes on his biceps. We lie for several minutes without talking then the buzzer on the intercom sounds.

  He moves me until I’m tucked into his side and reaches to hit the button. “Yes?”