Dance With Me: A Dance Off Novel

by Alexis Daria

  He wiped both hands over his face. “Sorry I bothered you,” he mumbled. Then he got to his feet and ambled away.

  As soon as he was gone, Dimitri leaned back into his chair and covered his face with both hands.

  “It took everything I had not to rip his head off,” he said, voice muffled.

  “I’m glad you didn’t. I don’t have the money to bail you out of jail.”

  He gave a surprised laugh and leaned over the armrest to cup her jaw. Caressing her cheek, he captured her gaze. His eyes were like black holes in the dim lighting of the club, and she was caught in his pull. What was it about this man that made him impossible to resist?

  He drew her in the rest of the way and laid his lips on hers. Instead of fire, he met her with sweetness. His lips nibbled and his tongue soothed. His fingers slipped into her hair, massaging.

  The contrast between this kiss and how he usually kissed her disarmed the last of her defenses. She sank into it, letting his mouth calm her racing heart. The adrenaline from her encounter with Rob faded. Everything faded—the music, the nerves, the worry over what Dimitri would think of seeing her here.

  He was here now, with her, and he’d just been the best kind of hero. The kind who let her stand up for herself.

  Stupid hope starting fluttering again. This time, she didn’t tamp it down. Let it flutter, if it wanted. Maybe there was something to be hopeful for.

  When he pulled back, he pressed his forehead to hers. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “For what just happened. For men being assholes. I shouldn’t have made you come here tonight.”

  If they’d stayed home, she might have never realized she still had unfinished business here. “Thank you for letting me handle it.”

  He exhaled and eased back. “I didn’t want to. I wanted to drag his ass outside and pound him into the ground. But then he was so pathetic, I just felt sorry for him.”

  “I kinda did, too. But not enough to let him touch me.” She cringed. “His hands were so sweaty.”

  Dimitri scowled again. “Maybe I will pound him into the ground after all.”

  “Don’t.” She grabbed his elbow. “It’s over. We can’t draw attention to ourselves. And the show’s going to start soon. Hey, what happened to our drinks?”

  “They’re still on the bar. I looked over and saw him sitting with you, so I came back.”

  “Thank you.” She twisted in her seat and got the attention of one of the waitresses. Once they had their drinks, she turned back to the stage.

  “That used to be me.” She gestured with her glass toward the pole dancer working her ass off. “But my boobs were smaller then.”

  “She’s good.” He sent Natasha a sidelong glance. “If I got a pole installed at home . . .”

  “Maybe.” Heat flooded through her at the suggestion. She’d love to dance for him. The performative aspect of pole dancing, even stripping, made her feel powerful and in control. But the impulse to hold back with him was still too ingrained. “For you, maybe.”

  He groaned and shifted in his seat.

  She bit back a giggle. “Pants suddenly a little tight?”

  “Yes, damn it.”

  The lights went down, the music lowered, and the pole dancers slunk offstage. The show was starting. Despite everything that had happened so far, she was excited.

  Dimitri leaned in to whisper in her ear. “Sit in my lap.”

  She wanted to do it, wanted to feel his strong thighs underneath her, his cock pressing up against her ass. But anyone could be watching, and they’d already come close to making a scene.

  “Tasha . . .” He breathed her name in her ear, sending delicious chills down her back. She shook her head.

  The show began. The first two acts were fun and flirty, using the classic feathers and fans. Then Renee came out, and she blew them all away, doing a burlesque and pole routine that mimicked rhythmic gymnastics, but with whips, leather, and chains.

  Natasha kept her eyes on the stage, but watched Dimitri in the periphery. His gaze drifted from the stage, to her, and back again. Knowing he was there with her, watching the performance, maybe thinking about her doing these things, made her senses sizzle with awareness and her body throb with need. She sucked on her lower lip, wishing it was his mouth, his teeth, scraping against the sensitive flesh.

  Renee’s act finished. Natasha cheered louder than anyone, and Dimitri threw some fifties onto the stage. Renee winked at them as she tucked them into the string of her thong, then sauntered offstage, her fabulous ass and hips swaying.

  The next act involved two women, who interspersed the burlesque stripping with making out, and Natasha couldn’t take it anymore. She needed to touch him, needed to be touched.

  “Fine, I’ll sit on your lap,” she said, like she was doing Dimitri some great favor, like she wasn’t about to jump out of her own skin with longing for him. “But promise we can still go for dinner afterward. I don’t want you getting too worked up and depriving me of food.”

  His grin flashed in the dark, wicked and full of anticipation. “Promise. Now get that sweet ass over here.”

  32

  The burlesque show had been the worst kind of tease. Not because of any of the action happening on stage—though Renee and the other women had shaken and shimmied and stripteased like champs.

  No, as titillating and fun as the show had been, Dimitri’s current source of discomfort came from Natasha’s reaction.

  Who knew choosing not to fight a guy would make him a hero in her eyes?

  And who knew she’d enjoy watching other women strip? He would have thought she’d be immune to it.

  Halfway through, he’d slipped a hand under her dress, feeling the warmth between her thighs. She’d moaned and wriggled on his lap, her ass rubbing against his erection.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Touch me.”

  “You like this,” he’d said, surprised. On stage, two women made out and ran their hands over each other’s bodies. “The show.”

  She’d twisted to kiss him, her tongue delving deep into his mouth, her breasts rubbing against his chest. Her dark eyes seemed luminous, reflecting the stage lights. “I like watching this with you.”

  He was so stocking up on porn after this.

  Once the show was over, he helped Natasha to her feet. “Dinner?”

  “We have to go backstage first,” she told him, sounding almost apologetic. “I can’t leave without saying hello to Renee and Jeff.”

  Dimitri raised his eyebrows. “You think I’m going to complain about going backstage at a gentlemen’s club?”

  She pinched his arm.

  The backstage area was well lit, and filled with the warm, sweet smells of women—hair spray, perfume, makeup, and whatever else they used before going out to perform. It reminded him of the way his bathroom smelled after Natasha finished using a blow dryer on her hair. Rows of vanity tables lined both walls, each mirror surrounded by bright round bulbs. Another wall held framed black and white photos of classic movie stars, visible over a rack full of costumes.

  Renee bustled over to them, wearing a short robe of ice-blue silk. She kissed Natasha’s cheek and shot Dimitri a teasing grin. “Glad you both could make it. What did you think?”

  While Natasha launched into a discussion of the dance quality of the routines, punctuated by effusive praise, Dimitri put a hand on her shoulder and tried to keep his gaze at eye level.

  He had years of backstage experience with dancers and actors. Seeing people in various stages of undress was normal for him. But this was different. Despite the joke he’d made to Natasha, he was aware of being a man in a women’s space, and he’d be damned if he made them feel ogled in their safe zone.

  Then another man walked in, medium height and build with sandy brown hair, holding a clipboard. “Alicia and Damaris, you’re up next,” he called out.

  Two women touching up their makeup slipped off their robes and headed out. One of them, a sl
im brunette, spotted Natasha and let out a gasp of surprise.

  “Tash? Is that you?”

  Natasha turned, and squealed. “Damaris! I didn’t know you were still here.”

  Damaris gave Natasha a squeeze. “The money’s too good. I came back to do one night a week, just to build my savings.”

  The man with the clipboard stepped closer. “Damaris, you’re due on the stage.” Then he nodded at Natasha. “Hey, Natasha, good to see you. Renee told me you might come by.”

  With a wave, Damaris headed out, and Natasha made introductions.

  “Dimitri, this is Jeff, the manager here. Jeff, Dimitri is a . . . a friend of mine.”

  Jeff grinned and shook Dimitri’s hand. “Good to meet you. How’d you like the show?”

  Renee patted Dimitri’s arm. “You don’t have to answer that. He wants your opinion because he knows you judge dancers.”

  Some of the other women were watching, so he gave a thumbs-up and said, “I give it one hundred percent.”

  To his side, Natasha snickered. “You’re so corny,” she muttered. But then she slipped her hand around his arm, like she was staking a claim, and he loved that.

  “Damaris is the one who got me the interview,” Natasha explained. “And Jeff hired me. Even though I didn’t have boobs.”

  Jeff tapped the clipboard against his thigh. “I would have been stupid not to hire you. Your dance audition blew us away, and you picked up the pole technique faster than most. I only wish you’d stayed longer.”

  Natasha turned a grateful smile on Jeff and Renee. “I always said it would be temporary.”

  Dimitri stiffened. There was that word again. Temporary. Just like living with him.

  Jeff nodded and sounded wistful. “I know. And I get that this place isn’t anyone’s dream job. But you were such a pro.”

  Renee leaned in. “We always vote for you on The Dance Off. Any hints as to who you’re paired with next season?”

  Natasha pressed a finger to her lips. “You know I can’t tell. Besides, I haven’t met him yet. We’re still a few weeks away from filming.”

  Renee heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Fine.” Then she sent Dimitri a wink. “Nice meeting you, Mr. Judge.”

  They said their goodbyes and left, getting in the car to head to Krasavitsa.

  The word temporary still rattled around in Dimitri’s thoughts as he drove. Was that how she felt about his place in her life? Something here now, gone tomorrow?

  Chert, that had been the nature of their relationship all these years. But he didn’t think of her that way. Even when he’d kept his distance, she’d been a constant—in his thoughts, in his heart. An eventuality. What if he’d waited too long?

  “Have you ever been to Krasavitsa?” he asked, just to break the silence.

  She shook her head. “What does it mean?”

  “Beauty. My mother named it.”

  This restaurant was where he spent most of his time. How was it possible she’d never been here?

  Because until a few weeks ago, he’d never been close enough to a woman to show her this place. Maybe Babe Planet was the same for Natasha. A secret she kept close, because she didn’t trust other people with it.

  Now that he’d been there, he couldn’t remember why it had been so important that she tell him. He’d wanted to know everything about her, sure, but why?

  When he dug deep, the answer was rooted in security, not trust. If he knew everything there was to know, if he could shine a light in all the dark recesses, maybe then he’d feel comfortable enough to take the next step with her. To risk putting his heart on the line.

  But this secret hadn’t done that. Yes, he was grateful she’d trusted him with it, especially since she hadn’t told anyone else, not even her best friend. She’d trusted him not to judge her, or make her feel ashamed. He valued that trust and didn’t take it for granted.

  But it hadn’t made him feel any more or less secure. She’d lived a life before she met him. She’d made decisions, and while he was curious about her motives so he could learn more about what made her tick, knowing every piece of her past didn’t change how he felt about her. He loved her for who she was now, and all those decisions had led her to this point. He wouldn’t judge her for them, although he did want to be part of her decisions going forward.

  He thought of the contract burning a hole in his desk drawer. Of the Idea Book. Of Alex’s voicemails. He had his own things he was holding close.

  Still, she’d shared part of her life with him, and it was only right he do the same.

  Besides, he loved her. Whether she accepted it, returned it, or . . . some other outcome, he wanted to show her the restaurant. And he wanted the restaurant to see her. She was everything he’d ever wanted in a woman, in a partner. Everything he ever would want. The restaurant was like family. They should meet her.

  Although he still wasn’t ready for his mother to get involved yet.

  Besides, it was ridiculous to be nervous. He’d dated tons of women. Well, not tons. Lots. Dozens? Anyway, he’d gone on dates. Taken women to dinner, movie premieres, live shows, and fancy parties. It was part of the lifestyle. You got a plus one, and there was no shortage of women desperate to fill that role.

  Not because of him. He wasn’t quite that egotistical. But for the fame. The chance to brush elbows and maybe get a leg up. He knew people and, thanks to the diversification of his interests, he got invited to a lot of places.

  But he’d never taken Natasha to any of those events, and he’d never brought any women to Krasavitsa. It was the equivalent of introducing her to his family. He’d never hear the end of it.

  He cleared his throat. “Remember that time I ran into you at the perfume launch party?”

  She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “Yeah . . .”

  “Were you dating that guy? What was his name again?”

  She sighed and looked out the window as he drove. “Rocky Lim.”

  “He’s in those car race action movies, right? Martial artist?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “London.” She let out an exasperated sigh and glared at him from the passenger seat. “Why are you asking about Rocky?”

  “I’m curious about people you’ve dated.”

  She snorted and turned away. “Rocky and I weren’t dating, no more than Jackson and I were dating.”

  “And like how we weren’t dating.”

  She didn’t answer.

  “This is a date, Tasha.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “Does that mean we’re dating?”

  “Are you asking me to be your boyfriend?”

  She snorted again. “No. Besides, it’s against the rules.”

  “We’re way past your rule, Kroshka.”

  “Not my rule. The Dance Off’s. No backstage fraternizing. We can’t date. It’s the only defense I have for living with you—and why we can’t . . . we just can’t.”

  He drove in silence. He’d forgotten about that stupid rule. He was a judge, so it didn’t quite apply to him, but only because he was more famous than any of the pro dancers. He wouldn’t be the one to be penalized. She’d take all the blame and the consequences. Their relationship had the potential to ruin her career.

  He wanted to give her everything. But he couldn’t give her a career, especially when his own felt so unsteady.

  He had to find a way around everything, because he had every intention of breaking both rules—dating and fraternizing.

  He had to make this the perfect date, to show her what they could have if she allowed it.

  In the parking lot, Raul’s eyes nearly fell out of his head when Natasha climbed out of the car. Even in the boot, she was a stunning woman. She’d complained about the dress, lamenting the loss of her wardrobe and inability to shop for something new, but the tight black fabric showed of her long, lean curves, and honestly, the woman would make a garbage bag look like high fashion. She’d done her ha
ir in sexy, tousled waves. Her eyes looked dark and mysterious, and her lips were a bright, slick red.

  She was just as beautiful in pajamas, smiling sleepily at him over a cup of café con leche.

  Krasavitsa stayed open late on the weekends, and was a celebrity favorite. When Dimitri walked in the door with his arm slung around Natasha’s waist, every eye turned their way.

  Well, not every eye. The eyes belonging to the staff. He caught the bartenders exchanging grins, and one of the waitresses actually stopped in her tracks and bounced on her toes.

  Lord. Why had he hired a bunch of sentimental fools?

  Carlito, his manager, bustled over to them. He took Natasha’s hand and beamed at her. “Señorita, encantado.”

  Dimitri bit back a sigh. “Natasha, this is Carlito, the manager. He keeps this place in order and knows all the gossip.”

  “Es mi placer, Carlito,” she replied, smiling back at him.

  Carlito led them to the table that was always kept empty in case Dimitri dropped by, chattering with Natasha in Spanish the whole time.

  When Natasha drew back a step and raised her eyebrows, Dimitri tuned in.

  “¿Verdad?” She sounded surprised. “¿Nadie?”

  “Sí. Lo juro. Nadie.”

  Once they were seated and Dimitri had placed an order, he pinned Natasha with a look. “What did he tell you?”

  She flashed him a toothy smile. “You’ll never know.”

  “I can make him tell me. I pay him.”

  “He’ll lie through his teeth. His grandmother was Puerto Rican. We have a bond.”

  Dimitri shook his head and sat back as Mariska, one of the waitresses, poured their wine. “I knew I was going to regret bringing you here.”

  At Mariska’s gasp, Dimitri threw his hands in the air. “I didn’t—come on, you know I didn’t mean it like that. I mean because you’re all going to switch your loyalties over to her instead of me.”

  Mariska turned up her nose at him. “And now you know why,” she replied in Russian, and patted Natasha on the shoulder.

  He shook his head. “You know I didn’t mean it like that, right?”