Into Your Arms (A Contemporary Romance Novel)

by Strom, Abigail

  She jumped to her feet, her face bright red. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. This must be so embarrassing for you.” She made a dash for the closet and grabbed the first thing she saw—a blue slip dress she pulled quickly over her head.

  “Yeah, you can tell he was really hating the situation,” Emilio said. When she came out of the closet, he was helping the stranger—her new neighbor—to his feet.

  Emilio was a pretty big guy himself, but her neighbor had two inches on him and was even broader in the shoulders. He had dark hair and blue eyes, and when he glanced at her she felt a funny tension just behind her belly button.

  “I’m Nick Landry,” the man said. He still looked a little dazed, and she hoped it wasn’t from the blow to his head. He was definitely going to have a bump and a bruise, but she didn’t think she’d hit him that hard. “I’m subletting the apartment next door.”

  “I’m Emilio Juarez. And that’s Sara Minetti,” Emilio added with another grin. “I take it you two just met?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And Sara’s instinctive response was to take off her clothes and tackle you to the ground. Interesting.”

  She glared at him. “Obviously that’s not what happened. Nick—” at least she knew his name now “—came over to ask me to turn down the music. I was breaking in toe shoes,” she added.

  Emilio was familiar with her routine. “Which means you were playing something loud and obnoxious. Metallica?”

  “AC/DC.”

  “Okay. So he came over and found you in a state of undress, rocking to the music and slamming your shoes in the door like a crazy woman. And you—?”

  “I thought he’d broken in or something. So I…” she hesitated, glancing at Nick’s forehead again.

  “Hit me with a toe shoe,” Nick finished. He was smiling, and a little shiver went through her.

  “And that’s what happened,” she finished.

  There was a brief silence, and then Emilio spoke again. “I think we should stop for the night and welcome Nick to the building properly. I think dinner and dancing is called for.”

  “But we weren’t finished rehearsing, and you just ate.”

  “I only had a burger,” he said, but Nick was shaking his head.

  “As much as I’d love to, I have a lot of work to finish up tonight. I should get back to it.”

  It was silly to feel disappointed, especially since she’d turned down Emilio’s suggestion herself, but she did.

  “Another time?” Emilio asked.

  “Definitely,” Nick answered him, but his eyes were on Sara.

  “I guess it’s just you and me, darling. Let’s go out on the town. Or at least grab an espresso or something.”

  “But what about the duet? I think we need to keep working.”

  Emilio grabbed her hand and pulled her into the living room. “Let’s try the lift one more time. Don’t think, just do it. Go!”

  He put his hands on her waist and she slumped over like a rag doll. Then she curled herself into a ball as he lifted her into the air. She straightened slowly, arching her body, her weight suspended and balanced on his hand at the small of her back. Then he put his other hand on her hip and lowered her with aching slowness as she walked on nothing, her feet stepping delicately on the air in a descending spiral until she was hovering just above the ground.

  “There,” Emilio said with satisfaction as he set her down again. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

  She took a deep breath and let it out. “We worked on that stupid lift for two hours. Why didn’t it feel right until now?”

  “Because you were stuck in your head. You needed something to pull you back into your body.” He grinned at Nick, who was standing in the doorway.

  Nick was staring at them. “That was amazing,” he said, and she felt a rush of pleasure at the compliment. “It was like magic. Like gravity stopped working, or something.”

  “That’s our cue to call it quits,” Emilio said. “If we negated the power of gravity our work here is done. Let’s go out. Are you sure you can’t join us?” he asked Nick. “You know what they say about all work and no play. Or the two of you could go out by yourselves. I don’t want to be a third wheel if the night takes a romantic turn,” he added with an eyebrow wriggle.

  “He’s joking, of course,” Sara said quickly, feeling heat crawl up her neck. “Emilio knows I’m dating someone. Your friend Harry, actually.”

  Nick nodded. “Harry mentioned that the two of you are involved,” he said, and Sara hoped the exchange would shut Emilio up.

  Fat chance.

  Emilio waved his hand in the air, dismissing Harry from the conversation. “She isn’t serious about him. She hasn’t even slept with him yet.”

  “Emilio!”

  She was going to dismember him. Slowly.

  “So what do you say, Nick? Do you want to come out with us?”

  “I really do have to work,” Nick said, still looking at Sara. Her cheeks were hot, and it was hard to meet his eyes after Emilio’s comment. “Maybe I could have a rain check for later this week? It’ll be my treat, to apologize for scaring you.”

  “Oh, no,” Sara said immediately. “It’ll be my treat for almost concussing you.”

  “We can duke it out when the time comes,” he said with a grin.

  After Nick was gone Emilio seized her around the waist and lifted her into the air. “I am begging you to go after that man. That was some serious sparkage.”

  Sara smacked at his chest until he set her down again. “There was no sparkage. I’m dating someone else, remember? And if you ever talk about my sex life in front of a stranger again, I’ll—”

  “I wasn’t talking about your sex life. I was talking about your lack of a sex life.” He threw himself down on her couch, folding his arms behind his head. “I’m kind of surprised he knows Harry. I bet they’re not really friends, though. Probably just acquaintances. Nick’s too nice a guy to be friends with a jerk.”

  “Harry’s not a jerk. And you’ve known Nick for all of two minutes. How do you know he’s a nice guy?”

  “I’m an excellent judge of character. Now go change into something sexy, in case we run into Nick on the way out.”

  Sara shook her head at him. “I will, but only because I’m meeting Harry later tonight, after his gig.”

  “And because your girlish heart is going pitter-pat at the thought of seeing Nick again. Nick, Nick, Nick. Good name. Strong and sexy. I’ll bet you twenty bucks he’s amazing in bed.”

  Her mind flashed to an image of Nick Landry in bed, supporting his weight with those strong arms and looking down at her with those intense blue eyes.

  “No bet,” she said firmly. “My heart only goes pitter-pat for one man at a time.”

  “But didn’t Harry tell you he doesn’t want to be exclusive?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “So he’s seeing other people, right?”

  “Just because he could doesn’t mean he is.” She heard the defensiveness in her voice and winced. Emilio would pounce on that like a mountain lion.

  “Oh, please. I’ll bet you another twenty he’s seeing other people. So why can’t you? You haven’t even slept with him yet.”

  She picked up a pillow and threw it at him. “I wish I’d never told you that. And you know I only like to date one person at a time. Things get too complicated otherwise.”

  “Will you listen to yourself? He gets to see anyone he wants, and you only see him. How is that a relationship?”

  The worst thing about Emilio was his habit of saying out loud all the things she didn’t want to think about.

  “I’m going to shower, and when I come back, my love life will no longer be a topic of discussion.”

  “Because you know I’m right,” he called after her as she went into the bedroom, but she chose to ignore him.

  She paused to pick up her dropped toe shoe—the one she’d used as an impromptu weapon. Her mind flashed to that moment right before E
milio had come in—the moment she’d been about to get up, and Nick had grabbed her wrist.

  They’d stared at each other for a second, and there’s been…something. A connection. A jolt of electricity. His eyes were incredible, like…

  No. She was not going to be seduced by a pair of sexy blue eyes into some romantic fantasy. She didn’t believe in fantasies. She believed in hard work and commitment and making choices. And she’d chosen Harry for a reason. He was perfect for her—on paper, anyway. He was a musician, so he couldn’t complain about her crazy schedule. And because he worked in the arts he knew what it was like to live with no job security, no savings, and no retirement account. They spoke the same language, and they’d even talked about collaborating on a project someday—assuming she ever got up the courage to actually choreograph something.

  She didn’t know what Nick Landry did for a living, but she was willing to bet he wasn’t in the arts. He wore khakis and a button-down shirt to work from home, and he had one of those expensive, I’m-a-professional haircuts. He probably had a job on Wall Street and contributed diligently to his 401k.

  After her shower she stood in front of her closet with a towel wrapped around her damp body, trying to get images of Nick Landry out of her head. He had sexy eyes and a great smile and a killer body, and he seemed like a nice guy. But she wouldn’t let any of that distract her from the man who fit into her life perfectly.

  She’d decided a long time ago to put her career ahead of everything else, which meant her boyfriends had to accept that. And over time she’d learned that even if they started out not minding her schedule and the traveling and all the rest of it, eventually they’d start to resent it.

  So far, Harry didn’t. And if that meant, in exchange, that she had to accept things she wasn’t crazy about…like his unwillingness to be exclusive…well, that was okay with her. In fact, maybe it was better that way. Any man in her life would come second to ballet, so it was only fair that she come second in his life, too.

  The truth was, there was only one relationship in her life she really expected to last, and that was with dance.

  Even if, lately, it was starting to seem that her chosen profession could be as fickle as any lover.

  Chapter Two

  Sara always did her grocery shopping on Tuesday mornings before she left for class. Today she went to her favorite cheese shop first, taking special pleasure in chatting with the owner and being talked into a Brie, a Camembert, and a Gruyere. Cheese was one of her few indulgences, although she told herself it wasn’t really an indulgence. It was a protein, after all, and she always ate her cheese with apple slices or in an omelet, never with bread or on crackers.

  She picked up a few other things at the store on the corner, including a bouquet of snapdragons because their bright colors matched her mood. She got back to her apartment building just as Nick Landry was coming out of it.

  “Hi,” he said, his eyes lighting up. He looked happy to see her, and he also looked better than any man had a right to in a blue dress shirt, tan slacks, and a suit jacket with no tie. In the morning sunlight she could see strands of bronze in the dark brown of his hair, and laugh lines at the corners of his blue eyes.

  “Hi yourself,” she said back, unable to keep from smiling and hoping he couldn’t tell that her heart was beating a little faster.

  “I’ll carry those bags up for you,” he said, holding the door for her and then following her back inside the foyer.

  “Oh, no,” she said quickly, even as he took the bags from her hands and indicated with a nod that she should precede him up the stairs. “You were on your way out. You don’t have to go all the way up again.”

  “I want to,” he said, and she had no choice but to head up the stairs with him behind her.

  It takes a long time to climb four flights, and it seems even longer when you’ve got a gorgeous guy behind you carrying your groceries. Sara wished she was wearing something sexier than jeans and a tee shirt, and then she remembered Harry and felt guilty for wishing that.

  They’d met up last night after his gig in the East Village, and they’d had a good time. Harry was at his best after a performance, soulful and intense and a little bit wired, and it was always fun to bask in his jazz musician vibe with the guys in the band at their favorite downtown club. Afterwards they’d gone back to his place and kissed on his beat-up sofa for a long time, and they almost ended up in the bedroom. But something stopped her, like it always did, and after a while she said goodnight and took a cab back home.

  And now here she was, acutely conscious of Nick’s eyes on her as they came up the final flight of stairs.

  “Thanks,” she said, unlocking her door and then turning to reach for her bags. Her hand brushed against Nick’s as she took them, and a little shiver went through her.

  He didn’t move, so she stayed where she was, too, looking up at him. Standing this close, he seemed even taller and his shoulders even broader. After a moment he reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

  “You’re wearing it down today,” he said.

  “Yes. I…yes.”

  His fingers had brushed against the side of her neck, and her skin there was tingling. Her heart was starting to pound, her face felt warm, and her muscles were starting to quiver. If he didn’t go soon she might drop her bags, which would be very, very embarrassing.

  “Well, have a good day,” he said after what felt like a century, and she nodded.

  “You, too.”

  And then, finally, he was heading back down the stairs.

  She let out the air in her lungs in a big whoosh. If she could bottle whatever it was that man had going on, she could make a fortune.

  * * *

  Finding reasons to touch her...that was a bad sign.

  Or a good sign, depending.

  But he wasn’t looking for a relationship or a fling. Even if were, Sara was taken. She was dating Harry.

  Although they hadn’t slept together yet.

  He grinned to himself. Amazing how a piece of information like that gave a guy ideas. Why hadn’t they slept together yet? Because she knew in her heart that he was a jerk, or because Harry didn’t have the moves to persuade her?

  If he was with a woman like Sara, he’d sure as hell persuade her. He’d seduce her until she didn’t know her own name. He’d make it his mission in life to get her into bed and then ruin her for any man who might come after him.

  Down, boy.

  At least work provided plenty of distractions from thoughts of his beautiful neighbor. Keisha was being particularly stubborn, and it was a battle to get her to agree to any of his suggestions.

  “You’re not making a speech to the International Monetary Fund or the Chamber of Commerce. These are college grads, and they’re scared about the job market. They don’t want to hear a bunch of facts and figures. They want to be inspired. They want to believe that things are getting better. And you do believe they’re getting better, don’t you?”

  “I do. Absolutely. But I don’t want to dumb things down, like I’m underestimating their intelligence. Too many politicians do that already.”

  Because it works, he wanted to say—but he knew that wasn’t the right approach with Keisha.

  “I’m just saying you have to know your audience. You need to show that you can communicate on a lot of different levels. That you can talk to people about what they actually care about, and not what you think they should care about. What’s that old saying? If your only tool is a hammer, you’ll treat everything like it’s a nail. You don’t want to bring a hammer to this event, Ms. Watkins.”

  There was a short pause. “I suppose that makes a certain amount of sense,” she said grudgingly.

  Progress, by God. It was a miracle.

  Her campaign manager, Jerry Brookfield, was obviously relieved that Nick had gotten through to her. “Nick’s the best, Ms. Watkins. You really should listen to him.”

  “I said I would, didn’t I? Let’s
go over the speech again.”

  The grads ended up giving her a standing ovation, and the informal discussion afterwards was sparkling and upbeat. Keisha was at her best, intelligent and articulate and personal, and if he could convince her to present that side of herself more often this election would be a slam-dunk.

  But it didn’t look like he was going to get much mileage out of that one success. Keisha still refused to allow her family to accompany her on any campaign appearances, even though Nick showed her a wealth of polling data to prove that families help campaigns. And at their debate prep session on Thursday she was dry and serious again, and nothing he said could shake her out of it. Even when he played the role of her opponent and attacked her directly, she refused to push back.

  He was starting to think she wasn’t a fighter. That she didn’t have the fire in her belly every candidate needs to win an election.

  After work that day he decided to burn off some steam. He went for a five-mile run through Central Park, coming home red-faced and sweaty to find Sara on her way out. He hadn’t seen her since Tuesday morning, and a quick pulse of pleasure went through him.

  She looked fresh and lovely in jeans and a blue peasant blouse, with her hair long and loose and flowing down her back. He on the other hand looked like crap, but a professional dancer was probably used to seeing people sweat.

  They exchanged hellos as he wiped his face with his tee shirt. “Going out with Harry?” he asked, trying not to feel jealous and failing miserably.

  She shook her head. “I’m going to the theater.”

  “Right, of course. How many nights a week do you perform?”

  “It depends. This season we’re doing Wednesdays through Sundays, but I don’t always dance every night. It depends on what we’re performing and who’s injured. I’m a soloist, but I still fill in for the corps-de-ballet if someone’s hurt.”

  He had no idea what that meant, but she probably didn’t have time to explain the structure of a ballet company to him right now. “What are you dancing tonight?”

  She sighed gustily. “Swan Lake. A million pas de bourrées, which means blood and pain.”