Into Your Arms (A Contemporary Romance Novel)

by Strom, Abigail

  “Sara?”

  Right, yes. Her future.

  “I don’t know. I could try to keep dancing, but…”

  “What do dancers do when they stop performing?”

  “A lot of us teach.” She wished she could feel more enthusiastic about the idea. Teaching was a wonderful profession, after all. She owed her career to the teachers who’d inspired her over the years. “I suppose that’s what I’ll do.”

  Nick’s eyes narrowed as he studied her. “You said that like you should do it, not like you really want to do it.”

  She wrapped her arms around her knees again. “I’m still getting used to the idea of not performing any more. You can’t expect me to be excited about doing something else—not yet, anyway. I’m sure I’ll feel better once I start doing it.”

  “Does it make you nervous? The idea of teaching?”

  “No, not all,” she said, thinking of the times she’d taught master classes or worked with younger dancers. “I’m sure I could do it.”

  “Then you shouldn’t.”

  “What?”

  “If it doesn’t scare you a little bit, then you shouldn’t do it. Or not just that. You should do something else, too. Something that challenges you. What’s something else you could do? Something that scares you.”

  She didn’t even need to think about it. “Choreography.”

  “Yeah? That’s making up the dances, right?”

  “Yes. But I don’t think…I mean…” she shook her head.

  “You don’t think what?”

  “I’ve thought about doing it before, but…if I was really meant to be a choreographer, I think I would have figured it out by now. Our director, Miles Thackeray, figured out he wanted to choreograph when he was seventeen.”

  “So which is it? That you don’t want to choreograph, or that you never have before?”

  She thought about the times she’d stayed behind in the studio after a rehearsal, playing around with different ideas. “It’s not that I don’t want to. I just…”

  “You got a look in your eyes just now, when you were thinking about it. I haven’t seen you look like that in weeks.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like you’re alive.”

  She couldn’t think of anything to say to that.

  He grinned at her. “Come on, Sara. What are you afraid of?”

  “That I’ll make a fool of myself.”

  “There are worse things in life than making a fool of yourself.”

  “That’s easy for you to say. When have you ever—” she heard the sharp tone in her voice and winced. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

  “Don’t worry about it. I know I’m pushing you. It’s natural to get defensive when someone pushes you. But will you think about it?”

  It wasn’t just a question of thinking. If she was serious about this, then she needed to talk to Miles. See if he’d let her audition a piece for him.

  And then—oh, God—she’d have to choreograph it.

  Her stomach did a little flip. The sensation was oddly familiar, and she realized suddenly it was the way she felt every time she saw Nick.

  She wasn’t sure what that meant. But she did know that she could only deal with one scary thing at a time.

  “Okay. I’ll think about it.”

  His smile transformed his face. “Good. Great. Now we just need to get you out of this apartment. How about coffee tomorrow morning?”

  She sighed. “Sure.”

  “And you’ll call Miles and talk to him about your future. Right?”

  Her stomach flipped again. “Right.”

  “And you’ll go to physical therapy?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll meet you tomorrow morning at the café on the corner. Say seven o’clock?”

  She groaned. “Does it have to be that early?”

  “Hey, I’m a working man. I have a meeting at the campaign office at eight-thirty. I’ll see you tomorrow morning at seven sharp. Okay?”

  How could a man be so pushy and so charming at the same time?

  “Okay.”

  Chapter Ten

  Sara looked down at her phone, her thumb hovering over the send button.

  She looked at the clock. Nick would be here in half an hour. That morning over coffee, she’d promised him she’d talk to Miles today about the next phase in her career. When she saw him tonight, she wanted to be able to tell him that she’d done it.

  There was something about Nick that made you believe you could do things…at least while he was right there in front of you. But once he’d gone to work, her confidence had evaporated, and she’d put off making the call all day long.

  She took a deep breath. What was the worst thing that could happen?

  A few minutes later, she had her answer.

  “I don’t think so, Sara. Pieces for next season’s new choreographer’s showcase are being auditioned in a month. That’s not much time for you to put something together. Especially now, with the season over and dancers pursuing other projects over the summer. Having said that, though, I’m thrilled to hear from you. I’m hoping we can discuss a role for you among our teaching staff.”

  She should never have asked. God, what had she been thinking? She’d never expressed any interest in choreography before, never talked to Miles or anyone else about it. Why had she thought he might take her seriously?

  It was a nice idea, but not practical. What Miles was offering was practical. It was time to act like a grown up and move into a future that made sense.

  She opened her mouth to say Yes, of course, let’s talk about teaching.

  And then she had a sudden memory of Nick’s blue eyes lasering into hers, and she found herself saying something else.

  “Actually, Miles…this is something I really want. All I’m asking for is a chance. If I can put together a piece in time for the auditions, can I present it?”

  Silence at the other end. When Miles spoke again, his voice sounded final. “I’ve been doing this for a lot of years, Sara. And frankly, I don’t think you have the temperament to be a choreographer.”

  It felt like a punch to her solar plexus. “What do you mean? What’s wrong with my temperament?”

  Miles hesitated. “You’re a gifted dancer, Sara. But haven’t you ever wondered why you never made the leap from soloist to principal?”

  “Are you saying…what are you saying?”

  “You’re a wonderful performer…but you don’t always believe in yourself. You’re not a risk taker, and that is something a choreographer must be. It takes a great deal of courage, as well as a relentless faith in oneself, to bring a creative vision to life.”

  Courage. A relentless faith in oneself. Was Miles calling her a coward?

  Was she a coward?

  “I’m not trying to hurt your feelings, Sara,” Miles said after a minute. Too late for that, she thought. “I just don’t want you to be disappointed.”

  She had to clear her throat. “I understand.”

  “Why don’t you come in next week so we can talk about a teaching schedule for you? Depending on the class load you’re willing to take on, you can probably maintain your current income.”

  She’d still be working with the company, still making a living in dance. And she did enjoy teaching.

  “Why don’t you come by next Tuesday at four o’clock?” Miles pressed her.

  “All right. I’ll see you then.”

  She sat in silence for a minute after the conversation ended, trying to put things in perspective. She had a lot to be grateful for, all things considered. She had no reason to feel so…deflated.

  There was a knock on the door. She crossed the living room, thinking that she was getting around pretty well on her walking cast these days. And the doctors had told her it could come off in a week. So that was something else to be grateful for.

  Nick was at the door, as she’d expected.

  He grinned down at her. “So how was your day? Did you
call Miles?”

  She was momentarily distracted by the intense vitality of his deep blue eyes. “I…” Focus, Sara. “Yes, I did,” she said, smiling back at him.

  “Good for you. How’d it go?”

  “I’m going in next week to meet with him. We’re going to talk about a teaching schedule. Which I’m very happy about, actually. I’ll be able to maintain my current income,” she added.

  “That’s great. What about choreography? Did you ask about that, too?”

  “I think I’m going to focus on one thing at a time.”

  Please don’t say anything more about it. Please, for once, don’t push me.

  He looked down at her for a minute. “And you feel good about this plan?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Well…if you’re happy, then I’m happy for you.”

  She felt relieved as Nick leaned against the doorjamb, loose-limbed and relaxed and sexy as hell. “Let’s talk about tonight,” he said. “Do you know the Red Mollies?”

  “The band? Sure. I’ve never seen them in concert, but I love their music. Emilio’s going to their show this weekend. Why?”

  “My cousin’s their lead guitarist, and she just texted to let me know that they’re doing a club show tonight. It’s a last minute thing and very hush-hush. Do you want to go?”

  She blinked at him. “Jenna Landry is your cousin?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And you’re seriously asking me if I want to see the Red Mollies play a secret club show?”

  His smile faded a little. “I know your foot’s still—”

  “Screw my foot. Wild horses couldn’t keep me away.”

  The smile was back. “Strong language for a ballerina. Do you want to get some dinner first? The show doesn’t start until ten o’clock.”

  “I’d love that.”

  “How does Italian sound?”

  Since she was officially now able to eat whatever she wanted, Italian sounded fantastic. “That would be wonderful.”

  “Great. I’ve got a few emails to send for work, but I’ll be back in an hour to pick you up.”

  As soon as the door closed behind him the words ‘pick you up’ replayed in her head. It was an awfully date-like phrase, especially considering it didn’t really have any practical applicability in this instance. They lived next door to each other, and they weren’t driving.

  When Sara realized that she was staring at the door as she pondered Nick’s choice of words, she shook her head sharply and headed for her bedroom. Of course this wasn’t a date. But it would be the first time in weeks that she’d gone out for dinner, which justified taking a little extra care with her appearance. Right?

  She closed her eyes as she ran her hands over the clothes in her closet, remembering the three kisses she and Nick had shared. The first one had been for Harry’s benefit—or at least it had started out that way. The second one had been medicinal: either that or slap her. And the third one, according to Nick, had been a mistake.

  That was the one she thought about most often. Every time she did, her nipples tingled at the memory of Nick’s weight on top of her, his chest crushing her breasts and his erection grinding against her center.

  Her hands gripped silk and cotton and linen. She buried her face in the soft material of her clothes, overcome by a wave of desire as powerful as hunger or thirst.

  God, she wanted him. She wanted him so much she was starting to think it might not matter that he was leaving. She was starting to think that a broken heart was not the worst thing that could happen to her.

  Maybe not being with Nick was the worst thing that could happen. Even if they could only be together a little while.

  Of course, there was no guarantee he felt the same way. Which meant that if she acted on her feelings…the way she had that day in her bedroom…she might be setting herself up for rejection. Again.

  She was so used to playing it safe with men that it was almost impossible to imagine going after a man who would almost certainly hurt her—either by rejecting her or by leaving her.

  When it came down to it, she probably wouldn’t act on her feelings. But she was going to choose her outfit tonight with an eye towards making Nick want her as much as she wanted him.

  If she had to suffer, she wouldn’t suffer alone.

  * * *

  Nick wanted Sara to feel comfortable tonight, which meant he probably shouldn’t dress up or put on aftershave or do anything that would send date signals. This wasn’t a date, after all. It was dinner with a friend. A woman he wanted to keep as a friend, even after their lives inevitably separated them.

  So after he sent his work emails he went across the hall to Sara’s without changing or shaving, the way he would have if he was just going to dinner with a friend. He knocked on her door, congratulating himself on his restraint and looking forward to a friendly, complication-free evening.

  And then the door opened.

  Sara was wearing a black silk dress that stopped mid thigh, and not even the walking cast on one foot and the sneaker on the other could detract from the smooth sexy length of her legs.

  It was warm in the unairconditioned hallway, and the sight of the spaghetti straps holding up her dress made it seem even warmer. Her shoulders were so slim that the straps seemed just about to slip off. He wanted to slide a finger under one and help the process along.

  Everything about Sara Minetti made him buzz with pleasure. The flawless texture of her skin, the warm chocolate brown of her eyes, the sleek curves he’d started dreaming about at night. Her hair was long and loose, and curling more than usual in the humidity.

  “You look—” his voice sounded rough, and he cleared his throat. “You look great.”

  “Thanks. I haven’t been out in a while, so I dressed up. I hope that’s okay,” she added after a moment, when he continued to stare at her.

  He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’m not going to make a move on you,” he said in a low voice, half to himself and half to her.

  She stared at him.

  “But I can’t…”

  He stopped, not sure what he was trying to say. Sara blinked up at him, confused, and he reached out to brush the pad of his thumb over her mouth, full and soft and lipstick free.

  The pleasurable buzz grew into a vibration. Sara inhaled sharply, and he moved his hand to her hair, combing his fingers through the silky length. Then he let himself trace the line of one of those straps, feeling the unbearable softness of her bare skin beneath it.

  She was trembling. “Is this you not making a move?”

  He pulled his hand away and took a deep breath. “This is me giving into a small temptation now so I don’t give into a bigger one later.” He took a deliberate step back. “I’m okay now. Honest. Hands off the rest of the night.”

  Sara’s eyes searched his. “What about me?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Don’t I get to give into a small temptation?”

  “Uh…”

  She didn’t wait for an answer. She just reached out and brushed the backs of her knuckles over the stubble on his jaw.

  “I love it when you don’t shave,” she said in a low voice that traveled on a direct pathway to his groin. “When I looked in the mirror after you kissed me, there was a red burn on my chin. Because of this,” she added, tracing the line of his five o-clock shadow.

  He had a hard-on now, and he swayed towards her as she kept touching him.

  His heart started to pound so hard he could feel it. That’s how it was around Sara. She made him aware of parts of himself he didn’t usually think about.

  “I want you,” he said, his voice shaking. He hadn’t meant to do this to the two of them, but the urge to touch her had been overwhelming. Now it was up to him to pull them back from the edge of the abyss. “I want you, but I’m not going to hurt you again. I can’t.”

  Even as he said the words, a part of him was hoping she’d argue. That she’d say it was all right.
That they could be together for a few months without consequences. That she wouldn’t be hurt when he left.

  But she didn’t say that. She looked at him for a minute, and then she let her hand drop from his face.

  “I know,” she said. “I get it.”

  They were safe again, back from the cliff’s edge. He should feel relieved.

  Instead, he felt a sharp pang of loss.

  * * *

  Maybe it was sitting across from the sexiest man she’d ever had dinner with, or maybe it was the fact that she didn’t have to worry about calories for the first time in twenty years, but the pasta she ordered at the lovely Italian restaurant Nick took her to was the best thing she’d ever eaten in her life.

  “This is so good,” she said for the tenth time, chasing the last of her cream sauce with a piece of warm, crusty bread.

  Nick was grinning at her. “I’ve never seen anyone enjoy their food this much. I know this isn’t a date, but I hope you’ll let me pick up the check tonight. I want to take credit for this.”

  “Be my guest.”

  Nick picked up the bottle of white wine and refilled her glass for the third time. As she took a sip, she could feel the warmth and looseness in her body. If they were going to keep things platonic tonight, she should definitely cool it with the wine.

  The waiter came by to clear their plates. “Can I offer you any dessert this evening?” he asked.

  “Yes! Something fattening. Very, very fattening. What do you suggest?”

  “I’d go with the double chocolate cake. You can get it with a scoop of ice cream, too. The cheesecake is also fantastic.”

  She looked across the table at Nick, who was watching her with one side of his mouth curved up. “You’re finding me amusing, aren’t you?”

  “I feel like I’m feeding Oliver Twist.”

  “Well, I don’t care. You don’t seem to understand that I’ve basically gone without dessert my entire adult life. So here’s what we’re going to do. You order the chocolate cake and I’ll order the cheesecake, and we’ll share.”