by Elle Kennedy
She heard a gate slam, and before she could blink, the car soared upwards. Her stomach churned as they continued to rise, dangling hundreds of feet off the ground.
“I might be sick.”
Luke laughed. “You won’t be sick.”
She grabbed his arm and dug her fingernails in his bare skin and the feathery dark hair over it. “Don’t laugh.”
“Why not?”
“When you laugh, the car shakes. And when the car shakes, my stomach hurts and my—”
“Ellie, calm down.”
The car stopped. It did that every few seconds so the passengers could enjoy the view. Ellie, on the other hand, was enjoying nothing. Not even the sight of the ocean, midnight blue under the dark sky, or the quaint little houses and huts in the distance, could ease her nerves. Sucking in a breath, she squeezed Luke’s arm tighter, riddled with anxiety.
“Okay, you need to distract me, Luke. Seriously.”
He sighed. “How?”
“I don’t know. Talk. Tell me something.”
“What do you want to know?”
For a split second, she forgot all about their location after his easy-going answer. She couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so willing to talk about himself, and no matter how terrified she was at the moment, she couldn’t pass up the chance to get into his head.
Or his heart.
“Are you seeing anyone back in San Francisco?” The question slipped out before she could stop it.
“I was.” He raked his fingers through his dark hair. “But not anymore.”
“What happened?”
Discomfort flickered in his gray eyes, followed by a flash of bitterness. “I broke things off.”
“Why?” When he didn’t answer, she met his gaze. “Please tell me. Otherwise I’ll start panicking again.”
“Let’s just say Robin wasn’t who I thought she was.” He shifted in his seat, and his shoulder brushed against hers. A rush of heat sizzled through her skin, spreading downward until the juncture between her thighs ached. God, would she ever get used to being this close to Luke?
“Who was she then?”
“A wonderful liar, for one.”
She didn’t answer. Just waited for him to continue. Hoped that he would.
“She wanted to marry me.”
“Did you want to marry her?”
His eyes darkened. “Not at first. Not until she told me she was pregnant.”
She bit back a gasp. Pregnant? Luke had gotten a woman pregnant and broken off the relationship?
“She wasn’t, by the way. Pregnant.” He shot her a knowing glance. “That was her big lie.”
“God, Luke, that’s awful.”
She tried to hold back the fury rising in her throat. The rage. His revelation made her spine stiffen. That a woman would lie about being pregnant just to trap a man into marriage sickened her. It was a slap in the face, another reminder that she’d never be able to provide a man with children. While women like Luke’s ex flaunted their fertility and used it for their own selfish gain. If there was one thing she’d learned these last painful six months, it was that children were a gift. Not a bartering chip.
She felt pressure on her arm. Luke’s hand, big and warm. The look of concern on his face told her that her anger was written all over hers.
“You okay?”
She let out a breath. “I’m fine. I’m just…disgusted by what your ex-girlfriend did.”
The car ascended again, until they were at the very top of the wheel. The height was death defying, yet a nagging pang of curiosity distracted her from looking down. She wanted to voice her thoughts and ask Luke the question biting at her lips, but was fearful of the answer. Desperate for it at the same time.
“Luke…” She bit her lower lip. “Were you disappointed?”
His gray eyes looked almost black under the night sky. “About what?”
“Not being a father.” The question choked out of her throat.
He didn’t answer for a long time, just turned his head and looked in the distance. She admired his strong profile as her fingers tingled with the urge to touch him. Five o’clock shadow dotted his jaw, making him appear rugged and very, very masculine. For the first time all evening, she smelled his aftershave, the spicy scent tickling her nose, adding to the attraction building inside her.
He was so different from any of her high school boyfriends. From Scott and his boyish good looks and childish attitude. Luke was all man. Six feet and one hundred and seventy pounds of pure, unadulterated male.
She shivered. They were sitting so close right now that all she had to do was turn her head, lean forward an inch and she would feel his lips on hers. Yet her question hung in the air, overpowering her desire, and her chest felt tight, as if her entire life depended on his answer.
“Yeah,” he finally said, meeting her eyes again. “I guess I was a little disappointed.”
A long breath seeped from her lungs, tinged with regret. Well, of course he would want children. As strong and powerful as he was, he was also tender. Gentle. Luke would be a good father, she’d never deny that. But she couldn’t control the pain she felt at his reply. Knowing she would never be the woman who gave him a child. Wondering why that was even important.
She suddenly had the urge to confide in him about her own situation, but the reality of her future sunk in and she knew sharing her sorrow with him wasn’t an option. What would be the point? To see the pity in his eyes when she told him she was barren? The sympathy when she revealed her days of ballet were over? No, thank you. She didn’t want or need anyone’s goddamn sympathy or pity. Not even Luke’s.
“It would be nice, I guess,” he continued, oblivious to her turmoil. “A few of the people I’ve protected had kids, and I always enjoyed being around them.” He shrugged. “But my own? Sure, I’d like it, just not now. And certainly not with a woman who’d lie and scheme to get me to settle down.”
A silence fell as the car started its descent. Ellie couldn’t understand what she was feeling or why her chest ached this way. She didn’t speak as the attendant pulled open the safety bar, or when Luke held her arm and helped her off the platform. They walked past the line of people waiting to get onto the ride, silent, until Luke finally spoke.
“It’s getting late. Let me take you home.”
Standing under the glowing yellow porch light of Ellie’s bungalow, Luke realized he didn’t want the night to end. He watched as she rummaged around in her purse for her keys, wondering if she’d invite him in. Three hours ago he would’ve been surprised not to receive an invitation, but the moment they finished their stint on the Ferris wheel, Ellie had done a complete one-eighty.
No more flirting. No more sexy grins. No more sinful innuendos. She’d simply clammed up, became distant and made no further mention of the ultimatum she’d given him earlier.
Had she changed her mind about sleeping with him? Funny, how his plan had been all about getting her to back down, but now that she had, he was strangely disappointed.
“Jeez, it’s amazing how difficult it is to find anything in this purse,” she mumbled, rolling her eyes as she pulled out her key chain. “And all I’ve got in here is a wallet and some gum.”
She stuck the key in the lock, turned it, and opened the door. He held his breath, wondering what would happen next. Would it be Goodnight, Luke or Come in?
Goodnight. It had to be that. He had no business wanting to prolong the evening. He’d already won. She’d backed down. Now was the time to return to the motel and devise another way to convince her to come home.
“So…” Her soft voice trailed off as she glanced up at him. The porch light framed her face like a halo, making her blue eyes shine and her dark hair lighten to a deep caramel. “Viv cancelled the second show and I don’t plan on going to sleep yet. Would you like to come in for a cup of coffee?”
Say no.
“Sure.”
Idiot.
He sighed and follo
wed her into the darkened front hall, grateful that at least there hadn’t been any sexual undertones to her offer. She really did seem to have changed her mind. As they headed inside he found himself engaging in his new favorite past time—watching her ass sway as she walked. His mouth watered at each stolen glimpse.
She flicked on the light, and a warm glow filled the living room. He looked around and absorbed the cozy atmosphere Ellie had created. All the cluttered bookshelves reminded him of how much she liked to read, and as he stepped toward her CD rack, his eyes roamed over the numerous classical titles.
Did she put on one of these CDs at night? Mozart, maybe? Did she slip into her old leotards and dance by herself?
“How do you take your coffee?” She slipped out of her sandals, kicked them aside, and then edged barefoot toward the doorway of the kitchen.
“Black.”
Her mouth tilted in a knowing smile. “Of course. I’ll be right back.”
He made himself comfortable on the plush sofa, listening to the sounds of Ellie bustling around the kitchen. She was only gone for a few moments, yet her absence bothered him. It wasn’t until she reentered the room with two steaming mugs in her hands that he relaxed again.
She handed him one of the mugs, then settled on the opposite edge of the couch. “Careful, it’s hot.”
He watched as she blew over the rim of her cup, the cool puffs of air from her mouth blending with the steam rising from the hot liquid. Then, curling her knees beneath her, she took a hesitant sip before placing the cup on the coffee table.
“What did you mean when you said ‘of course’?” he asked. “Is there something wrong with the way I drink my coffee?”
She shrugged, causing her long dark strands to cascade over her shoulders. Her hair looked silky to the touch. Luke’s fingers tingled.
“It just wasn’t surprising you drink it black,” she replied. “You know, how a person drinks their coffee tells a lot about them.”
He looked at her with interest. “Really?”
“Sure. Take Josh, for instance. He claims he likes it black, being the big strong tough guy he is.” She grinned. “But when no one’s looking, he dumps in a few sugar cubes. Tough guy hiding his soft side.”
“What does my preference say about me?”
The tip of her tongue darted out and licked the seams of her lips. “Well, black implies strength, maybe some bitterness.”
“I’m not bitter,” he interjected.
She ignored him. “It hints at stubbornness too. But look at the way you drink it. You hold the cup tightly, again implying strength, but your sips are slow, methodical almost. You like to be in control, even in the way you drink your coffee. But you swallow slowly, as if savoring the liquid, however bitter it is.”
“And what does that say?” he asked, strangely fascinated.
“I don’t know. Respect? Appreciation?”
He set down his mug and folded his hands over his lap. It was a little unnerving how she’d just pegged him completely on the basis of how he drank his coffee. Stubborn, he was that all right. Controlled? Hell, yeah. Though he’d never realized coffee could convey all that.
“What about you?” he said suddenly. “What does your drink say about you?”
“Nothing.”
“What do you mean, nothing?”
She gave an impish smile that lit up her whole face. “I don’t drink coffee.” She held out her cup. “See, tea.”
He rolled his eyes. “On the contrary, I bet tea says a lot about you.”
“Fine. Tell me.”
There she was again, the sassy Ellie he’d always liked. Her blue eyes glimmered with challenge and amusement and before he could stop himself he moved closer to her. His thigh grazed hers. Too close yet not close enough.
“Well, you’re gentle, soft.” He dipped his head and breathed in the aroma of her tea. “Sweet, too.”
She snorted, and the sound brought a smile to his lips. “Gentle, soft and sweet? I can’t say I’ve ever been described as that before.”
He held up his hand. “I wasn’t finished. Give me the cup.” She handed it over and he took a long sip. “See, no sugar. It’s flavored, but a little bitter. Strength.” He took another sip. “With a hint of cinnamon. Spicy.” He finally gave her back the cup.
“You’re pretty good at this.” She laughed. “Maybe we should go into business together, ripping off strangers with fake drink fortunes.”
She placed the cup on the table again and looked at him, her mouth open as if she was about to say something. Before she could, he cut her off, the words slipping out of his mouth before he could stop them.
“Dance for me.”
Her eyes widened. “What?”
“I want to see you dance.” He swallowed against the dryness of his throat. “Do you have any of your old ballet costumes here?”
Shadows and clouds danced across her face. “Yes.”
“Put one on. Put on one of your CDs. I want to see you dance ballet again, Ellie.”
He didn’t know where any of it came from, just that he needed to watch her dance. What she did at the club was appealing to the eye—among other things—but it wasn’t Ellie. She was elegant, graceful as a swan, agile as a gymnast. It had come out of left field, but he suddenly knew he couldn’t leave without watching her be a ballerina again.
“I can’t.”
She rose from the sofa and walked across the room, pausing in front of one of the bookshelves. Aimlessly running her fingers over the spines of the hard covers, she let out a shaky breath, her back to him.
He stood up and approached her. “Why not? Don’t you want to dance again? You love ballet, you always have.”
Her lips tightened in a firm line, her jaw tense. “I still do, Luke.”
“Then dance for me.”
“I can’t.”
He took a step toward the CD rack and pulled out the first case he saw. “Come on, Elenore. Here, Swan Lake. Just one song.” He held out the CD.
She stared at the disk as if it were a bomb. Breathing deeply, her chest contracting, her blue eyes darkening to cobalt. Then, to his shock, she grabbed the CD and threw it across the room. The case shattered against the wall, breaking apart then falling to the hardwood floor. A dull silence descended over the room, save for Ellie’s ragged breathing.
Her eyes were wild, angry, and all he could do was stare at her in utter disbelief.
“Get out, Luke.”
The sharpness of her voice shocked him. “I’m sorry I asked you to dance. I didn’t think it would be a—”
“I can’t!” She nearly roared at him, her brown hair flying in all directions as she stalked past him. She began to pace, quickly, desperately, while her dress swirled like a tornado over her thighs. “Don’t you get it? I physically can’t.”
He’d never seen her look this volatile. He watched as she stopped pacing and stood there shaking in front of him. Her hands balled into fists, her mouth twisted in a bitter smile. And all he could say was, “What?”
“My foot, Luke.” She looked at him as if he was a complete imbecile. “Remember the foot I broke in the accident?”
“But it healed.”
“Healed, yeah.” She gave a harsh laugh. “But it’ll never be strong enough again. You know that thing we ballerinas do, standing on our tiptoes and fluttering around? That’s called en pointe. And I can’t do it anymore. I can’t dance ballet. So if you think I’m going to put on a tutu and lunge across the room in graceful pirouettes, you’re a fool.”
She finished with a long, trembling breath. Slowly, she uncurled her fists, her fingers falling limply, hands dangling beside her hips. Shock filled his entire body as her revelation swarmed his brain like an army of bees. She couldn’t dance? Like the pieces of a puzzle fitting together, he understood. That’s why she’d left the ballet company. Not because she didn’t want to be there. But because she couldn’t.
The pain in her eyes cut him to the core. The spark in
there had burned out, leaving deep blue pools laced with sorrow and…shame? Staring into her pain-filled face, his heart squeezed and ached. He knew how important dancing was to her. Since she was a kid, all she’d talked about was how she would be a prima ballerina someday. He imagined her devastation at learning that could never happen, and suddenly felt like a complete jerk for what he’d done.
Dance for me.
I can’t.
“Ellie, I’m sorry.”
When she didn’t answer, he walked toward her, eliminating the distance between them. Her cheeks were red, flushed from her outburst, and he could feel the heat emanating from her body. Stepping even closer, he cupped her face with his hands, ignoring the way her eyes widened again.
“Is that why you left San Francisco?”
She swallowed. “Yes.”
“You should’ve told me. You should’ve told Josh.”
She shrugged his hands from her face. “What would that have achieved?”
“We could have helped you.”
“How?” Sarcasm dripped from her voice. “Can you fix my foot? Make it all better? Amazing, because I went to three physical therapists who couldn’t do a damn thing for me.”
His nostrils flared. He didn’t like the way she was talking to him. Cold, sarcastic, as if she’d given up, as if not being able to dance implied her life was over.
“So please, don’t patronize me.” She huffed out a breath. “In fact, just go. I want you to leave.”
He set his jaw. “No.”
“Yes. You know why I’m here, so now there’s no reason for you to stick around.”
A part of him knew she was absolutely right. He’d finally figured out what was wrong, why she’d taken off and left her old life behind her. He could leave, tell Josh the truth, and be on his way. But another part refused to go. Rooted to his feet, he stared into her blue eyes that still glimmered with anger, bitterness and regret. How could he leave when all he wanted to do was take her into his arms?