Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 104185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
When his eyes focused on me, it was clear he was thinking about last night, and his face changed to the unreadable expression I was beginning to dislike.
“What time is it?” he asked.
“Five thirty.” There had been a battery-operated clock on one of the living room walls. “How’s your back?”
“It’s been better.”
I gestured to the water and bottle on the nightstand. He thanked me and set about taking them while I watched silently. I had no idea what to say. It had been a bad idea to get back in bed with the naked man whose touch could shut my brain off.
I wanted to ask him what would happen now but couldn’t get up the nerve.
Where I was dressed and filled with uncertainty, the naked man seemed completely sure and comfortable. He turned on his side toward me, the duvet and sheet shifting to sit low on his waist.
The urge to run a hand along his defined chest and continue down below the sheet was powerfully strong, but I tore my focus away to gaze up at the ceiling.
“How are you? Sore?” he questioned.
“From . . . last night?” I was stunned he would bring it up, that he was so cavalier.
“No.” His face went blank. “I meant from everything else.” My response had caught him off guard, leaving him with no choice but to follow up. His voice was hushed and uneasy. “Are you sore from that?”
“No. And no.”
He nodded but looked unclear what to do with that information.
Good lord. Did I have some sort of superpower for making things weird between us? I avoided his gaze, even as I sensed it was on me. Wasn’t I the one who’d come back to bed, the worst possible place to be if I wanted to avoid him?
“Someone took my clothes,” he remarked, matter-of-fact.
“They’re in the dryer.”
He threw the duvet off, swung his feet over the side of the bed, and stood. My head turned and then snapped back to the ceiling. Yep, still naked. He pivoted to face me, to give me a better view.
“You’re shy now?”
Was he . . . teasing me?
“No.”
To prove it, I sat up, faced him, and let my gaze slide down every delicious inch of his toned body. He moved swiftly, rounding the bed, and stalked toward me, causing me to go short of breath.
“Why do you have clothes on?” he asked.
His question was disorienting. “Because I was cold.”
“If you were cold, you would have put on something that made you warm.” A smile lurked in his eyes. “Not something to tease me.”
My heart stumbled. Where was his lecture about what a mistake he’d made? I rose onto my knees under his heated gaze, intent on meeting his eyes, but he kissed me roughly, and my eyelids fell closed under his power.
How did he do that? He was overwhelming, inescapable—not that I wanted to escape.
Abruptly, he broke the kiss and stepped back, looking affected.
“You need clothes,” he mumbled, retrieving the towel from the floor and banding it around his waist to cover himself. “I can’t think when you look like that.” His gaze coasted down my legs and worked slowly back up. “And I need a shower.”
I did too, but if I was going to get some practice time in, it made sense to wait on that. “I noticed the dining room has hardwood floors.”
The dryer chimed down the hall while he figured out what I meant. “You want help moving the table?”
He didn’t bother with a shirt, so I didn’t put on pants. The large table wasn’t terribly heavy when we pushed it into the corner. And when it was done, I grabbed my pointe shoes, set them on the table for when I was ready, and began my floor stretches.
I’d expected him to head back to the bedroom, but he lingered oddly. Like he was nervous.
Worry made me pause. “What is it?”
“The dance you did in the restaurant. If you’re going to do that again,” he said, “I wouldn’t mind watching.”
Oh. A grin warmed my face. If only he had a clue how sexy the idea sounded to me. “Take your shower, and I’ll get warmed up.”
I worked my tight muscles, breathing through the stretches and then shaking them out with familiar comfort. The anticipation of dancing for him, in little more than my underwear, was erotic, and I skipped some of the exercises I knew I should do. Would he take a short shower and return right away, or would he go slow, thinking I’d need a good chunk of time to prepare? I couldn’t hear the shower running, and there was no doubt he’d gotten in by now.
Enough with the stretching.
I laced on the pointe shoes and stepped through a bit of choreography, checking to make sure I wouldn’t slip on the floor. Finally, I channeled my nervous anticipation into my moves. I danced the piece from my premiere, and when that was over, I began the opening steps of my audition piece. I’d already picked out where Jason would sit.