Chapter Seven Cord #2
My hands find their place on her waist. “One of the main differences between what you do when dancing ballet and what dancers like the ones in my show do, aside from the entertainment factor, is in the hips.”
“Are you trying to imply that ballet is boring?” Her breath catches as my hands trail down to her hips.
“I don’t think anyone could argue that ballet is more entertaining than my show.”
“Yes, well, not everyone enjoys watching a bunch of sweaty men rip their clothes off. Some people have culture and taste.”
“Perhaps we should compare ticket sales and see whether or not that’s true.” I grin at her in the mirror. “Can you roll your hips for me?”
She tries, I’ll give her that. But the movement is stiff, her torso seemingly unable to bend. My hands, still resting on her hips, barely move.
“You’ve been trained to focus on your lines, but if you really want your performance to be imbued with sex appeal, you need to forget about lines and focus on curves.”
She grimaces at that, and I wonder if there’s a story there. While Allegra is lean and obviously fit, she does have more curves than the average ballerina. Not that I let my eyes linger or anything.
I shift my hands, spreading my fingers wide over her hips. I force them to stay gentle, not greedy. “Like this.” I guide her hips in a circle, smirking at her resistance. “Stop fighting me.”
She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. Her shoulders sink in an attempt to relax her muscles.
“You’re still working against me, Slippers.” The words come out in a whisper after a few more hip-roll attempts. I take a step closer to her and suddenly our bodies are pressed together, my hips settled right behind hers.
That floral scent nearly overwhelms my senses and I have to fight not to recognize how perfectly her hips flush with mine, the soft curve of her ass nestling against me.
This time, instead of using my hands to stir her body in a circle, I use my own hips, the two of us moving as one. I do it again, rolling us in the opposite direction. It’s the hottest thing that’s happened to me in far too long. “Good. That’s much better.” I practically choke on the words.
“Much better,” she echoes, voice faint and breathy.
That’s how we spend the next half hour, my hips pressed against hers, my hands on her waist, as I try to get her to loosen up her muscles and forget all the things ballet has ingrained in her.
Finally, I have her try the motions on her own. She doesn’t watch herself in the mirror, as if she’s afraid of what she might see.
I let her run through the series of movements, my eyes never leaving her. Once she finishes, she goes back to the beginning, ready to do it all again, but I hold up a hand to stop her. “You didn’t look at yourself once the entire time.”
She shrugs. “So?”
“Do you normally watch yourself during ballet?”
“Depends. I do most of the time during class, sometimes during rehearsal.” She fidgets with the waistband of her leggings.
I move behind her once again, directing us to face the mirror. “Tell me something about me that you find attractive.”
She glances over her shoulder with a scoff. “Seriously?”
“I have a point, and I promise it’s not just to stroke my ego.”
Her eyes flutter. She sighs, studying my reflection. “You have nice eyes.”
“Thank you.” I grin. “Tell me another one.”
“Your smile is perfect, even if it is cocky.”
This stirs a laugh. “My parents will be happy to know the thousands of dollars of braces were worth it. One more.”
Her voice softens. “You have really good hands. They’re sturdy and your grip is gentle but still makes me feel safe.”
It takes me a second to recover from that one. “I’m glad you feel that way with me.” I clear my throat. “Now. Tell me three things about yourself that you find attractive.”
Her mouth opens and closes, no words coming out for a second. “I don’t really see how that’s going to help anything.”
I step around her so we’re side-by-side. “Humor me.”
“I guess I don’t think about myself that way.”
I gesture toward the mirror. “Well, now’s the time to start. Look at yourself. If you were a stranger and saw you walking down the street, what would you notice? What would catch your attention?”
She takes a tiny step away from me, her eyes locked on her reflection. Those eyes are so expressive, and they swirl with emotions. I want to parse out every single one of them.
I stay quiet. She turns to meet my eyes, and I see so much of my former self there. I reach out my hand and she slips hers into it. I tug her closer to the mirror, stepping behind her once again. “Should I tell you what I find most attractive about you, Slippers?”
She swallows thickly. “You don’t have to do that.”
I wonder if she thinks I would be lying, finding things about her for the purpose of the assignment. As if she didn’t take my breath away the very first time I saw her.
“I want to.” I take her chin in my hands, gently turning her eyes back to the mirror. “Your smile. I admit, you don’t give it to me often, but that night at the show, when you were talking with your friends, it lit up your whole face.”
She freezes, holding completely still.
“The second thing I noticed, and I’ll apologize in advance for my stereotypical man-who-likes-women reaction, is your breasts. They’re perfect.”
I can’t help but notice her nipples pebble under the thin fabric of her leotard, and I have to force myself to swallow.
“And the third thing?” she prompts after a silent minute.
“Your eyes. They’re so expressive, yet mysterious.”
There’s an awkwardly long pause, the two of us staring at each other through the mirror. Not for the first time, I wonder if all of this is a huge mistake.
“Ready for your homework?” I ask when I can take the silence no more.
She nods.
“Our next lesson will be Saturday night. After my show. Up until then, I want you to text me each day with something about yourself you find attractive.”
She lets out a sigh, but I already see a wall coming up between us.
I step around her, bringing us face-to-face. “Be honest with me. And be honest with yourself, Slippers. How can you expect others to find you attractive if you don’t feel that way yourself?”
“You know, when I asked you for these lessons, I thought you were going to show me something practical I could take with me into my audition.”
The corner of my mouth quirks up. “Doubting my methods?”
She bristles. “Just wondering if you really have methods, or if this is all some kind of silly game for you.”
I drop my smile. “This isn’t a game, Slippers. I can’t promise you you’ll get this part, but I can promise that when this whole thing is over, you’ll understand that you are bigger than ballet.” I clench my hands into tight fists at my sides and I don’t say anything more. Anything incriminating.
She lets the silence linger for a moment.
“Where are we meeting on Saturday night?”
I cross to the far side of the room, needing some space to breathe. “I’ll text you the address. We’re going to take a little field trip.”
“Can’t wait.” She tries to sound sarcastic, but I hear the truth in her words.
Because I can’t wait either.