Chapter Eight Allegra #3
I let Cord use his hands to move my hips and spin me around and pull me closer.
Even though it goes against everything in me to cede power, I let him have it.
I pretend like he is one of my partners in the company, men I am comfortable with, have been dancing with for years.
I have no problem letting those dancers put their hands all over me, have no problem letting them lift me and spin me and toss me into the air.
Yet even though we’re not messing with lifts and tosses here, dancing with Cord feels more dangerous. Giving myself over to him feels like something I might come to regret.
But I do it anyway, convincing myself it’s purely for practical purposes. I need to learn, and Cord is here to teach me.
I’m not sure at what point I start to have fun. But flying around the dance floor with Cord’s hand on my back feels not only fun but safe.
Like I know he’s not going to let me fall. Or fail.
We dance through four or five upbeat songs, the beats frenzied, the pace so quick even my impeccable cardio ability is put to the test. As if he knows we all need a breather, the DJ switches to a slow song. One not meant for quick spins and turns, but for swaying and pulling your partner close.
I drop Cord’s hand, assuming we’ll be making our way back to our table to sit this one out. Clearly this is not part of the lesson.
But when I free his hand, he snakes his arm around my waist, collapsing the space between us to practically nothing.
I mean to push away from him, really I do, but my body responds without my permission, both of my arms circling his neck like we’re back at high school prom.
Of course, I never went to prom because I never went to high school.
I was already too busy with dance to worry about such small things, already studying at the Ballet New York School, hoping to one day be a part of the company.
“What’s on your mind, Slippers?” His voice is low and close to my ear. I try to hide the shiver it sends racing up my spine.
“Just thinking about how I never went to prom.” I answer truthfully before I can think about all the reasons why I shouldn’t. All the reasons why Cord Donovan doesn’t need to know such personal details about me.
“I never went to mine either.”
Surprised, I pull back a little, so I can see his eyes. “How come? I would have thought you could have your pick of any partner you wanted.”
He shrugs, that knowing smirk pulling on the corner of his lips. “I could have.”
I roll my eyes and adjust my hands. The movement causes my fingers to graze the ends of his hair at the nape of his neck. It’s silky and thick and I want to thread my fingers through it.
It might be my imagination, but I think he pulls me in even closer, our hips flush together, less than an inch separating our chests.
I’m grateful for that tiny gap so he hopefully can’t feel how hard my heart is pounding in my chest. I tell myself it’s still recovering from the exertion of all the salsa dancing, but it might have more to do with the way Cord’s fingers keep stroking the bare skin of my back.
I know I need to pull away to preserve my sanity, but I can’t move.
I can’t see anything but Cord, the rest of the room fading into a hazy blur.
“Allegra, I…” My name on his lips is potent, drugging.
“That’s enough of that slow stuff, lovebirds. Let’s get back to salsa!” The DJ follows his horribly timed interruption with a return to the thumping beats from before. Somehow the music has gotten even louder and faster.
I don’t know if I have it in me for more of the quick-paced steps. My body feels like it’s been doused in cement, my limbs so heavy I don’t know how I’ll be able to walk home.
“Ready to go?” His lips brush the shell of my ear and I’m grateful his hands are still on my back, keeping me standing in place.
Nodding, I turn for our table where I’ve left my clutch. The moment I break our hold, I feel the loss of him. I want his hands back on me, my hands back on him.
But I beeline for the table, swipe up my purse, and head for the front entrance. I pick up my coat and shove my arms into the sleeves as if it can act as some kind of armor, protect me from things I should not be feeling.
Because I need Cord to be my teacher. I don’t have room for him to be anything else.
And I think his behavior makes it clear he’s not interested in anything else with me anyway.
Not that that matters. My head needs to be squarely on my audition, my focus can’t afford to be diverted for even a few minutes.
Becoming a principal dancer requires my full time and devotion. Ballet has to come above all else.
“Can I give you a ride home?” Cord asks once we’ve made it out of the club and to the streets of Manhattan. He gestures to a black SUV waiting for him at the curb like he’s some kind of celebrity.
I shake my head. The last thing I need is to spend any more time in close proximity to him, not while I can still feel the ghosts of his hands gripping my waist and pulling me close. “I can just take the subway.”
“It’s no trouble, Slippers.”
It might be, I think but don’t say out loud. “It’s okay. I’m fine on my own. Any homework?”
He studies me, his gaze too knowing, and I can only pray he doesn’t see how much he affects me. “I’ll text you.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and backs away, heading toward his car without turning to face it. “Let me know when you get home, okay?”
I nod. “Will do. Have a good night.”
“You too, Slippers.”
I spin on my heel, racing toward the subway station before I can change my mind and hop in that stupid car.
I need some space from Cord Donovan, and I need it now.