21. Rowan
ROWAN
The few days I took off to grieve are at an end. I went into them expecting to be alone, completely unsure how I’d be coming out of the other side.
Instead, I spent them with Samson. With his crazy family. In that fucking huge mansion where I got lost just trying to find the kitchen for coffee this morning. Ansel wasn’t joking about panicked phone calls. I had to call Samson to come track me down.
Because of him, I made it through the days I’d been dreading for months. Now, I’m heading into rehearsal with a relaxed smile thanks to the sex he woke me up with.
And, best of all, I’m walking into the studio with Samson at my side.
“You don’t need to come with me,” I tell him for the hundredth time. “You must have better things to do than watch me dance.”
“Nope.” He leans past me to open the door for me. “Can’t think of a single thing I’d rather be doing, to be honest.”
I try to hide my smile at his gentlemanly action. For all his grumpy bluster, I suspect Samson’s hiding a secret sweet side.
My smile fades as I realize why he hides it. If he wasn’t allowed to dance, he probably wasn’t allowed to be many other things either.
Including sweet.
Well, I’m going to show Samson he can be all of that with me and more. I’m not sure why or how he came into my life, or how long he will be part of it, but I’ll be forever grateful for it. He stepped into my darkness and sat with me there. He didn’t leave me.
I’ll always be thankful. Giving him a safe space to be himself feels like a good way to show that.
Even if it’s only for the next two days.
After this, I’m going to have to cut back on how much time I’m spending with him.
Sleeping next to him each night, being fucked and sucked into oblivion, not to mention just being taken care of the way he has is…
It’s all too much. Too dangerous.
Samson falls into step beside me as we pass various classes. With a show around the corner, I’m not on the rota for the next few weeks. I still pop my head in every door we pass, checking everyone is happy and has what they need.
“Why aren’t you the manager?” Samson asks as we exit the final room.
“Ugh.” I roll my eyes. “The owner, Derek, decided we don’t need a manager because we’re coping fine without one.”
“Hmm.” Samson scowls. “That sounds like corporate speak for ‘you’re already doing the job, so why should he pay you for it?’”
“Got it in one.” I sigh. “I know I should push, but he leaves us alone. He rarely even shows up, just lets us get on with things. Sure, it’s not quite like having my own studio, but it’s close enough.”
“Except the lack of money.”
“I get by.”
“Still, don’t you want your own place?”
“Someday.” I smile wistfully. “I’m not sure it’s in the cards for me, but I can dream.”
Samson’s quiet as we make our way to the theater. I suddenly realize something. “Wait, don’t you have to work? I don’t want your boss being mad at you for spending so much time with me.”
Samson chuckles. “Don’t think Wylder gives a fuck, to be honest. He’s probably happy I’m not under his feet, bugging him for more work.”
“Wylder’s your boss?”
“Yup.”
We step inside the theater, and I pause to flick on the lights. I’m the first one here, which isn’t unusual. This place feels more like my home than my apartment most days.
To be honest, Samson’s room feels more like home, too. Which is a problem I’m going to need to face eventually.
“What exactly is it that you do?”
“Oh,” Samson says casually, “I’m an assassin.”
I roll my eyes, even if my mind does flicker to his dagger for a second. But there’s no way the Buckinghams are killers. They’re chaotic, but…no fucking way.
“Fine, don’t tell me. Keep your secrets.”
I wait for him to tell me what he actually does for a living, but he’s too busy studying the auditorium with a frown on his face. “Do you have to rehearse in here?”
“Um, yeah.” I hitch my dance bag higher on my shoulder. “We start our rehearsals in a studio, but this close to the show? We have to be on stage to know where our marks are and to iron out our blocking. Why?”
“It’s too dangerous,” he bites out. “Too many places to hide.”
My lips quirk. “Just who’s going to be hiding out to watch us on stage? It’s a big production, but we’re not heading to Broadway.”
“You’re too trusting,” Samson says. “Bad people are everywhere. You should know that better than anyone.”
My breath catches in my throat as I take an involuntary step back. Tears cloud my vision, but I see Samson’s eyes widen in panic as his brain catches up to what his mouth said. “Fuck, I didn’t mean—”
“It’s fine.” I cut him off with a bright smile. Behind me, I can hear the chatter of my approaching friends. “Everything’s fine. Why don’t you find a seat if you’re going to insist on watching?”
I go to turn, but Samson catches my arm. He spins me and crushes me to his chest. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean it to come out how it did.”
Heat burns at the back of my eyes. “I’m fine, I promise.”
“You’re not fine,” he growls, his hands stroking along my spine. “Stop with that bullshit right now. You might always wear a smile, but I’m learning which are real and fake.”
I blink up at him. “You are?”
“Yes. And the one you just gave me was about as real as my desire to play Monopoly using the token Harley shit out.”
The voices are closer now, making me reluctantly pull out of his arms. “You need to tell me the full story about that.”
“I will,” he promises, dusting a light kiss over my temple. “Go dance. I’m ready to see some real smiles.”
Samson gives us a standing ovation when we’re done, both fingers in his mouth, whistling loudly. My chest heaves with exertion, but I have the biggest grin on my face as I take a bow.
“You killed it,” Clay chirps at me as we disappear offstage. “I mean, you’re always good, but that? That was spectacular.”
“Oh, hush.” I swat at him playfully. “We were all fantastic.”
“But you more so.” Marcy nudges me with her hip as she passes. “Something to do with the hot, muscly beast of a man watching from the audience?”
I busy myself removing my pointe shoes. “Can’t think who you mean.”
“Please.” Shane rolls his eyes. “He couldn’t take his eyes off you. It was like he was mesmerized.”
I grin as I put my shoes in my bag and pull on my ballet pumps. I don’t need outdoor shoes yet, not with what I have planned.
I bid everyone farewell, promising to bring cookies in for the next rehearsal.
I’ll have to sweet-talk Jules into letting me use his kitchen.
Despite him apparently being Matthias’s chef, he was the one cooking us all breakfast this morning, with Harley watching from a shadowed corner like a wounded puppy.
I wait until they’re all gone before slipping into the wings and out into the auditorium. My brow crinkles when I notice the empty seat Samson chose. Where is he?
Before I can panic, a strong pair of arms wrap around me from behind. “Boo.”
I can’t help but snuggle back against his chest. “Are you trying to scare me?”
“No,” he grumbles, kissing my jaw. “I was trying to prove a point about how many hiding places there are around here. You need to be on your guard. All the time.”
I give a light laugh. “I’m perfectly safe in the theater.”
I twist in his arms, and one glance at his face tells me he’s about to argue with me, which doesn’t sound fun. Not as fun as my other idea, anyway.
Pushing up on my toes, I bring our lips together. I kiss him until the tension melts out of his body and his hands are moving hungrily over my body. Only then do I break the kiss.
“Come with me.”
His tongue flicks out over his lower lip. “Are we going somewhere more private?”
“Yes, but not for the reason you think.”
Samson groans. “So, you kissed me like that to…?”
“To make you quit arguing.” I grin, tugging on his hand. “Come on. This’ll be fun, I promise.”
He follows me into an empty dance studio. I flick on the lights and lead him into the middle of the room. “Wait here.”
Amusement has replaced the heat in his eyes as he watches me flit over to the stereo. A few clicks have soft music filling the air.
“What are you doing?”
I return to him, offering him a wide smile. “I thought maybe we could have another private dance lesson.”
He thumbs at my lip. “With a happy ending this time?”
I laugh. “I was thinking a real dance lesson. One where it’s just me and you, and where we don’t get distracted by wanting to fuck each other.”
“Then you really should be wearing more clothes.”
“Come on,” I say, sliding my hand into his. “Think how fun it’ll be with all this space. You won’t need to duck your head or worry about knocking into anything. And no one will record you in here. This is a safe space.”
Samson shivers. “I wouldn’t put it past Neo. Fucker has cameras everywhere.”
“Not in here,” I say firmly. “This is safe. I promise.”
“Thank you.” He lifts my hand to kiss my knuckles. “You don’t have to convince me. I signed up for one of your classes, remember?”
“I know, but this is different.” I lay my spare hand over his chest. “In class, you’re surrounded by other students. Here, it’s just us. You and me. You can be and do whatever you want.”
Something passes over Samson’s face—a combination of joy and gratitude that has my knees weakening. His throat bobs before he speaks. “You’re really special, you know that?”
“Allowing you to be yourself doesn’t make me special,” I counter. “It’s basic human decency.”
“That’s not how I see it. But that’s okay, I can wait until you see it my way.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask him what he means by that, but that’ll only distract us further. And it’s not like he’ll give me a straight answer. Hell, only two hours ago he told me he’s an assassin. Like that’s a normal job people actually have.
But I set that aside and focus on him, turning on music and helping him find the beat.
It’s not natural for him, but I find a way to help him get there.
It’s frustrating for him; I can see it on his face.
But when I move my hands against him to guide him, he’s distracted enough to put aside his irritation and just feel it.
It’s then that he manages to find the rhythm, and then we’re working on some simple steps. By the time we have to leave because another class needs the room, we’re both sweating.
And he’s smiling.
“I did it,” he murmurs. “On my own.”
“You did. And you looked good, too.”
“I think I’ll be able to replicate it.”
“You will. It’s in your DNA. I can tell.”
I let my gaze rake over his body before meeting his hooded eyes.
“Shall we go home?” he asks, and I find myself nodding, even though Samson’s house isn’t my home. Even if it sort of feels like it. So I allow him to drive me there, our hands linked, a grin lingering on his lips.
Soon, I’ll cut back on this happiness I’m allowing myself.
Very soon.
Before it’s taken from me.