A Week Later
I was stalling, and it made me feel guilty down to my core. I’d sent him a message earlier, saying a client went later than I expected, but I’d be over in twenty. It was all a lie, and I was on borrowed time.
The message was sent nineteen minutes ago, and my hands shook like those damned tiny dogs did. What were they called again? Chihuahuas? That’s it. Just call me Chihuahuabella and throw a blanket over me already.
Why did I put it on my list? What could I have possibly been thinking?
He was renowned, brilliant, and danced with hundreds of talented and equally magnificent women in his life. While it had never bothered me seeing him dance intimately with Kinsley, I was suddenly afraid he would compare us, and there was only one way for me to measure up.
Lacking.
Yup, that is what he’d think inside his head. I was lacking. The worst part was he’d never say it out loud. That somehow made it worse. I groaned as my phone beeped, letting me know the twenty minutes were up.
Sighing, I silenced the timer and grabbed my purse and keys. I set the alarm and locked the door behind me and walked six feet to the dance studio door. He was waiting by the front desk with no shirt on.
I gulped and wet my dry lips, trying to keep my eyes from roaming further down. He pushed away and made his way over to the door. Something in his walk brought up one of the many times I’d seen him dance with Kinsley.
It was an Argentine Tango, and every bit of it was magical. He’d danced it as he was, masculine and with a passionate fury, with hunger and the snarl of his top lip as he reached up to cup her face at one point could still stop me in my tracks.
He was a vibrant and vicious dancer. I’d felt it in my spine watching him—that dangerous pull of wanting to be the one he looked at like that.
He held the door open. “You coming in or chickening out?”
I fumed, “I had a late—”
“Liar. Your last client left an hour ago.”
Then he had the nerve to mock me. He knew exactly how to elicit a response from me. And he did all right. In fact, all it did was shove the previous flutter of nerves in my stomach to a fire.
I stomped inside and then, as if someone threw water on me, the fire doused. The sound of keys jangling and then the click of a lock being engaged echoed in the silence of the reception area. We were alone. Why was I so nervous?
The only way out is through.
I repeated the saying Marcel had ingrained in me and turned to face my fear.
Which, in that exact moment, was a half-naked man with a lion on his chest. Our eyes met, and he raised one eyebrow in question and then let his eyes rake over my body.
I felt exposed even though I was fully dressed.
I was in my usual comfortable black jeans, T-shirt, and boots.
“Interesting choice for dance attire.”
“Yeah,” I muttered, biting my lip. I was suddenly very aware of the fact that denim doesn’t stretch and neither did my pride.
“I was in a rush this morning and forgot to pack a change of clothes,” I replied before adding, “Maybe we should schedule another time?”
I lifted hopeful eyes, and he shook his head. With a chuckle, he said, “Kinsley has extra leotards and tights in the office. I’m sure we can find something in there.”
“I couldn’t. She will need those…”
“We’ll take them home and have them laundered. I’ll bring them back tomorrow. She won’t even have to know. Our secret?”
I put my hands on my hips. “We don’t keep secrets. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten the basic family rule?”
“Then we’ll rush straight home and tell her all about it. I can’t see her getting upset. In fact, I’m surprised she didn’t stick around.”
“That would be because I bribed her. I promised to let her take me dress shopping.”
“You in a dress? Hmm…interesting.”
“What is that supposed to mean? I’ll need one for your friend’s wedding. Unless you’ve changed your mind?” I eyed him nervously.
He sensed my anxiety rising and sauntered over, but then stopped short of touching me. My heart caught in my throat.
“I haven’t,” he offered. “Come with me and I’ll show you her stash.”
I sighed but followed him. His strong, confident strides matched the rhythm of the music playing in one of the rooms. I couldn’t help but admire his form.
The muscles of his back were defined and powerful. Broad shoulders that tapered down at the waist. His body was magnificent. He had a raw intensity about him, even in the way he walked, each step fluid and graceful.
What I wouldn’t give to trace the lines of his back with my fingers. Without warning, the artist in me conjured up new ink for him. It wasn’t entirely my fault, but once it started, it leaped into a fantasy.
One in which he lay face down on my tattoo chair on a night similar to this one. The front door locked, leaving us alone. I imagined my hands on his skin and nearly tripped over my own damn feet.
What the hell was wrong with me?
I had no idea what to do with the gamut of emotions that churned inside my stomach.
My heart raced as he opened the door, and I stepped into the shared office.
One side screamed Kinsley, with her favorite color highlighting several areas on her desk.
His was a stark contrast, more like the sleek, masculine side of his bedroom.
Don’t think about that.
“Get it together,” I murmured under my breath.
“What was that?” he asked. Something in his smirk made me realize I’d spoken louder than I should have. Damn him.
He walked confidently toward the lockers on the far wall.
Once more it was easy to tell Kinsley’s from his.
Stickers adorned the outside, painting a smile on my face.
God, I loved her. She hadn’t gotten an opportunity to go to real school, so this was probably the closest she’d ever come to decorating one.
“The locker rooms are across the way. I’ll meet you in studio B.”
I nodded, thankful for a moment alone. Turning my attention to the locker, I hesitated for a second, scanning the array of pink leotards and tights. A sense of apprehension fluttered in my chest. Of course, my girl wouldn’t have a black one on-hand.
The best I could do was a faded one that was almost gray. It seemed less girly, if a leotard could be described as such. Grabbing them, I went toward the locker room. I slipped inside the small changing area and quickly shed my street clothes to exchange them for the leotard and tights.
I pulled the tights on, feeling decidedly more uncomfortable for no reason at all. The material clung to my skin uncomfortably.
For fuck’s sake, this isn’t the first time you’ve worn tights, so stop acting like it.
I was unsuccessful, no matter the amount of internal rage I had going on. And maybe it was that which caused the next mishap of the night. My fingernail went through the delicate material. I stared stupidly down at the hole and cursed under my breath.
Yanking them off, I tossed them to the side. They were more trouble than they were worth. I pulled my phone out and dialed Kinsley. She answered on the first ring.
“Hey, is everything okay? Aren’t you supposed to be dancing?”
I let out a frustrated sound, and my words tumbled out in a stream of complaints.
“Okay, don’t kill me, but I managed to ruin a perfectly good pair of tights.
You’d think I had no idea how to put a damned pair on with the stupid hole I’ve poked in it.
And can you please tell me why you hate black so much?
Not a goddamn single black leotard to borrow.
Plenty of pink ones, though, and purple. ”
There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line, followed by an unmistakable sound.
“Are you laughing at me?” I demanded.
“Oh, God. Yes, sorry, that wasn’t very nice of me. I can’t help it though. You’re killing me. Take a deep breath.”
I rolled my eyes and wanted to tell her to get her ass down here and be my teacher. Instead, I did as she asked, and after several breaths, I was better.
“Pasha is an excellent teacher. He won’t care what you’re wearing.”
“That’s a lie because otherwise I’d be wearing pants right now. He was the one who suggested I change.”
“Put the leotard on and get out there. We believe in you, don’t we guys?”
My mortification rose ten notches as what sounded like the entire rest of the family, minus Bash, had something to say. But it was Declan who did me in.
“Aunt Izzy, you get out there right now. Grin and bear it. If I can do lessons in dance, so can you. I understand you don’t like it, but it has bene…oh blast it. It will make you more rounded and flush.”
“Flush?” I exclaimed.
More laughter erupted. “He means fluid and the other word you were looking for, sweet boy, was benefits,” Kinsley offered.
“Yeah, what Aunt Kinsley said. Benefits. You’ll get more of them. I’m not too sure what they are, but Uncle Pasha says it’s true, so I believe him.”
“Thanks, little man.”
With an air of regret and a heaping side of ‘get over it’, I said goodbye. I stepped into the leotard and tugged it up my legs, already suspicious. By the time I wrestled it over my hips, I understood why.
Borrowing spandex from someone who barely clears five feet was optimistic at best. The fabric stretched heroically across my chest. The neckline dipped in ways that suggested confidence I did not possess.
My eyes narrowed as I reached between my legs to stretch out the material a little. Was it too much to ask for a little give? Apparently it was. I let out a breath as I looked at myself in the mirror. It was giving less ‘ballerina’ and more ‘hooker’.
But that wasn’t the worst. Instant horror and regret had me questioning my sanity. The damn thing cut high. Too high in the crotch area. I should have shaved. Too late now.
“I give up,” I muttered.
Feeling at a loss as I stared down at my damned body. There was no way in hell I was going out there looking like the Beast of Bodmin Moor was coming out to play. Once more, I pulled my phone out and rang Kinsley.
“Take me off speaker, if you bear me any love at all,” I demanded as soon as she answered.
Once I was satisfied she was the only one on the other end, I spoke. “I look like I’ve got an animal shoved in this damned thing, screaming to get out. I’m mortified and honestly don’t know what to do right now.”
After another round of obnoxious laughter and having to wait three full minutes for her to calm down, she finally spoke. “I’ve never heard of that creature. What is the beast of Bodmin Moor?”
“Look it up,” I hissed.
Silence followed by what I could only assume was her Googling it. “Oh, I get it now. It’s the UK version of Big Foot.”
“Yeah, well, grooming that area isn’t high on my priority list. Shoot me. Like for real, call your grandpa and tell him you want to take a hit out. Send them now.”
“Now you hush. This is something we can fix.”
“Oh okay, you happen to have an unused razor lying around?”
“Well, no. I don’t have to shave. I had laser hair removal a long time ago. But this is still fixable. I’m pretty sure there is a skirt in my locker that you can wear over for now. But we’ll need to schedule an appointment for you. We can’t have you coming to game night looking like a hairy beast.”
A knock sounded, startling me, and I let out a yelp.
“Isabella, are you okay in there?” Pasha asked. His question had a hard edge to it. The earlier teasing was gone. Completely.
“I’m…one minute please,” I stammered. “Kinsley, I can’t go out there like this and now Pasha is waiting outside the damned door.”
“Just ask him to get it for you. You’re making this much more complicated than you need to. Think of it like you’re asking for a towel from Bash.”
“You hate me, don’t you?”
“Why would you say that? I…I love you.” Her words were a mix of confusion and sadness, and I instantly wanted to take them back.
“I’m sorry,” I exclaimed. “This is so out of my comfort zone and I’m taking it out on you. I know you love me.”
“But for real, I do. You’re my sister.”
“I know you do, and we are sisters. I’m sorry. I’ll ask him for the skirt. See you at home, okay?”
“Okay,” she said, sounding dejected.
We hung up once more, and I turned my attention back to the door.
“Bellarusso, if you don’t tell me what’s wrong, I’m going to open this door.”
“Hold your horses already. I’m having a bit of a wardrobe malfunction. Kinsley said she has a skirt in her locker. Can you get it for me?”
“Is that all?” He chuckled.
“You have no idea,” I murmured once more, looking at my body like it had betrayed me, vowing to never let this happen again.