Chapter 33 Theo
“Welcome, welcome, Theo, amazing to meet you!” The dance instructor, Nikolai, says, his Russian accent thick, his smile bright, his slim body radiating with more energy than a uranium fuel rod.
In Nikolai’s private, way too bright mirror-laden dance studio about twenty minutes away from my parents’ home, I shake his hand while trying to push out of my mind that I’m going to be dancing for the next six hours.
Dancing. This is what my life has come to.
But, my life has also become so much more.
Lexie. Ever since I showed up at her place two weeks ago, I haven’t left.
I mean I’ve technically left every morning to get dressed at my studio, but other than that, I haven’t left her side except for work.
Every second of the day, I want to bury myself inside her, watch her smile, and sleep with her on my chest.
This is all new. But at the same time, part of me has been in love with her since I was barely legal enough to drink. She’s branded into me, carved into my soul. We laugh. We fuck. We sleep. Jesus Christ, the sleeping. I’ve been chasing rest my whole life and finally found it.
I don’t know why this pure angel is with me, but she is. She sees past the monsters, past the worst parts of me, and accepts me exactly as I am. I know I don’t deserve her—someone like me, carrying this much darkness, doesn’t deserve her light. And yet, she gives it to me anyway.
Nikolai has me sit on the studio floor as he talks about posture, breathing and a bunch of other bullshit that I don’t want to listen to, because I’m going to be stuck in this room without Lexie for six hours.
The second this is over, I’m rushing out of here and crashing the wedding in downtown Boston she’s working for Justin when his bout of what he thought was food poisoning was actually appendicitis.
Of course, it sucked for him, but the logistics of me and Lexie being in Boston at the same time could not be more perfect.
You’d think I’d have had enough, but I haven’t.
I’m completely insatiable. On the five-hour ride here from New York, I raised the privacy window and we christened every seat in the SUV.
Everyone, Michael included, thinks me and Anna are still getting married.
But he’s paid for loyalty and discretion, not opinions.
He never even batted an eye.
The dance lessons go better than I expected, and even though I won’t need them now, canceling would raise major red flags with our families.
I hate that I have to keep Lexie hidden.
Anna keeps reassuring me that she’s close to finalizing the paperwork, and I know these things take time, but the second it’s done, I’m telling everyone who’ll listen that Lexie’s mine.
Lexie. Is. Mine.
I hate the flicker of hesitation that comes with this thought. Lexie’s too good for me. I already know this. But I’m going to do whatever I can to be the man she deserves.
A few hours later, I roll up to the venue where Lexie’s working with my sharp dark gray suit, a generous bottle of wine as a gift for the couple I don’t even know, and stroll into the reception area.
I scan the long white tables, the groups of people chatting and drinking, the silver tray carrying wait staff weaving in between tables when I finally see her in the corner in a dress, light sweater, and heels, and I stop breathing.
She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
When her eyes meet mine, they grow wide and a grin crosses her face. She whispers something to a staff and then makes her way to me. “Theo,” she says in a hushed tone. “You can’t be in here.”
“And yet, here I am,” I say, drinking in the way she’s beaming at me. “Relax. No one will ever know I’m not a guest. You’re about to witness a master at work.”
She shakes her head, laughing. “Your confidence truly knows no bounds.” Something catches her eye and she sighs. “I have to help someone. Behave,” she adds pointedly. “I mean it.”
“I always behave.” Like now, when every part of me wants to smack that juicy ass of hers, but I refrain.
As she walks away, I start making my rounds.
I grab a glass of champagne, chat with a few guests, tell some of them I’m a second cousin of the bride, tell others that I’m a friend of the groom.
For an hour, I follow Lexie’s movements, earning amused glances, eye rolls, and the occasional head shake—each one feeling like a small, well-earned victory.
When the DJ calls for guests to join the couple on the dance floor, I beeline for her. “Care to witness my new moves?” I ask. “Nikolai has turned me into a pro.”
“No,” she says, her brows creasing. “People will see us.”
“Do you think I care what these people think?” I grab her hand and lead her out to the dancefloor.
She glances across the room, at me, back at the room, and then sighs. “Fine. But I’m not going to make this easy on you.” She smiles. Bright. Warm. Teasing.
My beautifully sinister Lexie is going to make this hard as hell on me.
I can’t fucking wait.
The moment our bodies touch, everything in me feels right. We’re on a crowded dancefloor, but within moments, everyone around us fades away. She relaxes, shielded by the dancing guests, and sways effortlessly in my arms.
It’s clear she’s danced like this before, and I have to rein in the flicker of jealousy at the thought of another man touching her the way I am now.
Her sweater slips, exposing her shoulders.
Underneath the thin strap of her dress is that creamy, pale skin of hers which is begging for my teeth to sink into it.
I haven’t even touched her yet and I’m aching for my hands to be up that skirt, dragging my fingertips across her skin until she trembles.
Jesus Christ. Focus.
The ballroom light streaming into the room highlights the sparkle in her spring-green eyes, reminding me of the first day I met her all those years ago. Those eyes had sucked me in and refused to let go. Seven years later, they have the same hold.
Ever since I told her everything about my dad, the investigation, and Anna, we talk about everything. But there’s one crucial piece that I still haven’t confessed.
And I never fucking will.
She will never know that I remember her from Boston.
I’ve let this lie go on for too long and I can’t take it back now.
My hand rests at the curve of her waist as her small, impossibly soft palm slides effortlessly against mine and the other rests on my shoulder.
There’s a sliver of space between us, but the heat radiating from her feels like velvet needles against my skin.
I will not break. I will not break. I draw in a careful breath and pray she doesn’t notice.
The song ends and another begins, but I don’t release her.
The curves of her body, the smooth skin of her arms, the freckles dusting her nose and cheeks and her scent alone are weapons.
She licks her lips, slow and deliberate to grab my attention, and it works because my mouth goes dry.
I know exactly what she’s doing. She loves games.
I hate that it’s working.
My grip tightens at her waist—just a fraction. A challenge. I pull her closer, testing, and feel the answering heat of her palm move down my bicep and up like a warning shot.
The air around us becomes suffocating. Her breath stutters.
Color blooms across her cheeks. Her thumb strokes lazily on my shoulder.
She looks up at me through thick dark lashes and nibbles her lip.
It’s subtle enough that no one would notice, but I fucking do.
Games. She’s dancing along the edge, seeing how long she can hold before she burns.
Fine. If she wants to play, I’ll play right back.
But the way she’s dismantled me these past weeks, like her body was handmade for me, leaves me dangerously close to losing. Her tits brush against my chest and my heart pounds. Before I can stop myself, I tug her in, hard, and she exhales softly.
Her body melts into mine and the way she moves, the way she breathes…
fuck. A subtle tug lifts my shirt, just enough to bare skin and I wait for her fingers to find their target.
But she only smooths it back down into place and my skin is burning with the need for her touch.
Anyone watching should probably look away because I’m about two seconds away from slamming her against the nearest wall and reminding her who’s in charge.
I grip tighter. So does she. My fingers trace slow, deliberate patterns down her back. She presses against my cock. That single move nearly undoes me.
“There’s a private staff room down the hall,” she whispers. “If you’re ready to admit defeat.”
Then she’s gone, leaving me on the dancefloor, horny and frustrated, watching her hips sway with just a little too much intention.
A wolfish smile curls across my mouth as I follow her into the small, dimly lit break room. Besides the table in the center of the room and a few chairs, the room is empty. She locks the door, leans back against the wall, and looks at me with a dirty, smoldering gaze.
“Well, well,” she says, voice sugar-laced and sharp. “Look who couldn’t help himself.”
I don’t care that I’ve lost.
Two strides put me in front of her. My palms hit the wall on either side of her head, caging her in. Her lips twitch into a devilish grin—unafraid. “I’m not going to break, no matter what you do.”
She peers up at me with feigned innocence. “I have no idea what you mean.”
I lean in just enough for the words to land where she’ll feel them.
“You know exactly what I mean.” I slam my leg between hers, and the soft whimper that leaves her luscious mouth drives me insane.
She grips my hips, tugs me in tighter. “You and your fucking games,” I husk and glare down into those wide eyes, biting back a grin. “You feed off this, don’t you?”
She lifts her chest, rocks her pussy against my thigh, and my focus is gone.