Lead and Follow(21)

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know your dancing. YouTube.”

“You like to watch, do you?”

“Naw, that’s Declan’s thing.” He spun their bodies in a tight circle, pausing briefly to indicate the video camera in the far corner of the practice room. “Didn’t you see the signs downstairs?”

“Sure. ‘You are being watched.’ That’s not a joke?”

“Nope. They’re everywhere. Dressing rooms too.”

Damn.

Dima screwed the top back on his water bottle and tossed it into the corner. Turning away didn’t help. The entire room was banked with mirrors. If he wasn’t looking dead-on at Lizzie as she rocked against the charming choreographer’s undulating body, he got a prime view of her laughing reflection.

She hadn’t laughed like that with him, not for a long time. They’d worked hard, yeah. Intense, definitely. Even when teasing him with little sexual innuendos, she’d always done so with playfulness in her smile. Something joyful and easy was missing between them.

Laughter.

He knew why, without needing to dig too deeply. After all, he remembered the sickening crunch of bone against hardwood every time he thought of her knee.

He wanted to laugh with her again. Club Devant would be good for them. The way to let go and unwind. He just needed her to unwind with him, not some slick Cajun player.

After having swirled her taste all over his tongue, he couldn’t keep his ideas clean. They were raunchy. Filthy. Incredibly exciting.

Seeing her giggle with Paul hadn’t produced this same dark tremor. If anything, he’d felt indulgent. He’d enjoyed admiring them together—such a pretty picture. He could step into that picture without any ripples or pain. Was the bartender so easygoing that he radiated that sort of nonchalance? No matter what it was, Dima’s jealousy was trumped by desire. He could admit that.

But Paul wasn’t anywhere around. And Remy was a goddamn snake.

He strode toward the grinding, smiling pair and snagged Lizzie’s free hand in the middle of a promenade. Tugged. Claimed. Brought her into the circle of his arms.

Her breath caught, even as she steadied herself so easily, so reflexively against his chest. “Dima?”

“I’m cutting in,” he growled against her throat. “If you’re going to dance like that, you’ll do it with me.”





Chapter Seven

For the second time in twelve hours, Lizzie was in Dima’s arms. This should’ve been easier and less fraught with confusion. It wasn’t. The possessive hunger in his magnetic eyes held her prisoner. That reaction was what she’d wanted the night before. For him to get mean. For him to stake his claim.

“Dance with me, Lizzie.”

It had been six months. Six interminable months.

She replied without words. Hands in his. Close hold. Chin lifted.

And they moved. She breathed as if for the first time. All Dima. He led her and she followed, as they’d taught each other throughout their career. The bachata, however…

Brave. Bold. Exciting.

Lizzie liked the dance, even though she’d only known it from clubs and backstage goofing off. Native to the Dominican Republic, it was only just acquiring a following in professional circles. That meant she could let go of formal training, rules, expectations. So could Dima. His right thigh wedged between hers. He lifted her arms into a high, close hold, and gave her a strange, completely new smile. One that said dancing wasn’t the only thing on his mind. In return, she gave him all that her hips had to offer.

She sank into a sit spin, spotting herself with the camera Remy had pointed out.

Dressing rooms too.

Had Declan Shaw been able to watch all that happened with Paul? With Dima standing before them, his delicious prick hard and eager? The thoughts gave her another rush.

Dima led her out of the spin, returning to the grind of his thigh against her pussy. Damn, it was a dirty dance. She tossed her head back, feeling effervescent. Her partner guided her with every step, his arm strong at her back. Maybe it was just the bachata, but she was able to let go. No competition here, other than the way she wanted to blow that girl Jeanne out of the water.

Remy clapped once and whistled. “You like showing off for him, do you?”

“He already knows what I can do.”

“I don’t think either of you do. C’mon now. He’s lovin’ this. Dirty it up, baby girl.” He held his hand out to Jeanne. “C’mere, girly. Let’s take notes from the masters.”

Lizzie met Dima’s eyes, which were intense and yet oddly playful.

“You heard him,” he said. “Let’s get dirty, little one.”