Lead and Follow(26)

Looking at the pictures as Paul would, Dima didn’t see the tape, or think about how Lizzie always needed three hairbrushes and an unfathomable amount of hair product to get her hair just right. She simply looked hot as hell. The way he held her by the hips as she arched back in the spin made the muscled swoop of her legs everything lovely.

He was a lucky man to have her in his life. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing her. He wouldn’t. No matter what he had to do and no matter what they would become in the future.

“You two look good together.” Paul’s gaze flicked over Dima from head to toe. “Damn good, but better without the fake tan. Both of you.”

“Competition necessity. I’m glad to ditch it.”

“How long have you two danced together?”

The chuckle Dima bit down was sudden, sparked by an instantaneous memory. “Sometimes I think too long.”

“Nuh-uh.” Paul leaned a shoulder against the edge of the bookcase. “There’s more to it than that.”

“No, I couldn’t.”

“You can. You will.” That sunshine grin was infectious.

Dima walked away, shaking his head and laughing. He had to check on dinner before it burned and they were forced to order in. Paul followed. The small kitchen didn’t really provide enough space for two men. The air pressed in on them both, filling with Paul’s scent.

The other man stretched his arms to grab the doorframe. The pose accentuated his wide shoulders and the way his ribs slanted down to lean hips. “I know a dirty look when I see one. You ought to know, I’m not letting this go. I can be very persistent when I want to be.”

That Dima could believe. Paul would have needed to be either sneakily persistent or damned lucky to entice Lizzie into climbing him after such short acquaintance. Still, Dima couldn’t help some teasing of his own.

Testing, rather. He wasn’t sure how this night would proceed. A strange tension zipped around the room, but that could be all in his head, left over from this morning’s practice. Lizzie had ridden his thigh as if they could fuck while standing, while dancing, while fully clothed and without any need for privacy. How could he simply shake off that feeling? Dima didn’t want to.

Under the guise of reaching for the salt, Dima stepped near Paul. Near enough that he could make out the individual gleam of bristly stubble on the other man’s jaw.

Paul’s nostrils flared as he assessed Dima through slitted eyes, but he didn’t move away.

Dima turned back to the stove as he smiled. “You can’t tell Lizzie this. It’ll likely get me in trouble.”

“Giving me ammo? You’re a brave man.”

“Were you under the impression we’re in competition?” Dima showed his teeth. He didn’t mean it in a nasty way, but that idea struck him wrong. Frightened him, maybe. If he were in competition for Lizzie, he would need to endure the thought of losing her. That would mean their joint flirtation with Paul had no future at all. The man would be an obstacle to Dima’s plans, not a hot prospect.

Paul only grinned. It was becoming more and more apparent he was a good man. Or at least an easygoing one. The vibe he got off Paul was so different than the unease he’d endured when seeing Remy’s hands on Lizzie. Dima had been ready to flay the Cajun into thin strips. He’d known on some level that Remy wouldn’t hesitate when it came to taking. No rules and no nod to long partnerships. That Paul was willing to take a guided tour rather than shove his way into the apartment, have a seat on the couch and pat his lap, expecting Lizzie to climb aboard—it said a lot about his willingness to share. To have a little fun.

Maybe he was just what Dima and Lizzie needed. Hopefully they could give him something he needed as well. He’d mentioned a good time. Yes, they’d have to work on that. Dima knew he had a competitive streak as wide as the Atlantic, but that didn’t mean he was a user. Too many dancers succumbed to the potential bitterness of their industry. They burned bridges, backstabbed and stepped on people as they climbed up the professional ladder. One of the reasons why he and Lizzie had always been so compatible was that they never took that easy, petty road.

Dima never had with a lover either. Fairness. Honesty. It was the only way to deal with people.

“I wouldn’t dream of telling,” Paul said. “Spit it out before Lizzie shows up.”

“How long she and I have danced together? Long enough that I got my first hard-on over her.”

Paul’s rich, deep laugh filled the kitchen—and was abruptly cut off. His eyes went wide before he turned in the doorway.

Lizzie. After poking Dima in the back, she stood with her arms crossed over her chest and one toe tapping.