“I’ve never been with a man before, Lizzie,” he whispered.
“I’m not too surprised.”
He swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing. “It’s not something… Damn. I’ve always been curious. And that was a helluva lot harder to admit than I would’ve expected.”
“Would it help to know you’re safe here? No judgment. Total discretion.”
“It does actually.” A little shake of his head. His beautifully rugged features were dazed. “How crazy is that?”
“Not sure if we’re in any position to define crazy, but I like that you believe me.” She rubbed her inner wrist against his prickly jaw. “Will you tell me one thing, though? If you’ve always been curious, why now?”
“Dima’s special.”
She almost laughed at his quick, matter-of-fact assessment, yet no matter how unfamiliar that thought, it was true. Dmitri Turgenev was uniquely passionate. Perhaps that’s what made him so frustrating. She found herself wanting more from the man she admired as an artist, as a friend.
As a lover?
She firmed up her wobbling smile and forced a shrug. “I think he is.”
“And the two of you together? Damn.”
A nervous, happy giggle tickled in her throat. “Thanks.”
“So I’m gonna need your help, okay? His too. Sure I’m new to this, but I’m not naïve. I want…” He grinned again. So goddamn infectious. “I want this to be a night worth celebrating.”
“Oh, honey, you don’t need to worry about that.” She rubbed her nose against his and kissed him again. Already she knew the shape of his lips, the firmness, the strength behind them. Two men. God, what they could do to one another if they let it all loose. “There’s something I learned a long time ago about working with Dima. You want to know?”
“Sure.”
“Let him lead.”
“Is that right?”
Lizzie threw her head back on a laugh, catching Dima’s eye where he stood watching from the kitchen doorway. “Tell him.”
Dima tossed aside his dishtowel. She’d seen him prowl across the stage, smoldering, always as required by the dance. His desire at that moment was genuine and so powerful that it raised the hairs on her nape.
He stood directly behind Paul, hands flat on the cowboy’s ribs.
Lizzie watched—fascinated and so fucking turned on—as Paul’s eyes rolled closed on a sigh. He was taller than Dima by a good four inches, but at that moment, he was theirs.
Theirs to share.
“I lead,” Dima said, his voice thick. “The question becomes, are you willing to follow?”
Chapter Ten
Catching Paul between his hands was like catching hold of a thundercloud. Both highly charged and fleeting. If Dima grabbed too hard, the winds would blow him away. Heat seeped through Paul’s shirt. The lean expanse of his chest shuddered under uneasy breaths. His ribs were covered with sinewy lengths of muscle. Dima tucked his fingertips along the bottom edge of Paul’s pecs, taunting.
Promising.
Walking out of the kitchen to see Lizzie and Paul in an embrace had been exhilarating. An immediate rush of attraction had rocked through Dima’s body. They were the perfect picture of everything he desired, without realizing the depth of that want. A curiosity to be sated. Soft and hard, both beautiful in their own ways.
Lizzie waited with blatant anticipation, smiling indulgently. She’d left her arms draped over Paul’s neck. “I follow very well.”
“Yes, little one,” he agreed, swept over with an indulgent warmth. “You do. Most of the time. You can tell our Paul how well things turn out when you do.”
Our Paul. So private and possessive. The Texan didn’t even flinch.
She leaned into his chest, catching Dima’s forearms between them. Paul heaved a quiet breath. Her fingertips grazed his nape right before Dima’s eyes. Cream, tan, blonde—all pretty smoothed colors.
“He’s never led me wrong.” When she looked past their erstwhile partner to Dima, her eyes sparked with a silent message.
Dima was afraid of what that message might mean. Because to be honest, he had let her down. That didn’t mean he wanted to hear it from her. He liked being there for Lizzie when she needed him. No matter what that meant.
Even when it meant fucking a tall, sexy cowboy.
Not that the idea was a huge sacrifice.
Rather than chase the meaning in Lizzie’s eyes and ruin the moment, he smoothed a hand down Paul’s chest. Despite the strength thrumming under his touch, he kept it light. Casual. He tugged Paul by a belt loop, turned him so they were face-to-face.
By the expression he wore, the other man wasn’t fully committed, as Dima had suspected. Interested, yes. Tempted. Still, there remained a layer of thick trepidation way down deep, like a ghost still wandering the earth—something Paul couldn’t shake.