At the corner, they stopped. Lizzie looked over her shoulder. Her arm was looped through Paul’s. Late-morning sunshine draped over the pair like gold cloth, emphasizing their brilliance. Lizzie’s grin glowed and she wore a tiny jeans skirt with a wide-necked T-shirt. It draped off her shoulder with a tank top underneath, showing off the creamy skin he’d tasted less than an hour ago. Paul wore the same jeans, but he’d borrowed a shirt from Dima. Slightly too snug, it clung to thick biceps.
In an instant Dima knew that image would shine forever in his mind. No matter what happened.
The two of them looked like they belonged together. So perfectly gleaming, they were painful to watch, as if their combined warmth could melt the world.
Still, he told himself he had no worries. Though he walked behind, there was no such thing as left out. Not when Lizzie held out her hand and smiled at him.
What a picture they must make as a trio. Lizzie’s lush breasts rubbed against Paul as she walked, yet she twined her fingers through Dima’s in an intimate hold. He couldn’t bring himself to care. They were happy together, and for the love of the Virgin, they were in New York City. In Chelsea even. There was no better place for them to slide by without notice.
Paul and Lizzie kept up a steady stream of chatter as all three crossed the street against the light. If anything, she was playing tour guide in that way of hers. Always she attached a personal story to whatever she pointed out. She kept them both amused the entire way—although Dima had heard most of the stories already and had been there for the rest.
Only two streets down from Club Devant and a block away from the dive where Paul intended they pretend to eat, they came to Chelsea Park. They cut through diagonally, as leafy patterns dappled Lizzie with artful patterns. In the heart of the park they found a makeshift dance hall. An overly muscled vato rapped along surprisingly well to a Latin-flavored background track. Also with him was a skinny-armed buddy who beat a rhythm on an upside-down paint can. A baseball cap on the ground sparkled with a few coins and few bills. A loose semicircle of people ringed the musicians.
Paul stopped, his arm around Lizzie’s shoulders. “This is like what you dance to, right?”
“Some.” Dima traced a pattern across Lizzie’s palm. “This is meatier. We dance to prescribed music, without so much flair.”
“You mean on the dance circuit, Dima mine.” Lizzie slanted him a sly look. Her toes were already tapping along to the beat. “I remember rehearsals yesterday being quite a bit…what was it? Meatier? I like that. You could dance to this on stage if you wanted.”
“In the club, you could as well,” he said quietly.
“So, what, it’s not your thing?” Paul asked Lizzie. “I assumed that’s why you’re not dancing together.”
She made a face. “I was injured. Only recently starting to feel better.”
Dima hid a grimace. She spoke as if the hiatus of their partnership could be explained so easily. So much more had built a brick wall between them. Ironic, considering how close they’d been for the past thirty-six hours.
“I’ve never been much of a dancer,” Paul said.
“Oh, really?” Dima couldn’t help his sardonic smile. “Because I happen to know you have quite the sense of rhythm.”
Paul laughed, and so did Lizzie. It warmed Dima to be able to give them that, even if he wasn’t moved to laughter himself.
“Fine, yeah,” Paul said. “But I’ve never known the steps.”
Lizzie wound her fingers with Paul’s. “Moves are extraneous. It’s not like I’m going to demand an assemblè devant in a park.”
“Devant? Like the club?”
“Funny.” She made eye contact with Dima, who shrugged. “Maybe we take it for granted. Devant means out in front. I bet Declan thought it was clever.”
His blond brows lifted. “I assumed it was something kinky I didn’t quite get. Deviant, you know?”
“Nope. On the up-and-up. Mostly.” Lizzie twirled out, tugging him along with her. Even on a casual trip like this, she wore dance heels that turned her calves into works of art. “Now, all you have to do is feel the music.”
With a few words whispered in Paul’s ear, she slung her arms up over his shoulders. Their bodies plastered together like coming home. He instinctively pushed one thick thigh between hers. His hands rested low on her hips, unsurprisingly making a beeline for her ass.
A smile on his mouth, Dima pushed his hands back in his pockets and retreated a step. Yet another scene that would imprint him for life.
He could still hardly believe he’d had them both.