Lead and Follow(65)

She’d been angry for this, their last dance in Montreal. No hope of winning—not after the previous rounds’ marks. But there had been a moment. One moment. Searching for it on screen, she clasped her hands over her heart when it replayed. Out of protocol, and completely out of character, Dima had broken their formal pose to lean down and whisper in her ear. His breath had been a kiss, his words a benediction. “Let it go, little one. This one will be just for us.”

They’d murdered that goddamn samba.

Remy whistled low under his breath, reminding Lizzie where she was. Not in Montreal, but watching herself on a wall of flat-screen monitors. Declan had crossed his arms, studying intently.

Drawn back to the dance, she marveled at how free they looked. Her and Dima. She’d been entirely soaked up by his eyes, that dark, magnetic pull. Every touch for her. Every bit of fire and sharpness for them alone. They’d made so much magic for two minutes that it had washed away the bitter taste of the bad weekend. Afterward, still in a buoyant, defiant mood, they’d gone out for totally forbidden French fries. They’d laughed and told the whole dance world to go take a leap.

He’d made it better.

Tears she’d thought exhausted that morning were gathering again. The night before had been about getting their fuck on, not getting enough rest. She was too tired for this pain.

“Remy, what is this about?”

“Watch this lift.”

Textbook Maynes and Turgenev. Trust. Hellacious strength and momentum, but hiding those details until all that remained was sexy elegance. The best of the best.

“Shit, you’re right,” Declan said. He’d set the laptop aside, elbows on his knees. Only his eyes flicked as he examined the screen. “He’s going to hurt himself.”

“Please, guys. I’m tired. Can we get to the point?”

Declan only shrugged. He pushed a button on the remote. Montreal went into freeze frame, with her and Dima arched into a sensual body roll. Goddamn it. Another button pushed and the practice room footage started up. If watching the shadows of their old lives was difficult, watching Dima practice with Jeanne was torture. It was all she could do to keep snarky comments in her own head. Knees too wide. Weight not forward enough on her steps. She had a weird habit of using her flexibility in all the wrong ways. She just looked…loose.

No fire.

Then, the same lift. A two-hand grab that propelled Jeanne up over Dima’s shoulders.

Lizzie recognized it too—the strain on his face. Dima never looked like that. The job of a male dancer was to keep his partner safe, show her off as a fabulous creature, and never reveal the difficulty involved in lifting her.

She frowned. “What the hell? He’s doing all the work.”

“I came to ballroom late,” Remy said. “It’s not my first language, so to speak. I didn’t put it together until you and I were dancing. You trusted me right away.”

“Best way not to get injured.”

“That’s just the thing. It goes both ways. I knew you’d be good for whatever I threw at you today, chère, so no worries. Bing bang boom, it worked. But I’ve been fighting this problem with those two for weeks, not seeing why it didn’t work.”

“Bad cycle,” Declan added, his voice low. “He doesn’t trust her, so he’s doing too much of the work. He’ll screw up his spine. She’ll get freaked and hold back. They’re going to wreck each other.”

Lizzie stopped gnawing on her lower lip when she tasted blood. “Show me again.”

Rewind. Replay. Same result. Dima was taking too much of the weight on his shoulders—quite literally. A man danced like that when he was inexperienced, which certainly wasn’t the case. Or when he was holding back. Hell, maybe even when he was scared.

Of what? Good God, he was the strongest man she’d ever known. All his plans and his deep inner world…

Do you think I tore my ACL on my own?

She’d said it out of frustration. She certainly hadn’t meant it. Yet what if, somewhere in his mind, he was still blaming himself? To hear it from her lips must’ve reinforced whatever the hellish evil torture he stored in there. If he’d turned down Svetlana in the ER waiting room, maybe guilt had made his choice. Bad enough he was making decisions without consulting Lizzie, but to make them from such a bad, hurting state of mind?

All without consulting her. It was enough to make a girl pissed.

He was going to get himself hurt. In trying to atone for what had happened, maybe even to try and keep the new, less experienced girl safe, he was going to do his body serious damage.

“You going to join us, Lizzie?” Declan’s stare was utterly controlling. He was a man used to having decisions made promptly. Her hesitation must be driving him batshit, but neither was she going to cave and make a choice when her heart was so badly bruised.