Totally improvised. She wondered briefly who might be able to tell.
Yet there was no time to think, not while performing. Instinct and trust and long years of partnering were all they had. Those precious things brought them safely back to choreographed steps.
Along the floor, she made a plank of her body. Back arched, legs straight, arms stretched far overhead. Dima caught her by the back of the neck with one hand. With the strength of his arms and powerful core muscles, he lifted her to forty-five degrees and held her suspended while he maintained a deep lunge.
Face to face.
Although she’d never thought to kiss him at that moment, she was tired of wasting such opportunities.
Just a brush of lip to lip.
The unexpected contact was enough to widen his eyes and enough for Lizzie to grab one more salty taste of what she missed.
Anyone who disapproved in the middle of such a staid event could take a hike.
The dance wasn’t over, and neither of them would think of missing the next count. Dima kicked a leg over and around in a full spin. He returned her to standing. She seductively arched her back as she twisted away. Dima pounced in a deep lunge and grabbed her waist. Chest out. Posture dominating. As if he had won this fight.
The dazed expression on his face said otherwise and put a smile on Lizzie’s.
The music ended on a huge flourish. The applause roared through the studio.
The spell of make-believe passion was broken.
Dima stood with the bearing of a beautiful, commanding prince. He held out his hand—just enough of an aid for Lizzie to smoothly twirl into his arms. They stood together as one before the cheering crowd. Not the most historic performance of their lives, but it was the most personally significant.
To the sound of more applause, they exited through a side door, toward the student dressing rooms.
Lizzie slammed them in together. “What the hell was that?”
“What? You kissed me!”
“I’m not talking about the kiss.” She popped a fist onto her hip. “How’s your back? You nearly busted it out there, like you’ve been doing with Jeanne. Or are you determined to do everything in a partnership alone?”
“It’s been a while since I lifted you.”
“Bullshit. You know what, Dima? I call bullshit on everything you’ve been pulling lately.”
A furious scowl closed over his brow. “In that, I’m most definitely not alone.”
“You know what? It gets old.” A dam burst in her mind and all of her frustrations lashed out as frenetically as their dancing. “You make plans all the goddamn time. I know, because you drag me along with you. But I never get to hear the dreams behind them. You must have them in there somewhere, propelling all of your strategies, but I never get a glimpse of what must burn so strong and beautiful. Why would you want to hide that? From me of all people?”
Her voice broke. Emotion closed her throat but she swallowed it back. His shoulders had not lost their rigidity. Was any of this getting through to him?
“The best I get is weeks later when you suddenly look happy,” she continued, undeterred. It was now or never. “Then I know we’ve reached some secret milestone, some dream of yours fulfilled. You relax a little. Things are easy for a while, before the rollercoaster starts up again. It would be nice to be included. Do you even get that? I want to be included in the beginning when we decide together, and the end when you…Jesus, when you hold me and we share something amazing. You’d better know I’m not just talking about our dancing.”
She dared to touch him like reaching out for a wounded animal. Ironic, considering his matador gear. He didn’t pull away when her fingers found his.
“I’d like to know when you’re scared too,” she said. “It’s hard being the only one.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Scared?”
“I’m scared of us changing. I’m scared of getting hurt again. It’s bad enough how our whole world got shaken up, needing to leave the circuit. I can’t imagine what a worse injury would do. What if I couldn’t dance again?”
She dared more intimate contact. The tight, thin skin along his low belly was hot. He breathed heavily, but Lizzie knew her own throbbing pulse wasn’t because of the dance. Not anymore. He held as still as a statue other than the rise and fall of his magnificent chest. Dark eyes blazed.
“But you can’t take the bulk of that guilt on your own,” she whispered. “Any more than it was fair of me to accuse you.” She took his face in her hands. “You didn’t hurt me, Dima mine. I’m sorry for hurting you by saying so. It was an accident. If you think you can overcompensate in a lift or in any other area of my life…you can’t. We’re in this together, or bad things happen.”