by Teri Wilson
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Julian gazing down at her with those blazing blue eyes of his. She saw his hand fanning in a circle around his face, signing.
Beautiful.
“Are you feeling okay?” Her mother frowned. “Your face is flushed.”
Tessa cleared her throat. “I’m fine.”
She was not fine.
Her mother’s gaze narrowed. “You got in awfully late last night. How many hours a day does Ivanov have you rehearsing?”
“I stayed late to go over a few things. I’ll probably do the same again tonight.” Tessa pasted on a smile. She’d already planned to do everything in her power to get out of private rehearsal tonight. At the very least, she could make sure she wasn’t alone with Julian. That couldn’t happen again.
She couldn’t kiss him again. Ever. And she’d obviously be keeping her clothes on from here on out.
A thrill of remembrance coursed through her, following quickly by a pang of humiliation. He’d seen her at her most vulnerable. He’d done things to her that no man had ever done before. Did he have any idea how difficult it was for her to let down her guard like that?
Clearly not.
She certainly wouldn’t make that mistake again. Lesson learned.
She sipped her coffee, relishing the way it burned as it went down. Black and bitter, like her mood. She wanted to stay angry for as long as possible, because the alternative seemed to be to feel crushed. He’d turned her down after all.
Why? What was wrong with her?
She swallowed. Hard. Despite the indignity of what happened, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the real reason had had nothing whatsoever to do with her.
He’d wanted her. She hadn’t been wrong about that. She’d seen the desire in the eyes from the moment she’d turned around after he’d whispered in her ear.
Kiss me, Tessa.
Arousal had rolled off him in waves...in every lingering glance, every caress, every decadent brush of his fingertips. He’d been as hard as granite.
For her.
“Tessa, I’m worried about you. Are you absolutely certain dancing with the company isn’t taking a toll on you?” Her mother pushed back from the table and crossed her arms.
Now that she was a member of the company, Tessa should probably start thinking about moving into her own apartment again. The three-story Brooklyn walk-up where she’d lived for three years before her accident had been like a slice of heaven. Her own little piece of the Big Apple. But she’d needed help adjusting to life after her injury, so she’d moved back into the family brownstone. It was a safe haven that had belonged to the Wildes for three generations. The prewar building was adorned with limestone and granite columns and boasted an exclusive address on Riverside Drive. Even Zander still lived there...technically. He’d pretty much moved into the penthouse suite at the Bennington when he took over as CEO.
Tessa took another fortifying gulp of coffee. She’d have to somehow make it to opening night before she thought about moving. “Mom, this is all I’ve wanted for my entire life. Try to be happy for me, okay?”
Once upon a time, a dance career had been what her mother wanted, too. But after only a year as a corps dancer, Emily had become pregnant with Zander. She’d quit dancing professionally and never went back. The Wilde School of Dance was born shortly after Zander.
As far as Tessa could tell, her mother never regretted her decision. She loved being a mother. She loved running a dance school. When Tessa’s father passed away at the young age of forty, from a congenital heart defect, his death seemed to confirm that Emily had done the right thing. If she’d gone back to dancing, she might have been traveling the world, rather than teaching during the day and coming home to her family every night. She might not have even been there when Tessa’s father collapsed and had to be taken to the hospital.
Tessa understood all of this. But there was a very important difference between her and her mother—quitting had been Emily’s choice. Her decision. On the day thirteen months ago, when Owen dropped her and her head hit the ground, her power to choose suffered a blow, as well. She’d been fighting to get it back ever since.
“I’m thrilled for you, darling. You know that,” Emily said.
Tessa nodded, although she wasn’t sure her mother was telling the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. “I know, and I’m serious about class this morning. I realize you’ve been shorthanded since I joined the company.”
Emily smiled. “If you insist. Thank you, darling. You know you’ll always have a place at the Wilde School of Dance.”
“I know, Mom.” Tessa filled a travel mug with coffee and fastened Mr. B’s leash onto his collar.
“Always,” her mother said again, as Tessa headed out the door.
As if Tessa could forget about the grand backup plan.
She knew she should consider herself lucky. She had a roof over her head, a family that loved her and a job waiting for her if things at the company went south. Plus she was teetering on the verge of a medical miracle.
She wanted to dance, though. Right or wrong, she wanted more.
More.
That’s what she’d wanted last night, too. From Julian.
And look what a disaster that had been.
* * *
Julian was furious with himself for allowing things to spiral so out of control the night before. So furious that he seriously considered not showing up for rehearsal and quitting his job altogether, but that didn’t seem right. It was the coward’s way out.
At ten o’clock sharp, he was seated at the piano, going through the scales, while the dancers drifted into the studio, taking their places at the barre. He couldn’t quite chalk up his attendance to a sense of honor, though. Julian had already proven himself to be most dishonorable. The truth of the matter was he couldn’t stay away. Not from the mess he’d created, and not from Tessa.
She could hear.
In the fevered heat of what had followed that startling revelation, they hadn’t discussed it. Not a single word.
He was curious as hell. How? When? Did anyone else know? He seriously doubted it. But why the secrecy?
Questions spun through his mind as his hands moved instinctively over the keys. He played a D chord, followed by E flat, F, G, A, B, C and D. A classic jazz Dorian modal scale. He improvised a little with his right hand. A few of the dancers glanced his direction, including Chance.
Chance nodded and smiled, no doubt convinced Julian was composing something for Zander Wilde’s The Circle Club at the Bennington.
Julian shook his head. Think again.
He was just messing around. Besides, if he were ever going to play at a jazz club, he wouldn’t write something ahead of time. He’d do it right. Jazz wasn’t about composing. By its very nature, jazz was about improvisation. That’s what Julian loved most about jazz. It was a creative whirlwind, new and different every time. An extemporaneous poem.
Not that he’d given any thought to The Circle Club. Because he hadn’t. He’d made a serious ongoing effort not to think about it.
In that regard, his regret over the night before had been almost convenient. It had certainly kept any stray visions of himself seated at the glossy grand piano at the Bennington from creeping into his thoughts. There wasn’t room in his head for anything but the memory of Tessa’s lips, her balletic limbs, her slender hips rising and falling beneath his touch, wanting...seeking. More.
More of him.
Julian’s hand slipped, and a jarring off-key note resonated from the piano. Tessa strode into the studio just in time to witness his mistake. Assuming she could hear it.
Julian’s gaze followed her as she walked across the room. She moved with purpose, back ramrod straight and chin defiantly lifted. She stopped at her usual place at the barre—the same spot where he’d kissed her
before she’d untied her wraparound sweater and pleaded with him. Touch me.
Tessa lingered for a moment and then squared her shoulders and moved to a different spot, clear on the other side of studio. Her gaze never strayed toward Julian. Not once.
Message received.
They were going to pretend nothing had happened. She was going to ignore him completely. Before long, the memory of their near lovemaking would be erased entirely. Life goes on.
Julian banged out another chord on the piano. Fine.
Except it wasn’t fine. He’d never forget.
“Let’s get started, everyone.” Madame Daria stood at the center of the room and clapped her hands.
A hush fell over the room as the dancers all turned to face the same direction, with one hand resting gently on the barre and feet turned out in first position. Daria nodded at Julian, and he launched into something classical, with a steady beat, appropriate for a full barre exercise.
Of course for Julian, steady meant boring as hell. He entertained himself by continuing to not think about The Circle Club and willing his memory not to stray to last night with Tessa. But he kept catching himself watching Tessa, searching for signals that she could hear.
The signs were subtle, imperceptible almost, but Julian found them. If he could see it, so could everyone else. She needed to be careful, or pretty soon he wouldn’t be the only one who knew her secret.
Not your problem.
True. It was Tessa’s. And the delicate, gossamer thread that had somehow seemed to tie them to one another was gone now. Broken. By his choice.
So Julian should have been glad when rehearsal ended and he moved to the smaller, after-hours practice room and found Chance circling the floor in a tour jeté. Julian should have been delighted. He should have been freaking jumping for joy.
Be careful what you wish for.
A spike of irritation hit him hard in the gut. He tossed his messenger bag on the floor, beside the piano bench, and met Chance’s gaze in the mirror. “What are you doing here?”
Chance turned toward Julian and planted his hands on his hips. “Excuse me?”
Julian cleared his throat. “Sorry. I just didn’t expect to find you here after hours. I thought you had a policy against this sort of thing.”
“I do.” Chance shrugged. “But Tessa asked me to stay.”
“Did she, now?” Interesting.
Chance’s brow furrowed. “She’s my partner now, remember?”
“Of course I remember.” Julian’s voice had an unintentional edge to it.
Whether he wanted to admit it or not, part of him had been looking forward to being alone with Tessa tonight. She despised him now, with good reason. But on some level, he’d thought once they were alone together, she could forgive him. Or at least look at him.
With Chance there, she’d have no reason to acknowledge his presence.
Suck it up. This is what you deserve.
“Is there a problem?” Chance asked.
The door opened, and Tessa walked in.
Julian shook his head to indicate that no, there wasn’t a problem. If there was, he certainly wasn’t going to discuss it in front of Tessa.
But Chance wasn’t going to let things go so easily. Did he ever?
Tessa said hello, walked to the barre and began rummaging through her bag. She sat on the floor with her back to Julian and began the complicated process of slipping on her pointe shoes and winding the long pink ribbons around her slender ankles.
Chance moved slightly so he was out of her line of vision and said, “If there’s no problem, then why are you looking at me like that?”
Behind him, Tessa went still.
Chance held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “She’s off-limits. I get that. You know I’d rather not be here.”
Shit. “Stop,” Julian said through clenched teeth.
Chance shrugged. “Don’t worry. She can’t hear me, remember?”
But she could. The way the pink ribbons had begun to tremble in her hands was a clear indication that she knew exactly what was going on.
“Why are you glaring at me like that? This is what you wanted. You asked me to help her. Does ‘nonauditory cues’ ring a bell? Here I am. I’m doing this for you.”
Tessa’s gaze met Julian’s in the mirror.
He swallowed and redirected his attention at Chance. “Got it. Let’s just get started.”
Chance let out a long, weary sigh.
Julian sat and played a few notes in an attempt to move things along, but Tessa still wasn’t finished with her shoes, and Chance was looking at him with the same meddlesome expression he’d had at the Bennington when Tessa had walked into the lobby and so clearly taken Julian’s breath away.
“Just ask her out. You know you want to.” Chance was standing right beside the piano now, and he’d lowered his voice. Julian had no idea if Tessa could still hear him. But if Chance didn’t stop, Julian was going to pummel him. “Is it the burns? The scars aren’t as bad as you think they are. I promise, man. No one’s going to run screaming if you take your shirt off.”
And there it was.
Chance had never directly mentioned Julian’s burns before. Not since Julian had been declared healed and released from his doctor’s care. He’d been tiptoeing around the topic for a long time, and at last he’d decided to tackle it head-on.
Right there, in right in front of Tessa.
Julian closed his eyes. Physically, he was as healthy as he was going to get. But he was a long way from being healed. Chance was only trying to help, just like he always did. This time, he’d gone too far.
Julian’s only hope was that Tessa hadn’t heard. His throat was bone-dry. He wanted to say something. Anything. But he couldn’t form words. He couldn’t even swallow.
She didn’t hear.
She didn’t.
But when he opened his eyes, the look on her face said it all. As much as it had pained Julian to see the hurt in her bottomless green eyes, the brimming, unshed tears when he’d told her no, there was one thing he’d have hated to see there more. It was there now, looking back at him in the dance-studio mirror.
Pity.
Chapter Ten
“Julian Shine won’t return my calls.” Zander arched a single eyebrow and crossed his arms, flashing a pair of cuff links that probably cost more than what Tessa made in a month. Maybe in a year. Frustration rolled off him in waves.
Tessa loved her brother, and she was immensely proud of all that he’d accomplished. At just under thirty, he was one of the youngest—if not the youngest—self-made billionaires in Manhattan. But every so often, he drove her nuts.
Now was one of those times.
“You felt the need to come all the way down here to tell me that?” Tessa glanced at the clock above her mother’s vintage record player. “At eight thirty in the morning?”
She hadn’t even finished her coffee. Tessa had barely had time to unlock the Wilde School of Dance’s doors and flip on the lights before Zander turned up, asking for help.
Except technically, he hadn’t asked. In true alpha-male fashion, he’d announced his problem and then stood there waiting for Tessa to fix it.
“This is important, and now seems to be the only time you’re free. Mom says you’re at rehearsal from morning to night, every day.” He sighed and bent to give Mr. B a pat on the head. “She’s worried about you, you know.”
“Yes, I know. But things are fine. They’re more than fine. I’m dancing the lead, remember? Things are great.”
Things were not actually great. Things were complicated, and they seemed to be growing more complicated by the day. Case in point: her brother was apparently here to discuss Julian.
Call her crazy, but Tessa wasn’t exactly keen on chatting up her brother about the man she’
d nearly had sex with on the ballet-studio floor a week ago. Especially since she’d barely exchanged two words with Julian in the week following that mortifying, yet thoroughly delicious, experience.
She wasn’t angry with him anymore. Not completely. It had been pretty easy to figure out why Julian had stopped things when he had once she overheard the conversation between him and Chance.
Is it the burns? The scars aren’t as bad as you think they are.
The scars.
Tessa couldn’t stop thinking about them...about him. She wanted to talk to him, to tell him she wasn’t afraid of whatever he was trying to hide. Maybe she should be, but she wasn’t. She knew what it was like to transform into a different person in the blink of an eye. Tragedies changed people. If anyone could understand that, Tessa could.
But Julian had barely looked at her in the week since that night. Oh, how the tables had turned.
“The role is a big responsibility. I’ve been practicing after hours. It’s no big deal.” Tessa shrugged.
The evening rehearsals were the bane of her existence. She spent the entire two hours every night doing her best to focus on Chance and their pas de deux instead of seeking out Julian’s reflection in the mirrored walls. She’d caught him watching her more than once. But he always packed up his messenger bag and left before she could catch him for a private conversation.
“And now you’re teaching here every morning.” Zander stood and gestured at their surroundings. Mr. B trotted to his dog bed in the corner, turned three circles and plopped into a contented heap.
The Wildes had grown up in the dance school. All of them—Tessa’s cousins, as well as her siblings. Even her dog. Zander himself had taken classes as a kid. If he ever got married, his wedding waltz was sure to be one for the records. But considering he had bachelor written all over him, that wasn’t likely to happen anytime soon. He lived in a hotel penthouse. Who did that?
“I have to teach. Mom needs the help,” Tessa said.
