Dance for Me

by Kay Elle Parker

  *

  Two weeks later, she was a wreck.

  As her little old-fashioned boombox churned out tunes on the street corner, Bodie let herself dance for all she was worth. Thoughts of Liam were banished so long as the music kept playing. As long as her body and her feet kept her moving, spinning, she could forget the heartbreak, the doom and gloom of her existence, and just live in the music.

  Despite the light spattering of rain and the clouds keeping the sun from coming out to play, there was a small gathering of spectators willing to stand and get damp for a few minutes as she moved gracefully to one of the slower songs on her playlist.

  The money in her box was pitifully empty, and she knew it was going to be another day where she couldn’t even make twenty bucks. It just gouged another chunk out of her, sent her reeling into the pit of despair she spent so much time in lately.

  As the song drew to an end, she was gifted with a smattering of applause before her audience drifted away to warmer, drier places and left her breathing hard, swiping sweat and tears away before anyone noticed it wasn’t just the efforts of her dancing that made her face wet.

  Sighing, Bodie peered miserably into the box as a couple of coins thudded in. If she hit the discount section of the grocery store, she might be able to afford something to eat, but the chances of her making rent were pretty much zero. Never mind her utility bills—she already had a warning from the electric company that she was well past due paying her bill.

  The rain started to come down heavier and she dropped her face in her hands as people hurried past without stopping, scattering into nearby stores or rushing to get home. She might as well do the same; today was a washout.

  As she gathered her things, she sensed a presence behind her and stiffened. Very slowly, she turned, swiping at her hair which was quickly plastering over her head. She shivered as the rain cut through her clothes and met her skin, then her body seemed to spasm in response to the person standing behind her.

  Bodie took a quick step back and nearly tripped over her boombox.

  The first thing she noticed was the stern face. Beautiful yet frightening. Intimidating. Strong cheekbones with a matching jawline, full lips with no hint of a smile. What looked like a couple nights’ worth of dark stubble concealed a working man’s tan and he had short cropped hair as black as her own, with silver highlights at the temples.

  But it was his eyes that mesmerized her.

  Gloriously, stunningly blue. The kind of blue she imagined sapphires aspired to become, deep and endless. As she looked into them, she had the vaguest thought that he could see straight into the heart of her, into the depths of her soul. That he could disassemble her and put her back together however he wished.

  She found herself swaying toward him in the rain.

  Amusement flashed over his strict features before he resumed his sober expression. But he said nothing, just watched her intently as she broke eye contact and summed up the rest of him.

  Sweet Jesus, he was tall. She didn’t think of herself as short at five-six, but he was well over the six-feet mark by a good few inches. His broad shoulders and chest looked like they could carry the weight of the world effortlessly; the cut of his expensive black suit only enhanced his form. Wide hips and long, strong legs that filled out his immaculate pants. He wore an overcoat that hit him mid-calf, and a pristine white shirt that was fast getting wet.

  His tie matched his eyes.

  “You move very well. You’ve studied?”

  Holy fuck. It took everything she had not to cross her legs and press her hands to her crotch to stem the sudden ache his voice brought to life. The most unsettling sensation of arousal from zero to sixty with a handful of words.

  Who the hell was this guy?

  “Ah, self-taught mostly. I did a couple months at college.” She edged away but his eyes pinned hers and her muscles just...ceased to obey her orders. The ache between her thighs intensified; the anxiety in her heart grew to apocalyptic proportions.

  The corner of his lush mouth curved up slightly.

  Suddenly the rain didn’t matter. She couldn’t feel the cold lash of it pelting her and she paid no mind to the water running off her hair or through her clothes. Nothing mattered but those eyes watching her, assessing her so keenly. Never had she come under such scrutiny from a stranger before.

  “Gather your things,” he murmured, “before they’re ruined completely. I’d like it if you’d join me for a coffee or something to eat, little ballerina. If you have the time, of course.”

  “I-I-I...” Her tongue and lips went numb with shock, preventing her from forming words or linking together sentences. Embarrassed, she whirled around and grabbed her jacket, throwing it over the boombox and praying it wasn’t already water damaged. She didn’t have the money to buy another.

  “Are you cold or nervous?” Stranger asked quietly. He hadn’t made a move to touch her, even step toward her. He just stood still, hands tucked nonchalantly and nonthreateningly in his coat pockets. Just waiting.

  Bodie closed her eyes. “I’m neither,” she said snippily as a roll of hunger tumbled through her stomach loudly enough for her new friend to raise an amused eyebrow. Shit, she couldn’t tell him she wasn’t hungry now, could she? “Look, thanks but no thanks.”

  He moved forward and scooped up her money box, giving it a little rattle. Shaking his head, he bent to retrieve the lid on her makeshift piggy bank then sealed her money inside before he handed it to her. “Skittish then,” he decided as she all but snatched her precious box to her chest. “That’s okay. I’ll leave you be. Get yourself out of the rain and dried off unless you want a nasty chill, little one.”

  She knew how to look after herself, goddamn him. If he wasn’t standing here in his precious overcoat and good shoes, delaying her escape from the street corner, she’d already be halfway home to a bowl of stale cereal and a freezing cold, empty apartment.

  “Thank you. Have a good evening.” There, once her tongue worked again, she could be polite and noncombative toward him. She just needed to remember tact, decorum, and manners.

  He flashed a white-toothed grin that was so even architects could have used his teeth as a ruler. Inclining his head without saying another word, he strolled away into the rain, whistling lightly between his teeth.

  For several long seconds she watched him go, wondering who the hell he was and why she reacted so...positively toward him. As he disappeared down the street, head and shoulders above the few people still rushing about, she told herself it didn’t matter.

  Whoever he was, she wasn’t going to see him again.

  A chance encounter that wouldn’t be repeated.

  After Liam fractured her trust and their friendship, she had no one left. The phone company had cut off her cell phone so he couldn’t get in touch with her, but if he had...she wouldn’t have replied. Wouldn’t have answered his calls.

  He could have stabbed her in the heart and not hurt her as much as this.

  Bodie never wanted to trust anyone again. Her family could go to hell. Liam could join them. And as for Mr. Mysterious...well, whatever his problem was, he’d just have to deal with it on his own.

  People couldn’t be trusted.

  Even the one who’d been with her through thick and thin, the high times and the periods of wading through shit so high she thought she might drown in it. The one she’d supported when he’d come out of the closet, when he’d had no one but her to lean on.

  She was done with the whole fucking population of planet earth.

  With her sodden gear in hand, feeling like a gutter rat caught in a storm drain, Bodie plodded home. The cold was seeping into her bones, making her feel fragile. The boombox seemed to weigh twice what it did earlier in the day, and she wasn’t sure it wasn’t just a useless pile of junk now.

  Maybe she should just toss it and her dreams in the trash once and for all. Let her ambitions of dancing float away on the wind and just fade into a meaningless existence wh
ere serving fast food was the highlight of her day.

  She was tired of fighting for something she couldn’t keep.

  By the time she reached her crappy apartment, her body was no longer connected to her brain. The cold eroded every last nerve ending into painful numbness, and thanks to the SUV that drove through the puddle right next to Bodie at faster than wise speed, she was as wet as she could possibly get.

  She had indeed thrown the boombox in the first trashcan she could find.

  Her key scraped into the stiff lock, turned with effort she couldn’t quite muster the first time. Her fingers were frozen, useless. The door stuck, then popped open when she kicked the bottom corner. She almost fell into her hallway, barely managing to catch herself on the wall.

  She shut the door, shivering madly now she was out of the wind and rain. Droplets landed on the carpet, and as she staggered down the hall, she left dark footprints in her wake.

  Dropping her moneybox on the armchair in the living room—one of the last pieces of furniture she had left after selling just about everything else to try raise some cash—she headed into the bathroom and stripped out of her heavy clothes, leaving them in a sodden heap.

  The cold nip in the air stole her breath as it bit into her wet flesh. Knowing it wasn’t going to help much, she flipped the shower on and stepped under the pitifully weak stream of water that wasn’t more than a couple degrees warmer than the fucking rain.

  Miserable, feeling depressingly alone and unloved, she squeezed her eyes shut and forced the tears away. Pitying herself was no excuse to let her weakness get the better of her. She was stronger than that, had spent years making damn sure she was stronger than anything and everything that came her way. Being held captive by her emotions was not going to happen.

  Twenty-seven years’ worth of memories had been systematically repressed to ensure nothing had the power to send her to her knees.

  So she’d had to sell just about everything she owned. It was just possessions, the trappings of society. She didn’t need a couch or a TV. Why have a bed when a mattress on the floor worked just as well? Taking her life to the bare essentials was enlightening, freeing, good for the goddamn soul.

  When her breath hitched threateningly, Bodie bared her teeth and slapped some sense into herself. She needed to get dried, get dressed, and get her ass into gear. There might be enough loose change from her takings today to get something filling from the store.

  No more moping or feeling sorry for herself.

  When rock bottom was the only thing she could feel beneath her feet, it meant the only thing she could do was claw herself back up. Claw and gouge her way out of the shit and prove to everyone she wasn’t a failure. That she could take care of herself no matter what was thrown at her. That she was worthy of being loved.

  No.

  Bodie curled her lip as she shut off the water and reached for her towel. Her hands moved angrily, sharp movements of the towel soaking up the water on her skin as she glowered to herself.

  She didn’t want or need to be loved. Love was a weakness no woman could afford—it was used as a tool to manipulate emotions, to twist and bind a person into serving another person’s whims. Used to break people down, keep them under a booted heel, reel them in with vows of I love you and shatter them when the thrill of power was gone.

  With the towel wrapped around her body and another around her hair, she rushed from the bathroom to the almost empty bedroom in search of dry clothes. She found a pair of jogging pants and a hoody in her dwindling supply of clean clothes and, once dressed, walked back into the living room to find her hairbrush and attack the damp mess attached to her head.

  Still cold, shivering slightly, her shoulders sagged. Only a few weeks before, this room had reflected everything she wanted in a home. She’d taken her time selecting the paintings on the walls—nothing fancy or expensive, but artwork she liked—and she’d had pretty little ornaments on tables and the big dresser she’d picked up at a flea market. Books had lined the shelves; now they were stacked in heaps in a corner of the room.

  Now it was barren, empty. She’d kept the armchair simply because it was too ratty and unkempt to pass on. Ridiculously comfy, it was a solitary comfort on a night when she came home to the remnants of her life.

  All because of an accident that wasn’t her fault.

  Bodie moved the box off the seat and set it on the floor between her legs as she collapsed into the chair. Her stomach grumbled in annoyance, sharp hunger pains cramping her belly, but there was little she could do about it.

  Wet strands of hair fell over her face as she dropped her head into her hands and pressed her fingers to her eyes.

  She shouldn’t have turned down that damn dancing job at Avalon. She could admit to herself she’d allowed pride to rule that decision, combined with the raging pain Liam had caused her.

  She sighed and rested her head back, staring at the ceiling with blind eyes. That was the crux of things. She’d trusted Liam with nearly everything in her life for over twenty years, loved him like a brother. And he’d tossed her family in her face, hadn’t trusted her with an important part of his life, because he thought she was like them.

  Angry and sad all over again, unsure how she was supposed to deal with the two emotions battling it out inside her, she shut it all down. Brought her defense system into play so she felt nothing. It had been a valuable resource as a teenager, perhaps even in the tender years before then when the vitriol her family spewed all over her was just beginning.

  She couldn’t say how long exactly—so many of her memories had been repressed over the years that she’d lost periods of time, forgotten much of the trauma she’d suffered through.

  Bodie reached for the box, steeling herself against the paltry amount she’d gathered before the rain chased her crowd away. The lid popped off, clattered to the floor, and her brow furrowed into a frown.

  There was a handful of coins dotting the bottom of the box. Maybe five dollars if she was lucky. But her attention zeroed in on the thick roll of green that hadn’t been there before. Her hand trembled as she reached for it, not willing to believe it was real even when her fingers scooped it up.

  One hard swallow.

  The roll of cash was very, very real. An elasticated beaded bracelet held the roll together, and when she turned it over in her hand, she saw the tiny dangling charm bearing an A.

  Goddamn it, Mr. Mysterious.

  Slipping the bracelet free, she let the roll unfurl in her palm like some exotic flower blossoming. Her heart pounded erratically as she studied the bills and calculated how much money she held. Too much. Too much money for a simple street performance.

  The glossy edge of something black stood out from the green, catching Bodie’s eye. She tugged a business card free from the center of the roll, frowning as she studied it. Completely black aside from the two overlapping A’s in the center, one gold and one silver. The words Club Avalon were embossed beneath the simple logo.

  Her pulse stuttered when she flipped the card over.

  In bold handwriting, three little words glared at her.

  He misses you.

  For a moment, she was tempted to crush the card in her fist until it was as rumpled and damaged as she was. Was it some sick joke? A bribe from Liam?

  With the business card in one hand and the money in the other, she shook her head. The only person with the opportunity to slip this into the box was Mr. Mysterious of the hypnotic eyes, which begged the questions, who was he and what connection did he have to Liam and that damn BDSM club?

  Taking a deep breath, Bodie counted the bills. Nausea roiled in her belly as the amount grew...and grew...and grew. Chest tight, she couldn’t quite catch her breath as the money blurred in front of her eyes.

  One thousand dollars cash floated to the floor like oversized confetti.

  One thousand dollars.

  Enough to pay the rent on her tiny home for another month, with enough to cover some of the utilities
and food. Enough to ease the stress of living for a few more weeks until...

  No.

  The money might as well have turned to ash on the carpet.

  Relying on other people was no longer acceptable. Taking bribes or whatever the hell this bounty was...she couldn’t do it. Not to mention, if she spent it, who knew what conditions came with it.

  Mr. Mysterious could turn up on her doorstep and demand...anything in return for his generosity. She’d be beholden to him, wouldn’t she? Because she knew damn well she wouldn’t have sufficient cash to pay him back. And what if he asked for interest? He’d literally have her over a barrel.

  No one was going to have that power over her ever again.

  Goddamn it.

  As visions of food and keeping a roof over her head blipped out of existence, Bodie slammed her fist down on the arm of her chair, relishing the surge of pain spiking up her arm. It washed through the thin fog of distress, cleared her head enough for her to see what she needed to do.

  Time to get her big girl panties on, if she had any left, and go back to that fucking club. Hopefully she had enough gas left in the tank to get her home. But she’d return to the place where her world crumbled with the roll of money and the bracelet, with her head held high, and she’d give it back.

  Every. Last. Bill.

  That’s what she was going to do, she decided as her stomach vehemently disagreed with her choice. Then she was casting aside any notion of continuing with the stupid idealistic dreams of dancing for a living—because major fail so far—and she’d look for a job that at least made her enough of a wage to keep the shitty roof over her head, her angry belly full, and maybe reclaim some sense of dignity in the shape of furniture.

  Ripping her soul out might be easier than giving up music and rhythm.

  Starving to death in a cardboard box in the middle of winter didn’t sound wonderful either. The rut she was in was going to drive her crazy.

  Chapter Two

  “That face of yours is gonna drive my customers away, boy.”

  Braun Fitzpatrick drummed his fingers on the polished oak of his bar and sipped his soda as he studied his friend’s face. He preferred his drinks a little stiffer but at three in the afternoon, it was too early to indulge in his usual whisky. “You gotten in touch with the root of your upset?”