by Lauren Dane
Rennie cheered and took her plate into the kitchen before grabbing her treat and scampering into the adjoining family room.
“My mom is a classically trained pianist. She played with the New York Philharmonic. She’s a piano teacher now. She likes to scare children and boss people around. It’s a gift.” Elise shrugged. “My father is a professor emeritus at CUNY Albany. Poetry and literature. He just likes to be worshipped by young people.” She spoke with affection rather than sharpness or bitterness.
“Any siblings?”
“I had a younger brother who died five years ago.”
“I’m sorry.” Adrian shoved half a piece of garlic bread in his mouth, and suddenly Brody felt like the father of a wayward teenage boy.
Manners must have held back any look of horror and disgust at the way Adrian ate. Brody realized, not for the first time, that it was a good thing Adrian was so handsome and talented. Rock stars could eat like they hadn’t seen food or utensils ever before.
Instead, Elise simply said, “I’m glad you like the bread. There’s more if you like.” She said nothing else about her brother, and Brody noticed she’d mentioned Rennie’s father in the past tense, so she must be a widow.
“Enough about me. What about you two? You have a tattoo shop and your brother and sister have music careers. What else?”
“Parents died when I was eleven,” Adrian answered. “Brody was just ready to finish high school and start art school. Instead he got a full-time job, finished high school around that and raised me and Erin. My parents instilled a love of art and music in us early on. Erin picked up a guitar when she was Rennie’s age. I wanted to be like her, so I did too. You couldn’t keep Erin off a stage, for a long time anyway.” Adrian’s voice went very soft, and Elise reached out to touch his hand.
“I remember the news reports about the kidnapping and the death of her daughter. I can’t imagine what she went through.” She looked through the open archway, toward her daughter, and Brody’s insides tightened. He didn’t want to examine his reactions to her very closely. Something about the beautiful widow Sorenson left him off balance.
“And now here you all are. It’s nice that you’re all in the same city.” She looked back to Brody. “That’s a testament to you, I think. It had to be hard at your age.”
He shrugged. “It was what needed to be done. I did it. I love them, they needed me.”
Her smile melted as she cocked her head. “Aren’t a whole lot of men like you. Too bad.”
“All the more of me to share.” He grinned and shrugged.
She laughed, the sound delightful. He liked her. His other neighbors he enjoyed, some he tolerated, some he disliked, but he didn’t really seek out any of them to hang with. It didn’t hurt that she wasn’t a chore to look at either.
He and Adrian hung out for another hour or so before standing to leave. Rennie had gone upstairs, and Adrian scampered quickly back to Brody’s place, leaving Elise alone with Brody on her porch.
“Thank you for dinner.”
She smiled up at him. “Thank you for coming to dinner. It was nice, having company. Rennie had a great time too.”
He stepped closer as they stood in the shadows, a broad column near the steps shrouding them from the street. “Elise, I think I’m going to have to kiss you because I can’t stop thinking about it.”
She blinked up at him and nodded. “I think you should.”
He wanted to lay her out on the grass, the stars above, the scent of lilacs heavy around them. Wanted to kiss her long and slow for hours, until he could do nothing more but slide into her body as she welcomed him.
But that was not going to happen. Not that night, at least.
Instead, he bent his knees as she tiptoed up. With no more than fingertips cupping her chin, he leaned down those last glorious inches and took her lips with his own. He’d meant to slide into it, to take it slow and give her a sweet smooch.
Instead, the moment her taste met his lips, a fire banked within him. He needed more and settled in, coaxing her mouth open, sliding his tongue along hers, only barely resisting his desire to cup one of her breasts, though his palm felt the phantom press of a wanton nipple.
Her breath chased her tongue into his mouth, her hands, small and soft, lay palm open on his chest. So fucking good, the kiss was so good he wanted to do it for hours and hours. Instead, he heard Rennie call her mother’s name and she stiffened.
He stepped back with great regret. “Thank you again, Elise. Good night.”
She nodded, looking sort of stunned. Which was good, because it meant he wasn’t the only one feeling totally punched in the gut by desire. He walked down her steps and waved, catching her eye as she went back inside. She smiled, returning the wave, and then closed the door.
On his porch he turned and looked toward her place. The front windows were open, and he saw through to her stairs, where she jogged up, smiling, clearly talking back and forth with her daughter. The sight brought a lump to his throat.
“I like her. She likes you too.” Adrian nudged the screen door open with the toe of his sneaker.
“She’s so not our type.” Didn’t matter one bit to his cock, though.
“Our? I don’t share women. Most certainly not with my brother. Anyway, she didn’t look at me that way. She looked at you that way. I’d totally make a run on the very lovely Elise, but I figure you’d hurt me if I tried. Even when you’re trying to pretend you didn’t just totally make out with her on her porch.” The look Adrian sent him made Brody want to laugh. Instead he rolled his eyes as his brother shooed him out of the way and locked up. “Call Erin. I’m going to take a shower.”
Adrian strolled from the room and Brody realized that would be the end of his hot water for at least forty-five minutes.
“You have a fucking mansion! You’re here eating my food and using my hot water!”
“You love it,” came the faint, amused reply.
He grumbled the entire time he dialed Erin’s number. Smiling.
Elise sat on her porch and read. It had been a very long while since she’d had the time and inclination to do it, but her life was different, better now, and she’d vowed to enjoy the quiet moments more than she ever had before.
Rennie was across the street two doors down, helping Mrs. Cardini. Elise’s daughter and the neighborhood matriarch had created a bond. Rennie loved the elderly woman and that dog of hers. The three were currently pulling weeds, drinking lemonade and having a grand time. Elise knew she could trust Mrs. Cardini with her daughter; she’d visited enough with the woman herself to know she’d raised six sons, four of whom lived within a two-mile radius. But it was hard to let go, and Rennie could be a handful, so she gave them some space but kept close enough to intervene if a problem developed.
“I see Rennie has joined forces with Mrs. Cardini. Everyone better really watch out now.”
Brody.
Elise put her book aside and looked up at the man who’d spoken. “Hello, Brody Brown. Yes, Rennie and Mrs. Cardini are pretty much the exact same person, only at different stages of life. I think they’ll keep each other out of trouble.”
He sat next to her on the porch swing and they both looked across the street. “You hope, anyway. But just in case, you’re keeping an eye to be sure.”
“Busted. I’m not judging or anything. Please don’t think that. I know Rennie is fine and all. I just like to be around in case I’m needed.”
He took her hand like it was the most normal thing in the world, instead of something that sent threads of pleasure through her each time his thumb slid over the sensitive skin at her wrist.
“I didn’t think you were. First, it seems to me you’re the kind of mom who wouldn’t just let her kid go off with anyone she didn’t trust. But also because it seems to me you take care of people. Mrs. Cardini is lonely; she gets just as much out of time spent with Rennie as Rennie does being with her.”
It turned her stomach upside down to hear such pra
ise from him.
“That’s not good mothering, that’s just basic parenting.”
He bent his head, pressing a kiss to her wrist, and she drew in breath. Which didn’t help because it was breath filled with the scent of him. He was so big, took up so much space. She should pull her hand away, should stand and break this contact before he dug into her life any deeper, before this need of him got out of control and she did something stupid.
Instead, she drew her fingertip along the shell of his ear and he shivered.
“I wish it wasn’t full daylight. I wish we were alone,” he murmured as he continued to hold her hand, slowly rocking the swing back and forth as he kept an eye on the street.
She wished it too, but knew wishes were something entirely apart from reality. He was more than she could handle. Even if she wanted, very badly, to handle him. Out of her league.
“School starts soon,” he said, not commenting further on the previous statement.
“Yep. Hard to believe she’s going to be in first grade.” Like every mother, Elise felt as if the years had just flown by. One day she’d brought home a pink bundle from the hospital, and now that baby was outgrowing her shoes every few months and was going to be a first-grader.
She’d have time alone, more than she’d ever had before, even if it would be filled, more often than not, with work. Maybe even some time to sneak in a man here and there. Have some connection to someone that wasn’t about parenting or work.
Admittedly, part of what attracted her so deeply to Brody was being seen as a woman, as a sexual being, by a man to whom she was attracted right back.
“I haven’t stopped thinking about kissing you. One taste and I’m jonesing.” He grinned, and it did all sorts of crazy to her belly. And other parts. God, this was dangerous, and so hot it made her want to throw caution to the wind and invite him inside.
“I haven’t stopped thinking about it either.” She shrugged. No point in lying about it.
“So, what are we going to do about that?”
Before she could answer, Rennie looked over and saw them. “Momma! Brody! Come over and see the flower bed.”
Well now, that brought the fantasy in her head to a screeching halt. The man would probably run the other way now. She stood, waving back at Rennie. “On my way.”
“I’ll come as well.” Brody stood and they began to walk toward Mrs. Cardini’s.
“Sorry about that.” She laughed.
“Never apologize for being a connected mom. It’s your job. I knew we weren’t going to go at it on your porch in broad daylight.” He winked.
6
Elise bent and stretched, placing her palms flat on the floor. Stretching felt like meditation sometimes. Her body knew it so well, knew the movements, the positions, the limits of her range, she simply fell into the routine, like breathing. As she stretched, warmed up, she pushed away all the things on her to-do list—the new toe shoes she needed to order, the people she needed to call, the squeaky door on one of the lockers she needed to grease. It all fell away.
She put Goldfrapp’s Black Cherry album on and began to move, letting the music take over as she spotted her first pirouette, and round again. Stepping back, she noted the lack of pull in her calves and noted it gladly.
It wasn’t until she’d moved to fouetté en tournant that she noticed him standing in the doorway, watching.
Smiling and pleasantly surprised, she stopped and turned the music off. “Hi, I didn’t expect to see you here. Is everything all right?” They’d left a lot unsaid the last few times they’d seen each other.
Brody cocked his head at her. “Wow. You’re totally amazing. I’ve never seen anything like those twirly things you were doing just now.”
Pride warmed her. She’d worked hard to get where she’d been before the whole thing with Ken. Most of her life had been spent in ballet class; she never regretted that time and dedication like some others had. She loved dancing and missed it a great deal, but this new stage wasn’t all that bad. The feedback was nice, she had to admit.
“Thank you. That’s called fouetté en tournant. Ballet moves are French so they sound awesome and graceful. Fouetté means ‘whipped,’ by the way.” She laughed. “It’s the whipping motion of the leg that propels the body into the turn.”
“Ah, makes sense then. It sounds—and looks—pretty complicated. Speaking of looking pretty complicated, I looked around when I first got here. When you said you’d danced for the National Ballet Theatre, I hadn’t guessed what that meant. Not really. You weren’t a dancer there, you were the dancer there. I’m incredibly impressed.”
A hated blush heated her cheeks. “Not the dancer. I was a principal dancer. There were two other female principals when I was with the NBT. I worked my way up over the years.”
“Do you miss it?”
She paused. “Sometimes more than I want to. Brody, not that I’m unhappy to see you. I mean, look at yourself. Any woman with eyes would be happy to look up and get a load of Brody Brown standing in her doorway. But, why are you here?”
Brody looked down at her, this small woman with more muscle and balance than he’d ever imagined, a hand on her hip, staring down a man nearly a foot taller than she. She was surprisingly blunt, a quality he very much enjoyed. Still, he wasn’t quite ready to say he couldn’t stop thinking of her and had sought her out.
“I was at my bank. It’s just a few blocks away. I go to this little Indian place for lunch afterward. Like a little ritual, I suppose. Anyway, I was there, eating way too much naan, when I looked up and saw your name on the door across the street. I wandered in, came up the stairs, looked at the photographs of you in all that ballet tutu stuff, realized you were like some ballet superstar. When I walked through and saw you, I just watched for a bit. I hope you don’t mind.”
She had all that glorious, pale blonde hair twisted into a high bun. Her graceful neck was exposed, set off by the straps of the leotard she wore. His hands twitched with the need to brush fingertips over the edge of her collarbone. She wasn’t wearing a tutu or a skirt. He’d sort of been expecting that. Instead she wore a leotard with longer shorts over it and the prettiest shoes—toe shoes he figured, with the way they laced around her ankles. All that strength in such an elegant package. He found himself impressed and yet put off by it. She was culture and classical music, and he . . . was not.
“No, of course I don’t mind. I had a morning class. It’s a small one, but serious. These students are very good. I’m lucky to have them. I came to Seattle at the right time. A school closed and two of the preeminent teachers here have retired. My old dance partner at NBT, his mother was one of those teachers. I inherited many of her students.”
“I imagine your history helps too. Can’t be too many principal dancers offering classes.”
She laughed. “Well, we dancers don’t like to just walk away if we don’t have to. I don’t want to stop dancing. I just can’t do it at the level I had before. So this is a wonderful opportunity for me. And yes, it helps that I was at the level I was when I . . . retired.”
The weight of all they left unsaid hung between them. “Will you dance for me? I’ve only seen The Nutcracker. My mom, she took us every year. I didn’t see much of you when I came in.”
“I’m not . . . not what I was in those pictures. My right leg was broken in two places. I’m older now. I’m not her anymore.”
He stepped closer, so close she scented the soap he’d used that morning. “You’re you. Please. I’d very much like to see you dance.”
She paused, taking his measure. “All right. You can sit over there if you like. How about something a little nontraditional? Before I left, one of the choreographers did something for me. It’s one of my favorite pieces.”
“I’d like that.”
She moved away and he settled into a nearby chair. She bent in half, and he had a brief but very vivid image of bending her over just that way and sliding his cock into her from behind. Christ, the woman
did things to his mind.
But when she hit the remote and moved into position, and a few moments later Tito Puente came through the speakers, he was a goner.
Shoulders rolling, she moved slowly, sensuously, across the hardwood floors. She opened herself up to the music, to the movements, until it was all one thing. Like breathing. She was the dance. The beat was cha-cha, so the choreography was all about sensuality, grace, balance and movements from the toes up. So many times every day she failed to find the words, but when she moved she didn’t need words, she spoke with her body.
His eyes on her were a brand. The tension between them was taut, exciting. She felt him watch her, his gaze a heated caress of her neck, her arms. In his eyes, she felt beautiful and sexy. Elise was, right then, a siren, a seductress with her body and her grace. It was rare to feel that anymore, and the confidence of it roared through her. She knew her leaps were beautiful, her grand jetés precise and her pirouettes spot-on. Part of her wanted him to see how good she was, wanted him to realize she was more than a broken dancer who’d run from the spotlight, but a dancer who’d held it for good reason for many years.
It burned within her, that recognition, that beauty, until she stepped back on her left foot, rolling her shoulders to set her head when the music died.
Time slid by as she stood tall and met his gaze. Silence, thick, charged, hung between them. Everything unsaid, everything said and done, it was all there in his gaze, in the one she returned. Oh, how she wanted this man. He simply continued to watch her without speaking. He stared for so long, she wondered if she’d misinterpreted those looks from him as she danced.
“I’ve never seen anything like you before.” He moved to her slowly, not gracefully; he was too big for that. But enough to let her step back or run. The heat in his eyes, the memory of his lips on her wrist, of his taste on her tongue, held her there, rooted to the spot.
