The Dance Off

by Ally Blake

  When her trembling reached fever pitch, with one final deep lick he sent her over the edge. Feeling the strength in her sweet body, the tension in her arms, the utter freedom in her release, knowing he’d done that to her, this superwoman, was the single sexiest moment of his life.

  He didn’t wait for her to come down before he was on his feet, his hands making short work of her tantalising top, yanking it from her shoulder, needing more, needing to taste all of her, to imprint her flavour on his psyche and himself all over every damn inch of her.

  No finessing, he took her breast into his mouth, hard, gripping her waist as she cried out from the new pleasures rolling through her. She hooked her legs around him, pulling him close.

  Ryder glanced at the beams. His voice subterranean, he asked, “Can they hold the both of us?”

  “We’ll soon find out,” she said, before taking his mouth with hers.

  So hard he hurt, he freed himself, somehow found the cognitive wherewithal to protect himself. Silently berating her for not insisting, hating himself for liking that she hadn’t, he pressed into her, hard, relishing every sensational second.

  Her eyes snapped shut and she cried out. The muscles in her arms and neck strained, beads of sweat beaded all over her chest, curls tight around her face. Her beautiful face. And the sweet bliss of being inside her, pleasure riding him as he stroked into her; hoping they weren’t about to bring the building down around their ears.

  All too soon her climax came hard. Curling her into him as she cried out. While his built from a tight knot of need that unfurled until he felt it to the ends of his everything. And he came with a roar that shook the foundations of the old building till the thing near rained down dust.

  Her head dropped to his shoulder, her breaths fanning against his ear, and he held her there, still inside her, their heartbeats slamming against one another as they drifted back to earth.

  Ryder lowered her feet to the floor and since her hands were out of action he gently rolled her tights back into place. He uncurled one rope then the other, the red raw ligature marks making him wince. Then when her legs seemed about to give way, he scooped her into his arms. Ryder carried her to the lounge, where he sat. She sank into him, soft and warm, her head beneath his chin, her hand on his heart. The quiet afterglow washed over him, as a warmth in his muscles and a sweet ache in his groin.

  Then, just when her breaths grew so slow and heavy he wondered if she’d fallen asleep, she spoke up, her voice, soft and shattered, said, “Ryder?”

  He wiped damp hair from her forehead. “Yes, Nadia?”

  “I’m leaving.”

  “I’d like to see you try.”

  Her fingers curled into his chest a moment before she lifted her heavy head and looked up into his eyes. And the distress that flittered therein made his gut constrict—more than ropes, or studded gloves, or high heels that could castrate a man with one well-positioned step.

  Then she said, “That routine was part of an audition piece I’ve been working on. Sky High, the company I used to work for, are casting a new show. And I’m on the shortlist.” She paused to swallow. “If I get the job—when I get the job—as soon as humanly possible I’ll be moving there.”

  “Where’s there exactly?”

  “Vegas.”

  “As in Las Vegas?” The other side of the world.

  Her mouth twitched. “Is there any other?”

  “Good point.”

  Truth was, he had no idea what he was saying; he was marking time. Dammit, his skin still thrummed from some of the hottest sex of his life. He couldn’t think forward an hour much less weeks.

  “Vegas,” he echoed again. And as the ripples fanned to the corner of his mind, so many things began to make sense. Her reticence to make good on their attraction. Her drab apartment. She’d not put down roots because she’d never intended to stay.

  “When?” he asked.

  The flicker in her eyes making it clear she knew he’d been sideswiped. Damn. “They’re en route now, but it depends how many dancers they decide to see in each place before they get here. I’m just waiting for the word.”

  She said it with a smile. Yet it was Nadia’s complete stillness that got to him. Any other time even her very breaths moved through her as if she were dancing, yet she sat in his arms so still, so inert, she might as well have been made of air. Because this conversation was that important to her. Or that uncomfortable. Whatever it was to her, it clearly carried weight. He carried weight.

  “Okay, then,” he said.

  It must have been the right answer, as her sinuous body settled deeper into his lap. He dragged his thumb gently over her lower lip and when she lifted her face to his followed with a kiss.

  A kiss filled with sweetness, and tenderness, yet humming with heat.

  And as his desire ratcheted up faster than ought to have been physiologically possible, he knew her imminent departure from his life was a blessing in disguise. He clearly couldn’t keep away from her even if he wanted to. This woman who so effortlessly lured him into temptation. Who made him clamour to tap into the darkness, the consuming desires, the inner storm he’d all but eliminated from his life.

  As for Nadia? There was no getting away from the look in her eyes as she’d told him she was going away. He’d glimpsed that look before in the rare moments when she let her guard down, when she’d unexpectedly opened up to him, when she’d forgotten to be on show and simply was.

  A woman like that needed a different kind of man in her life. Not a man who worked more hours than not. Not a man with the complicated responsibilities he had. Not a man who’d never confuse lust for forever. And damn sure not a Fitzgerald.

  SEVEN

  Nadia stretched out her limbs and groaned; the slide of soft sheets over her body as lovely as her all-over ache was wicked. Her body was used to being pushed to the edge of endurance and then some, but the past couple of weeks with Ryder had educated her as to muscles even she never knew existed.

  She tilted her head to find the man himself sleeping on his back, the crumpled sheet covering one thigh and half his torso, moonlight pouring through his bedroom window over the hard dips and planes of his body, glinting off the dark hair covering the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the heat of him warming even her side of his bed.

  Watching him, this man who took her places she’d never before been, her hands circled her wrists, rubbing at marks that had faded days before. She’d underestimated Ryder in giving him a private dance. Expected him to be dissuaded by her stunts. She’d also overestimated her own willpower, as every day since, every time she was with him she told herself it would be the last, her resolve caved.

  Her fault probably, for unlocking the danger junkie in him. How could she have known that beneath the slick suits he was so audacious, a sensualist, fearless? That she’d be the one left gasping, breathless, and shaken again and again and again.

  The twin threads keeping her sane as they embarked on this impossible affair were the countdown to Sam’s wedding and her impending audition. Not that they talked about the fact that their association had a big brick wall looming at its end, but they hadn’t needed to; the ticking clock was simply there.

  With a sigh she lifted her gaze to the two-storey wall of glass that filled the far side of Ryder’s floating bedroom as well as the entire beach-side wall of the floor beneath. She guessed it was past midnight. Time to leave if she wanted some sleep.

  Slipping from the bed, her toes curling against the plush rug, Nadia quietly gathered her clothes and got dressed. She nearly gave up on finding her strappy high heels before she saw them peeking out from under Ryder’s side of the bed; by request they’d been the last item left on.

  With the straps hooked over one finger, she took one last look at the big man sleeping in the big bed; his lips softly parte
d, dark hair falling over his forehead, the shadow of stubble already covering his cheeks and chin. When all that masculine warmth made her start to ache, she resolutely turned her back and walked away.

  She texted for a cab as she padded down the circular staircase to the main floor of Ryder’s amazing home. He’d designed the space himself—and for himself alone; that much was clear. All hardwood floors, and raw slate tiles, dark grey walls and sleek modern furniture. Downstairs was entirely open-plan with a sophisticated kitchen and a gigantic lounge that made the most of the beach views, with a cool art-deco bar and a TV you could see from space. Ryder had alluded to a garage, gym, and laundry in the subterranean floor below.

  The only thing in the place that wasn’t uber-masculine was a truly lovely antique-looking drafting table in the far corner. A more modern chair was skewed beneath and the wall beside it housed a wall of built-in blond bookshelves filled with rolled-up plans and books galore—all the accoutrements she assumed an architect must need.

  And yet for all the modern, manly minimalism—the reclaimed wood, re-imagined steel, the huge artworks on the mood-lit walls that all seemed to be made from industrial cast-offs—the place was truly stunning.

  He’d mentioned that his mother had been creative, a sculptor of some renown. No wonder Ryder Fitzgerald had talent; he had the heart of an artist.

  Nadia snorted softly at her wayward thoughts, figuring she must be more tired than she thought. She dragged her hair into a ponytail, tugging her hair a little harder than necessary in order to wake herself up. Last stop, she ducked to the fridge, found an apple to appease her empty stomach—since they’d somehow forgotten to eat.

  Padding towards the door, she sank her teeth into the skin, and a resounding snap of apple flesh split the air.

  She stilled and heard the distinct rustle of sheets over man.

  Swearing beneath her breath, she gathered her satchel from its place hooked over the back of a bar stool, then clamped the apple between her teeth and made a barefoot run for the door.

  She’d almost made it when the floorboards creaked ominously. Heart thundering in her chest, she took the apple from her mouth and glanced back to find Ryder ambling down the stairs; his hair dishevelled, his face soft with sleep. Previously discarded suit trousers covered his long legs, the clasp undone revealing the tantalising arrow of dark hair.

  He stopped when he spotted her hand on the doorknob. “I thought I heard you decamping,” he said, his voice deep and soft on the night air.

  “You heard right. I also stole an apple.”

  He crossed his arms and leant a hip against the railing. “Consider it yours.”

  Nadia’s pulse thudded at her wrists, behind her ears. All over. As even while he looked perfectly relaxed, she could feel the slumberous desire rolling from him in waves. And even while the muscle memory in her body begged her to make good on all that promise, she needed to be sure that when the time came, she could say no.

  “See you Tuesday night?” she asked.

  A beat throbbed between them before he said, “I’ll be there.”

  He shifted, and her skin thrummed with the thought there might be one last kiss; a deep, sweet, lasting parting meeting of mouths that took her breath away. But one dark look later, he gave her a short nod and headed back up the stairs.

  The tension drained from her until she drooped like a wilting flower. She let herself out, the cool darkness and soft salty tang of the sea air enveloping her. And then she began to laugh. It was either that or sob with relief. Or would that be disappointment? Argh!

  And when her cab swished to a halt at the kerb, she hopped inside, settled against the seat and closed her eyes, smiling until her cheeks began to ache.

  * * *

  As Ryder hit the stairs leading up to the studio the next Tuesday night, he heard Nadia’s laughter echoing down the stairwell.

  He was smiling by the time he pushed open the door, but at the creak of the hinges she spun on her heel, her hand flying to her chest, her cheeks glowing pink, her phone pressed to her ear. A couple of beats later she held up a finger, mouthing she’d only be a minute, then turned her back, talked in a low hum he couldn’t make out.

  Ryder dumped his bags on the couch and headed her way. He slid his arms around her waist, and ducked his face into her neck.

  Frowning furiously, she tried to peel him away, to motion that she was on the phone.

  He merely grabbed the offending hand and held it behind her, trapping it between them. He slid his other hand down the neck of her top until he found her breast, the hot sweet weight of it filling his palm and making him groan.

  When he caught their reflection in the window, his hand down her top, her mouth open, her eyes hot and hard, he dipped his head to take her ear lobe in his mouth, not taking his eyes from her mirror image.

  Then, husky as all get out, she said, “Thanks for the heads-up. Talk soon,” and hung up the phone.

  She pressed her sweet backside into him and curled the hand holding the phone around his neck to pull his mouth to hers for a long lush kiss. Heat thundered through him, making his whole world a tight sweet ache.

  Eyes locked onto her shadowy likeness in the window, he peeled her top away to reveal her breast to the air, her skin so pale and sweet against the tan of his big hand. She shivered, her eyes fluttering closed, her head rocking back against his shoulder.

  He grazed her nipple with his thumb, and again as it pebbled beneath his touch. Her tongue snuck out to wet her lips. She might as well have licked him lower for the kick of heat that knocked the breath right out of him—

  Ryder leapt away from her as music blasted right next to his ear. Rubbing at his ear, he glared towards the offending noise to see the phone still gripped in Nadia’s hand.

  Already hooking her top back in place first, Nadia switched it to silent. “Sorry.”

  He tilted his chin to the phone gripped in her hand. “Miss Popular tonight.”

  “Hmm?” She blinked as if the lit-up phone weren’t still vibrating in her palm.

  Which was when Ryder felt a frisson of disquiet scoot down his spine. “You going to answer it?”

  She shook her head. “No need.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “I know what it’s about.”

  “Seriously, Nadia, you want to play twenty questions? Or tell me what’s going on?”

  A frown flickered across her brow and was gone just as fast. Then she lifted stubborn eyes to his. “The producers will be here in a little over a week. And I don’t even have to go to Sydney, as they’re coming to Melbourne. They’re coming to me.”

  She didn’t have to say which producers. Her return to her old life had been hovering between them since the night she’d told him it was on the cards. And after the initial bombshell it had morphed into something far more constructive: a neat little end point to the affair. And yet as it coalesced from an insubstantial notion into a concrete event everything inside Ryder distilled down to two thoughts: one week and too soon.

  So immersed in his own reaction, he hadn’t noticed that Nadia wasn’t looking at him. Her cheeks were unusually pale, and her knuckles had gone white around the phone. He’d seen her fierce. He’d seen her near belligerent. He’d seen her sweet and soft and he’d seen her surrender. But he’d never seen Nadia Kent worry about a single damn thing.

  He closed in and slid his fingers through her hair, lifting her head till she was looking him in the eye; the tumble of emotions ricocheting through her slid right into him. All he could do was hold on tight and barricade himself against the tide. “You okay?”

  Her jaw clenched beneath his fingers as she lifted her chin, denial in her every movement. But he knew her, intimately. And from one blink to the next he saw her—the real Nadia, the raw Nadia, the one who’d yanked him from the safe sid
e of the ravine to the other. The side where he wasn’t in control of his actions. His thoughts. His desires. The Nadia that could only lead him into disaster. And yet he couldn’t look away.

  “You’re nervous,” he said as realisation dawned.

  “Of course I’m bloody nervous! I hardly proved myself reliable the last time I worked for them, so I’m coming at this with my chances hobbled from the outset. And what if I screw it up? What if I’m not in as good condition as I think I am? I haven’t had to choreograph on my own for years—what if the routine sucks?”

  He ran both thumbs over her temples. “I’ve witnessed your work, remember. Hottest damn thing I’ve ever seen. If they won’t pay you to perform it, I will. Hang on a sec, I already did.”

  She laughed, and then slapped him on the arm. He grabbed her hand and held it behind her.

  Her eyes turned wild. Rebellious.

  So he slid his other hand through her hair, cradling the back of her head, holding her in thrall. Then he dipped his mouth to brush hers. When she didn’t react, he kissed her again, barely a touch, then a luxurious swipe of his tongue across the seam. He felt her acquiescence in her melting body a fraction before she finally opened her mouth to him, sliding her tongue against his in a dance they both knew so well.

  The kiss grew intense, heated, sumptuous, long. So long, when they finally pulled apart Ryder couldn’t quite catch his breath. And—by the way Nadia’s eyes flickered back and forth between his—he was pretty certain she felt the same way.

  And yet she was leaving. Extremely soon. And while every impulse was to squeeze every last drop of passion from their affair that he could, he knew the level-headed move was to begin the gentle withdraw gracefully. Before anybody got hurt.

  Ryder spun her about and gave her a little shove in the opposite direction. “Come on, Teach. You’re not the only one with a countdown till the day you have to set the dance world on fire. The guests at the Fitzgerald-Johnson nuptials will not be disappointed.”