by Isabel Morin
“Good. Someone will give you a call in the next week or so to arrange it.”
Emily stood and thanked her. She managed to keep her cool until she was alone in the elevator. Then she jumped up and down, grinning from ear to ear.
She had to tell Cutter, but it was already four-thirty. She had just enough time to get back to the hotel and get her things together for tonight. If she was lucky, she’d catch him before she had to go on.
Giddy with anxiety, she got into her car and drove. She arrived at the club well before six to change and wait for Cutter, frantically leaving the dressing room over and over to look for him. But he didn’t show up until just before she had to go on, leaving her no time to talk to him.
Should she write him a note? No, that was silly. But the last thing she wanted was a repeat of last night. She needed some way to let him know how she felt.
***
Cutter got to the club mid-morning on Monday to finish the shelving units Steve had commissioned for the basement storage area. He’d just finished hauling in all the wood when he heard classical music come on upstairs.
Emily.
His skin heated and his heart started pounding at the thought that she was in the same building. He’d thought it was safe, and now here he was again, thrown into a tailspin.
What was she doing here? There was no reason for her to be practicing on her last day, but something had obviously driven her to come.
He tried to keep working, tried to shut out the image of her up there in her practice clothes, the fine hairs at the nape of her neck damp with sweat. But he was as powerless to stop himself from going up as a moth heading for a flame. He climbed the stairs with a mixture of anticipation and dread, only to come to a dead stop in the shadows at the room’s edge, stunned by the sight of Emily dancing her heart out, her face a wrenching combination of joy and sorrow.
The dancing he’d seen her do, which was always head and shoulders better than anyone else, was still nothing compared to this. Her dancing for the club left him throbbing with lust. This made his heart ache.
Watching her, seeing the look on her face, he suddenly understood what he’d been up against. Of course she couldn’t be satisfied here, with him. He’d been a fool to think otherwise. The music ended and she stood there, gazing out into the dark room, more beautiful than any woman he’d ever seen. As untouchable as a figment of his imagination.
He turned and walked out, wondering if the pain of losing her would ever go away. Even though part of him was still angry with her for not loving him back, the best part of him hoped she’d find what she needed someday soon.
It was plain masochism to work tonight. But as awful as it promised to be, it was better than the alternative.
He finished the shelves by early afternoon and then headed to the gym. It would do him good to work out, but if he were honest with himself, he was also avoiding his house. Memories of Emily laughing, teasing, driving him crazy with need were in every room.
He didn’t get back to the club until the last possible moment, and his whole body was tense knowing that any minute she was going to come on. He couldn’t bear watching her dance up there, and he couldn’t stand not watching.
Then Stan announced her and all the regulars went wild knowing they were in for a treat. Though he wasn’t sure if that would be the case. He’d avoided watching her last night but had gleaned enough to know she’d struggled through her sets. Maybe it would have been better if he’d stayed away tonight, but it seemed he was past being able to choose the right course of action.
Then the first song began and he felt sick. It was Nina Simone’s “Turn Me On,” a short, crooning tune that he and Emily had once made love to. Memories of that night came flooding back – the way her hair had spilled over his chest in a silky pool, the way they’d moved together so perfectly she’d declared afterward that a choreographer couldn’t have improved on it. Just before she’d fallen asleep she’d murmured that he’d ruined her for anyone else. He’d even started to believe her.
Had she forgotten about that night? He could think of no other reason she’d choose that song. She’d never been deliberately cruel.
Confusion and despair surged through him, but he wouldn’t look at her. He didn’t know what was happening, but he wasn’t going to be part of it.
He was heading for the far end of the room, his back to the stage, when a scuffle broke out in the front of the room – a couple of drunk guys at the edge of the stage fighting over the skimpy red top Emily had tossed. Cutter took it from them, settling that quick enough, but now he was holding her sexy little costume. He was still holding it when the first song ended and the Stones’ “You Got the Silver” started to play, the same song he and Emily had danced to in his kitchen the day he’d asked her to move in.
Cutter looked up at Emily, only several feet away.
She was looking right at him.
It was so like all the other times she’d danced for him, teasing him throughout the night, only this time her expression was serious as she moved sinuously to the music, echoing the way she’d danced that morning. It was no mistake. She was doing it for a reason. But what was she trying to say?
She’d stripped down to just her thong, her gorgeous body whirling around the stage, though every time she looked out at the crowd it was he she looked at. And though his body ached with desire, it was his heart that ached more. Hope rose in him as their eyes stayed locked, and he waited to see what message her last song would bring.
A surprised laugh escaped him as Frank Zappa’s “Tell Me You Love Me” poured out of the speakers. She’d once come upon him installing a new light fixture in the foyer while this song blared through the house.
“Who’s this?” she’d yelled, trying to make herself heard.
“Zappa,” he called back, turning the volume down so they didn’t have to yell. “Sorry, is it too loud?”
“I like it,” she said, smiling at him with that look in her eye that always made him hard. “The world needs more kiss-ass love songs.”
Now he watched as she moved around the stage, dancing to one of his favorite songs, the audience going wild. It was the sexiest performance he’d seen so far, and it was all for him. It might as well have been just the two of them in the room, because he knew now what she was telling him.
The second she left the stage he made for the door to the back hallway, pushing his way past patrons, past a couple of dancers, past Steve. Nothing was going to keep him from her a second longer.
***
Emily watched Cutter come toward her, relief flooding her at his hungry expression. She’d had a whole speech prepared, but looking at him it all flew out of her head. Instead she launched herself at him, throwing her arms around his neck.
“I love you,” she told him between kisses. “I love you I love you I love you. I’m sorry I was such an idiot.”
Cutter’s mouth closed over hers, his tongue sliding into her with all the heat and intimacy she’d come to crave. Holding her to his hard-muscled body, he devoured her with his mouth and hands, a primal groan rising from his throat.
A few people passed by them, hooting and cheering. Someone, it sounded like Richie, suggested they get a room.
“Good idea,” Cutter said, coming up for air.
Taking Emily by the hand he pulled her toward the storage closet. Opening it up he ushered her inside and then followed, closing the rest of the world out as he shut the door behind them.
“Does this mean you’re staying?” he asked her, his hands gripping her shoulders.
She cupped his face in her hands, needing to touch him.
“Nothing could make me leave now.”
“But what about your career and not wanting to compromise?”
“The only compromise would be if I left you. This is where I want to be.”
“I saw you dance this morning,” he said.
“You were here? Today?”
He nodded his head, his dark eyes looking straight int
o hers. “I think I get now what dancing means to you, and I don’t want you to have to settle. I sure as hell don’t want you to keep stripping. If there are more opportunities for you somewhere else, we can move.”
“It may take a while to get my feet under me, but that would be the case anywhere. I think I have a good shot here. It’s not going to be full-time, at least not for a while, so I’ll need to work here for a bit longer. But as long as you’re in the audience, I’ll be fine. More than fine.”
“Then so will I.”
Bending his head he kissed her again. A slow, exploratory kiss, as if he were discovering her all over again. She melted into it, into him, wanting everything he had to give.
His arms came around her pulling her to him, the mixture of tenderness and desire leaving her boneless. Her hands threaded through his hair, holding him to her as he showed her how much he wanted her, his tongue stroking again and again over hers. His strength and heat engulfed her, reminding her how good they were together and how close she’d come to blowing it.
She slid her hands down his arms and under his shirt to feel the smooth skin over hard muscle.
“Hey, Cutter?” she said, pulling back a fraction of an inch.
“Yeah?” he began kissing her neck, his hands closing over her breasts.
She was practically naked already, and she could feel Cutter’s enormous erection pressing against her belly. Desire was spreading through her, laying waste to all rational thought. But she had enough coherence left for one last effort.
“Lock the door.”
About the Author
Isabel Morin started reading romance novels when she was fourteen years old and she hasn't stopped since. Now she writes them, too. She lives in New England with her husband, the inspiration for many of her heroes. You can email her at: [email protected]. She'd love to hear from you.
Other books by Isabel Morin:
No Other Love
Tempt Me
