Bad Reputation

by Stefanie London

  His touch burned through the fabric, sending sparks showering over her. The frayed edges of her nerves left her open, susceptible. They made her an easy target, like a rabbit caught in the glare of headlights. Ready to be flattened. Her breath hitched in the back of her throat, her heart slamming against her rib cage.

  This wasn’t the effects of a memory.

  It was the very real chemistry she’d walked away from the night they’d met at the bar. The kind of chemistry that was often imitated, rarely experienced. She knew choreographed chemistry, orchestrated chemistry. But this…this would burn her alive if she let it.

  “Did you prove your point?” Her voice wobbled. Traitorous thing.

  “What do you think my point was?” he asked.

  Gone were the easy, humorous crinkles that normally bracketed his blue eyes. Gone was the cheeky smirk that lifted his lips, the one that always made her tummy flutter. Instead, he stared at her intently. Studying. Assessing. Like he could see a hell of a lot more than she wanted him to.

  “To show me I can conquer my fears and all that. Was it meant to be a teachable moment?” She hated herself for trying to tarnish the flickering connection between them by being a sarcastic bitch. But Remi didn’t do vulnerable. She didn’t do open. Not anymore.

  “I’m here to help you,” he said, frustration giving his tone a sharp edge. “Call it a ‘teachable moment’ if you like. Call it whatever the hell you want. But the reason I’m here is because I want this show to be a resounding success, and in order for that to happen, I need to make sure you slay whatever demon is lurking in your head.”

  Yeah, he saw way too much.

  “No demons,” she lied. “Just a fear of props.”

  “Bullshit. We both know there’s more to it than that.”

  He was still touching her, and she was still letting him. His strong hands made her waist look fragile. Made her look fragile.

  You don’t want to be bloody fragile. You want to be a strong, badass ballerina who doesn’t need a man to save her.

  But she was failing miserably.

  “Help me down?” she asked, forcing a smile. She needed to break this spell. ASAP.

  “Only if you stop feeding me bullshit,” he replied. “I know you probably come from a place where keeping your mouth shut is the only way to get ahead. I’ve been there too. But I can’t help you if you’re acting like I’m the enemy.”

  “What if you can’t help me at all?” she whispered.

  He tightened his hands around her and helped her down from the chair, the change in angle casting shadows across his face. Remi wasn’t short by any means, but Wes towered over her. He leaned forward, his dark hair flopping across his forehead. Without thinking, she reached up and brushed it back.

  “I will keep pushing, Remi. I will poke and shove and I will make you angry enough to get out of your own head.” He pinned her with his stare. “I won’t let this show fail.”

  Disappointment stabbed at her chest. Of course it was all about the show—she was doing the same stupid thing that she’d done before. Misinterpreting signs. Reading too much into things. Hearing what she wanted to hear.

  Wasn’t that what Alex had said to her? If you thought I loved you, it was because you wanted to think that. Not because I meant it.

  “I won’t let you fail.” Wes’s voice had turned rough. Gritty.

  Don’t fall for it. Don’t fall for him.

  He was saying whatever was required to get her invested in her part. That was all.

  “I appreciate that,” she said, choosing her words carefully. They were standing far too close together. So close that the scent of cologne and rain on his skin coiled around her, warming her from the inside out. But no matter how much she shouted at her brain to get things moving, her body refused to take a step back.

  “You have to stop being so…” He shook his head. “Frightened. You’re acting like a little lost lamb and that’s not who you are.”

  “No, I’m not a lost lamb.”

  “You have to get passionate.” He poked her gently in the chest, and she blinked. Shock morphing to anger as a veil of red washed over her vision.

  “Did you just poke me?”

  “Get angry, Remi. Get furious.”

  “Stop it!” She planted her hands on his chest and shoved him back.

  “You can’t be a performer if you keep everything bottled up. You have to let it out.” His voice was loud now, and it echoed through the studio, bouncing off the walls and rattling around inside her brain. “Do something crazy for once.”

  Crazy? He wanted to see crazy?

  “Fine!” she yelled at him.

  Then she flung her arms around his neck.

  * * *

  Wes stumbled back with the force of Remi’s embrace, his arms automatically enveloping her as though he’d done it a thousand times before.

  Only in your head.

  But it wasn’t in his head now. She reared up on her pointe shoes and mashed her lips to his, hard. Demanding. Hot breath puffed across his cheek as she angled her head, trying to deepen the kiss. It only took him a second to recover and for his brain to finally kick into gear. Slipping his hand up to the back of her head, he grabbed her ponytail and tugged her head back, taking control.

  A surprised gasp shot out of her mouth, but it melted into a soft moan as he coaxed her lips open, teasing his tongue against hers. She tasted sweet—like the coconut drink she’d had at dinner. And something else. Something earthy and sensual that made all the blood in his body migrate south.

  “So sweet,” he murmured against her lips.

  Her hands fisted in his shirt, the gentle knocking of her pointe shoes against the floor telling him she was still on her toes. The last thing they needed was for her to hurt her feet, but he wasn’t about to stop now. No way. He’d had the first taste of heaven, and he was going to drown himself in it.

  This is important. She is important. Don’t fuck things up. Stop. Now.

  But his body was running full tilt in one direction, and he was powerless to change the course of action. Sliding his hands up the backs of her thighs, he cupped her ass and lifted. Remi’s long legs wrapped around his waist, settling her heat right where his cock pressed hard up against his fly. The contact was pure pleasure. Pure agony. And when she writhed against him, hands in his hair, nails scraping against his scalp, he thought he might explode.

  “Remi,” he gasped into her mouth.

  He marched them across the room until her back hit the wall. All he could think about was sandwiching her between him and something hard. Somewhere he could grind his cock against the sweet, hot juncture of her thighs.

  With the wall helping to support her, he could roam with one hand. Along the curve of her waist, over the flat plane of her stomach, and up to the gentle swell of her breast. Her nipple beaded against his thumb, and he rubbed back and forth. If she had a bra on, there wasn’t much to it.

  “Yes.” Her head rolled back and made a soft clunk against the wall.

  Wes brought his lips to her neck, sucking on the smooth, pale skin. A hint of perspiration danced on his lips, a slight saltiness that made him think of hot, sweaty nights and hands fisted in bedsheets. He needed more of her. More taste, more touch, more scent. More everything.

  He hooked his finger over the edge of her top, pulling. The fabric gave, stretching under his command to expose her breasts. No bra.

  A wicked grin lit his mouth the second before he bowed his head, taking a nipple between his lips and sucking. The bud tightened against his tongue.

  “Wes!” Her voice was high. Taut, like a muscle pulled to extremes.

  Gently, he used his teeth, and a shudder ripped through her body as she bowed against him. The woman was a wildfire. A bright, open flame. Her hips rolled against him, rubbing up and down against his erection.<
br />
  His cock was so hard he had no idea how the zipper of his pants was still intact.

  “My God,” she panted. “You feel so…”

  Her words dissolved into sounds. He tugged at the top again. Too hard. The fabric split under his fingers, but neither one of them cared enough to stop. If necessary, he’d tear every scrap of fabric from her to get what he wanted—her, naked and open. Legs spread for him.

  You’re not supposed to go here. Stop.

  But he couldn’t. A gate had been opened, and he’d run through at full speed.

  The show had consumed his life in the past months, leaving no time for pleasure. And then, Remi had come along, taunting him with her long legs and sexy accent. With her brilliant smile and cheeky personality.

  But she wasn’t cheeky now. She’d morphed into an all-out sex bomb. Her hands cupped his faced and pulled him back up to her lips, showing him what she liked. Where she liked it. The confidence was hotter than any of it.

  “Is that what you want?” His left hand toyed with her other breast.

  “Yes. That.” Her breath was hot against his face. The sound rang in his ears on an endless loop. It was like his ability to perceive sensory information had been shrunk to her. Only her. “Harder.”

  He pinched the swollen bud and she gasped.

  “Again.” Her sweet, smooth voice had turned dark. Smoky. He complied and was rewarded with a low, guttural sound that completely undid him.

  “Christ, you’re so hot.” He buried his face in the crook of her neck. “This is what I was talking about. This is you. You’re passionate, Remi. You’re brimming with it.”

  Her body froze under his hands. “What?”

  Wes looked up, and it was like someone had flipped a switch. The dark, smoldering heat had vanished from her eyes. Her lips—which had been wrapped around a delicious O shape—were now tightly pursed.

  She unlocked her legs from behind his back and, bracing her hands against his biceps, lowered herself to the ground. “Is this a joke to you?”

  What the hell had just happened? Wes shook his head and tried to retrace his steps. “Why would it be a joke?”

  “Because of what you said earlier. About me needing to get passionate.” For a second, he wondered if actual flames might shoot out of her mouth. “Did you kiss me to prove a point?”

  “What? No.” He shook his head.

  “Is this what you do with all your struggling dancers, huh? You ‘show’ them how to feel it.” Underneath the spitfire anger, there was something else. An echo of a deeper emotion—fear. “Well, I don’t need a personal demonstration, thank you very much. I can figure it out on my own.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “If you think I go around kissing my dancers to prove a point, then you’re sorely mistaken.”

  “So you’ve never kissed another dancer you’ve worked with, huh?” The tremor of hope in her voice was like a slash across his chest.

  She wanted him to reassure her. But he wouldn’t lie.

  “I’ve been with other dancers,” he conceded. “But not while we were working together.”

  In fact, he’d turned down quite a few women when he’d feared the sex might have something to do with his position at the Evans Ballet School. No way would he allow anyone to think getting into his bed might advance their career. Or that he might abuse his position of power.

  But this was different. She already had the best part in the show.

  Yeah, keep telling yourself that. You know it’s not okay.

  “They say it’s natural for people working together to develop phantom feelings.” She nodded slowly, almost as if she was speaking to herself.

  “There’s nothing phantom about this, Remi.” He planted a palm against the wall beside her head and leaned forward. “And it has nothing to do with us working together. You and I both know that.”

  “Do we?”

  “Are you telling me you didn’t feel something that first day we met?” He laughed. The attraction had hit him like a ton of bricks, and they’d shared this amazing, sparkly chemistry all the way through her class. “I know you did. You came to meet me at a bar for crying out loud. You were ready to come home with me.”

  “And I told you I can’t be both business and pleasure.” She swallowed.

  “Sounds like you’re the one who needs to get that straight,” he said, “since you kissed me.”

  “You’re right.” She planted her hands on his chest and he willed them to curl into the fabric of his sweater. To pull him forward. But instead, she gently eased herself out from between him and the wall. “I don’t know what came over me tonight.”

  “You’re fighting it.” He watched her walk across the studio, mesmerized by the swish of her gauzy skirt over her pert ass. “You’re fighting this attraction harder than you’re fighting your fears about dancing.”

  She whirled around, holding the broken neckline of her top together in one hand. Hurt glittered in her eyes. This was a woman who felt everything down to the marrow of her bones. Yet she let her fear stifle the life out of her. “Do you think I’m not making enough of an effort, Wes? Is that it?”

  “I’m not saying that at all.” He held up his hands in surrender. “I’m just pointing out that maybe you need to let go a bit more. Stop being so rigid.”

  Yeah right. Saying that to a type-A ballerina was like throwing marshmallows at an oncoming tsunami.

  “I don’t want to mess this up.” Her big, brown eyes bored into him. “You have a lot riding on this show, and so do I. We should focus on that.”

  She was right, of course. Totally right. But it didn’t stop his body from roaring in protest.

  She grabbed her bag and her coat from where they sat in a heap.

  “So that’s it?” he said. “End of discussion?”

  “Thank you for stopping me from repeating a mistake.” Her voice had lost some of its sting now. The more he got to know Remi, the more he realized her fiery side was only ever a defense mechanism. When she felt like she’d gotten things back under control, the flames disappeared. “I needed that.”

  He stood in the middle of the room as she walked out, his head still spinning from their argument and his cock still aching from her searing kisses. Talk about a messed-up combination of feelings. Angry and horny weren’t exactly a match made in heaven.

  But then again, no other woman managed to get under his skin the way she did.

  The sounds of the old building started to filter back in as he stood there, debating what to do. Part of him wanted to go after her, to argue her into submission and throw her over his shoulder, caveman-style. But the other part of him—the one still thankfully attached to his brain—kept him rooted to the spot.

  She needed time to cool off. And he needed his lead ballerina to have her head in the game.

  Chapter 12

  “A guy who knows how to dance is always good in bed. Let’s just say Wes’s moves could earn him a Tony.”

  —TheatreFan

  Wes had resolved to put all thoughts of Remi and her unobtainable body out of his mind, despite the fact that last night’s kiss played on repeat in his head. As much as he wanted to revel in that sexy memory, he currently had bigger fish to fry. Attending the cocktail party on Thursday night for the American Ballet Theatre was part of his strategy for hooking a new investor. But it was only one piece of the puzzle. First on his list was meeting someone who’d been where he was.

  Reed McMahon.

  Clearly the website had a history of making life difficult for people. So he needed to speak to someone who’d been through it before.

  Wes headed to Birch Coffee, where he was due to meet Reed. He’d been somewhat surprised at Reed’s ready agreement to a meeting, given he now seemed to have moved on with his life. From what could be gleaned online, Reed had quit a fairly lucrative career
in PR to go into teaching. But beyond that, it was all a mystery. Articles about him had been plentiful up until a few months ago. Then, nothing.

  Wes walked into Birch Coffee and ordered himself a latte. Then he found a small spot in the back of the café to wait. Not even a minute after Wes sat down, Reed walked in. He put up his hand in a friendly salute and the other man went to the bar first, to get himself a drink, before meeting Wes at the table.

  “Nice to meet you.” Wes stuck out his hand. “I appreciate you agreeing to this.”

  “No problem.” Reed lowered himself onto a wooden stool. He was dressed casually, a navy sweater over a blue-and-white-checked shirt. Jeans. Sneakers. Nothing like the slick photos Wes had seen online. “I understand you have a little review problem.”

  Or a big review problem. “Yeah. Bad Bachelors. You’re familiar, I hear.”

  “Very.” He rolled his eyes as he brought his coffee cup to his lips and sipped. “It’s a name I hoped I’d never have to hear again.”

  “I have no idea if you can help me. I’m at my wit’s end about it, and I hear you’re somewhat of a PR whiz.”

  “Was,” Reed corrected. “Not anymore.”

  “Did you manage to do anything about the reviews when they were causing you problems?”

  Reed snorted. “I left my job after it caused me hell and sent my reputation down the toilet.”

  “That’s not an option for me.”

  “My situation with Bad Bachelors was unique.” Reed rolled his coffee cup between his hands. “I wanted to get it shut down, but in the end I couldn’t.”

  Cryptic much? “Couldn’t?”

  “I chose not to.” He sighed. “I disagree wholeheartedly with the site and how people are using it. It’s a cesspool, frankly. The owner is aware that some of the reviews aren’t legitimate, but they’re not moderating it correctly.”

  It sounded a hell of a lot like Reed knew who was behind Bad Bachelors. “How do you know that?”

  “Inside information. And no, I can’t share.” He sipped his coffee. “The best thing I can advise is to not engage. Don’t respond to anything online because it only feeds the beast. You need to focus your efforts on raising good press to drown out the noise. What are the crux of the reviews?”