Bad Reputation

by Stefanie London

  She looked distinctly unconvinced but she removed her jacket and sweater anyway. “If you think it’ll help.”

  “I do.” He winked. “And I did promise you I’d show you my moves.”

  He’d seen his mother use this with one of her mentees. The theory was that if the dancer was put in a position of power—that is, being the teacher instead of the student—they could embody the confidence they perceived people in that position to have. By getting them to go through the steps in a low-stress situation, they were strengthening the neural pathways that would help them come performance time.

  She stripped down to her leggings and a tank top that molded tightly to her curves.

  Focus, Evans. Try thinking with your head instead of your dick for once.

  “Should I leave my sneakers on, or do you want to see me in pointe?” she asked.

  “Sneakers are fine. We’re going to be doing this in demi-pointe.”

  “Got it.” She turned to face the rows of seats. “Let’s start in first.”

  He walked up beside her, mimicking her position. “Okay.”

  “We’re going to rise up into a relevé.” She sprang up onto her toes, almost achieving a proper pointe stance even in her Converse high-tops. “Then back down to first. Relevé again and back down to first.”

  She demonstrated the movement, up and down, with precision. When he followed suit, she nodded. “Then we go up into retiré, back down to first, and repeat the sequence.”

  Her body moved effortlessly, free of the tension he’d noticed crowding her shoulders and stiffening her joints. She seemed almost…buoyant. He copied her, doing a pretty mediocre job of it but getting the timing right. For all the time he’d spent in the industry, he was never destined to be a dancer himself.

  “Then we go back to the chairs.” She walked toward the back of the stage counting the steps. “Step up, turn. Swish, swish, kick.” Her foot sailed past Alfred’s head without incident. “Turn again. Swish, swish, kick. Turn, arabesque with both hands in front, third position.”

  She brought her leg down and gracefully hopped off the chair, having perfectly executed her steps. Sure, she wasn’t in pointe shoes, but the movements were there—and she didn’t kick the dummy.

  “From the top.” It looked like she was grasping the teacher role with both hands.

  They ran through the sequence a few times without music. Occasionally she’d stop to correct his technique—or lack thereof—and show him the proper way of executing the steps. Now she had him on the chair, helping him with his arabesque.

  “You need better rotation here.” She reached up and touched his thigh, helping him find the correct position. “Otherwise, your foot will be pointing the wrong way.”

  Wes steadied himself with one hand on the back of the chair.

  “Don’t dip forward.” She pressed her other hand against his stomach. “Pull in your abdominal muscles and lift the chest. You’re not a plane coming in for landing.”

  He snorted. “If I’d known you’d be such a hard-ass, I wouldn’t have told you to role-play.”

  She ignored the dig. “If you’re not flexible enough to have the back leg up so high, then bring it down a little so you can maintain the correct technique.”

  Her hands worked along his body, pulling and pushing him into shape. It was a perfectly normal thing for a ballet teacher to do, because it was critical for the dancers to feel their bodies in the right position. It gave them context. Allowed their bodies to learn.

  But the way her fingers skimmed over him, skating over his stomach and thighs, felt far too good.

  All the blood in Wes’s body headed south, and a black pair of sweatpants wasn’t going to hide shit. He dropped his leg and hopped down off the chair, his bare feet hitting the stage with a slap.

  “Demonstrate it for me,” he said.

  “The arabesque?”

  “The whole piece,” he said. “Talk through the steps.”

  “Okay.” She nodded and went to the front of the stage. Thankfully, she hadn’t looked down and realized that he was sporting a hard-on.

  That was the whole issue with Remi—around her, he seemed unable to separate professionalism and pleasure. The two were so entwined, wrapped up to the point he had no hope of entangling one from the other. He wanted her.

  And no matter how hard he tried to focus on his show, he couldn’t shake it.

  Chapter 16

  “Wes is the kind of guy who turned me into a total yes-woman, as in: yes please, yes more, and oh God yes.”

  —CinnamonTwirl

  Remi knew exactly what Wes was doing. At least she did now, even if it hadn’t been clear right at the start. The thing was…it was working. For the first time since she’d joined Out of Bounds, she felt confident.

  But that could disappear the second the cast comes in tomorrow.

  Maybe she’d pretend to be instructing someone else, rather than performing. She had to admit, it lightened the pressure in her head. Even now, as she worked through the piece, calling out the steps as she went, the negative voices remained at bay. At this point, she was desperate for any solution, because their potential investor was coming in on Wednesday. If she messed up, everyone would pay the price. Not just herself, and not just Wes. But the entire cast.

  She couldn’t let them down.

  By the time she finished running through the first sequence, sweat trickled down her back. It was a lively opening, like the dance equivalent of fireworks, meant to entrance the audience and have them riveted from the first beat.

  And she hadn’t made a single mistake.

  “Wow.” Wes clapped his hands together, an unrestrained smile on his face.

  “Just wow?” she teased, feeling pretty darn good about herself. “Am I defying words again?”

  That was the strange thing about ballet—when the magic was there, you felt it to your very core. It rippled through you, fueling your blood and shimmering with each breath. But when it was gone, sometimes the best thing to do was stop looking.

  “That is why I wanted you for this show.” His eyes were alight, the pale blue of his irises glowing. “That, right there. I knew you’d be perfect.”

  She swallowed. “Let’s see if I can replicate it when Bert comes to watch.”

  “Stop.” He walked over to her, his hands landing on her shoulders. “If you don’t tell that voice in your head to shut the hell up, then you’re going to get stuck in this vicious cycle.”

  “You think I don’t know that?” she said softly. All she’d ever wanted was to have that confidence onstage that she seemed to embody without issue everywhere else. Give her stilettos and a miniskirt, and she was fine. Put her in pointe shoes and poof! It was gone.

  “I want us to be a success story.” He squeezed her shoulders, his fingertips pressing into her bare skin. “I want us to be a sensation. Together. Anything I can do to help you, just say the words.”

  Kiss me.

  No, that was a terrible idea.

  “This helped,” she said, shaking off the unrelenting whisper of desire winding its way through her body. Dammit, why did he have to be so sweet and sexy? So in tune with her? “The role reversal.”

  He was looking at her like he wanted to say something else. Was his head swirling with rationales and reasoning? Was he trying to come up with an excuse to break the rules?

  Your rules. Not his.

  God, she wanted to give in. She wanted it like ice cream and pizza and fresh-baked bread. All the things she knew were bad for her but tasted oh so good. And the more time she spent with Wes, the more reasons she found to throw caution—and her panties—to the wind. He wasn’t like Alex.

  How do you know that? You thought Alex wasn’t that way until it was too late.

  “Maybe we should do this again,” she said, not knowing exactly what she
meant, only that her brain was driving her to create a scenario where they were together. “I feel good working with you. It feels…right.”

  And it did. He’d never held back in telling her that he believed in her, no matter how much she resisted.

  “It should feel right.” He pushed his hand through his dark hair, parting the strands and clearing them from his chiseled cheekbones. “We’re in this together.”

  I want you.

  Oh God, she needed space. Needed a second outside the vortex sucking her in and leaving her without brain function. “Are we done, or did you have something else planned for today?”

  “That was it.” He stepped back.

  “I’ll get changed then.” Her eyes darted to stage right, where the dressing rooms were located. “Don’t feel like you need to wait for me.”

  Smooth, Drysdale. Like a freaking cactus.

  She turned on her heel, her sneakers squeaking against the polished boards as she grabbed her bag and headed for the dressing rooms. She’d put her tights on under her leggings, unsure exactly what Wes had wanted when he’d told her to meet him, and now all the layers made her feel like she was burning up.

  She swept past the heavy, black curtains at the side of the stage and jogged down the steps that lead to the cast and crew area. All the theaters she’d worked in were laid out like that. When she got to the door, she paused, her hand pressed against the frame while she listened. Silence. Wes wasn’t following her.

  She wasn’t sure whether she should be relieved or disappointed.

  * * *

  Don’t follow her, don’t follow her, don’t follow her.

  Wes waited as long as he could. But his feet carried him through the wings and to the front of the only dressing room with a closed door. It was like having an out-of-body experience. He wasn’t in control here.

  Yeah, your dick is in control. Idiot.

  He shouldn’t be doing this. It wasn’t the smart move. The safe move. And Remi had made it clear things couldn’t go any further between them. Except watching her blossom tonight had been like a shot of pure ecstasy. It was validation he knew what he was doing and proof he’d been right to hire her. When she let go, it was like watching a story come to life.

  Remi could see right into him. She knew exactly what he wanted—how he wanted it. Her body was magic on that stage. Fucking magic.

  Out of Bounds was her and she was it.

  He held his fist up to the door, hesitating a moment before he let it fall with a single heavy thud.

  “One second.” Her voice floated through the door, along with a rustling sound, before it swung open. Light spilled into the dark hallway, backlighting her. The gold strands of her hair gleamed. “I thought you’d gone home.”

  “I wanted to see you for a minute before I go.” His voice didn’t sound like his own. It was all scratched up and rough, frayed—like how his nerves felt from the pressure of resisting her.

  The hem of a floaty, pink dress hovered midthigh and dipped into a shallow a V at her chest. It was simple and pretty, sweet, and yet it made his blood pulse so hard through his veins that he had to grip the doorframe to keep steady. Her clothes from before—pink ballet tights, a pair of leggings, a T-shirt, and her sweater—were draped over the back of a chair.

  “Okay.” She stepped back, inviting him in.

  The click of the door shutting behind him was like a gun being cocked.

  Careful, Evans. This is dangerous territory.

  “I wanted to say again that you were great tonight.” He cleared his throat. “I know it’s been a rocky journey, but Sadie’s choreography is perfect for you.”

  “Thanks.” Her fingers toyed with the hem of her dress, the silky fabric gliding between her fingers like water. He wanted to bunch it in his fists. “I’m really excited to be part of the show.”

  “I’m excited to have you.” His cock pulsed. Shit. “As part of the show,” he clarified.

  Wow, way to engage awkward-teenage-boy mode. Since when did he have a hard time getting words out? Of all the things in life that could possibly trip him up, it wasn’t his ability to communicate.

  But Remi had him questioning everything he’d ever known. Everything he’d ever thought about himself.

  “I’m excited you’re excited,” she whispered, a smile tugging at her lips.

  “You’re trying to tease me.”

  “Not trying.” She sucked on the inside of her cheek. It was her go-to move for stifling a laugh. “Succeeding.”

  “You’re succeeding at a whole lot of other things. The teasing is the least of my problems.” His brain fired messages to every part of his body, commanding him to grab and kiss and bite and tear. To ravish and devour and pleasure.

  “What are you doing here, Wes?”

  The light overhead flickered, the bulb making a slight buzzing sound. Outside, wind whistled through the building. The old structure made its own music, a collection of sounds unique to this place. But right now, the only thing Wes gave a damn about was that tiny, stuttering breath coming and going from Remi’s lips.

  “I don’t know.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I can’t seem to make myself leave.”

  Against his better judgment, he stepped forward. That one small action sucked the restraint from the room, turning the air electric. It mimicked the feeling he’d experienced watching Remi take charge of the stage earlier.

  Her eyes widened, the black of her pupils expanding as she backed up against the counter behind her. White-knuckled fingers curled around the painted wood, as if she wanted to steady herself. But he couldn’t prevent himself taking another step. Then another. And another.

  “Stop,” she whispered.

  He froze in his tracks, cursing under his breath. With the mirror behind her, he caught a glimpse of himself. He looked wild, his eyes dark and his shoulders tensed like a lion ready to strike.

  “We’ve talked about this.” Her voice betrayed her—that lovely, husky, desperate quality was a lit match to his desire. The flames licking at his insides burned brightly out of control.

  “You want me.”

  “I do.” Her eyes fluttered shut and she sucked in a breath. “God help me, I do. I did the very second you walked into my class, and I’ve been fighting it tooth and nail ever since. But that doesn’t change the facts. You know what I’m afraid of.”

  “This isn’t work, Remi. The second I walked in here, it became something else.”

  “We can’t separate it, no matter how much I want to.” She shook her head. “You have no idea how much I need this opportunity.”

  “As much as I do.”

  “Then you know why I can’t screw things up by sleeping with you.”

  He growled, frustration and anticipation warring in his veins. “I know. I know.”

  Why was this so different for him? In any other situation, he’d walk away. Hell, he probably wouldn’t have gotten close in the first place. They both had so much on the line. But Remi had a magnetic pull that gripped him by the balls. And it wouldn’t let go.

  “We made the right decision that night,” he said. “You being in this show is more important than sex. What we’re doing with Out of Bounds is more important than sex.”

  “But?”

  “I still want you.” He raked a hand through his hair, forcing himself not to reach out and touch her. But his restraint was a rubber band pulled tight. “God help me, I want you so fucking bad it makes me ache.”

  “I want you too, Wes,” she whispered. “I can’t help it.”

  “Should I walk away?”

  She squeezed her eyes shut. “Promise me I’m not making a mistake. I don’t want to ruin this.”

  “I’m not going to do anything that will put the show or you at risk. You’re it for Out of Bounds. Whether or not we sleep together, the show
needs you. Sex won’t change that.”

  He wanted to see the restraint fall from her face. Wanted to see her come apart and be the raw and unfiltered her. He took another step forward and reached for the tie holding her dress together at the side of her waist.

  “If you turn me down now, I will walk away and it won’t come up again,” he said. “No consequences. I promise.”

  She lifted her head, her hand coming to his, fingertips dancing over his knuckles. “Will it be insulting if I say I don’t want anyone to know?”

  He shook his head. “We’re not at work now, so it’s nobody’s business. This is just for us.”

  “Just for us,” she echoed. “I like that.”

  “I need to hear you say it’s okay, Remi.” He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “I don’t play in the gray area.”

  “Yes,” she breathed. “I want this. I want…”

  “You want?”

  “I want you to touch me.” She sucked in a breath. “Please, Wes. I want to do this.”

  He tugged on the silky tie of her dress, pulling it easily through the loops at her waist. The fabric split open at her chest, falling away to reveal nothing but a pair of soft, silky panties and miles of gloriously naked skin.

  “God, Remi.” He choked the words out. Her body was incredible, supple and strong. Delicate yet powerful. A series of contradictions that made him want to drown in her. “You’re…”

  He ran a hand down the edge of the dress, pulling it farther to the side so he could see all of her. Her skin was smooth, her nipples hard and rosy pink. She had a smattering of freckles on her chest, and a tiny mole on her left breast. Beautiful details. “Didn’t I tell you once before that you defied words?”

  “Always so smooth,” she teased softly.

  He slipped the dress from one shoulder and then the other, and dragged the backs of his knuckles along her neck, down her chest, and over the peaks of her breasts. A tremor rippled through her, sending a gasp knifing through the quiet air. The theater groaned in the background, echoing her.

  There was no way this could be wrong.