Come, Dance With Me

by Mary Middleton

  Come, Dance With Me

  A

  Mary Middleton

  Romance

  Copyright©Marymiddleton, 2012

  First Edition

  The author, Mary Middleton, has asserted their moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

  All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, are purely co-incidental.

  All Rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, copied, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the copyright holder, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  Compliments to Wham! for the use of Jitterbug, Alan and Marilyn Bergman, Neil Diamond, Barbara Streisand for the use of You Don’t Bring me Flowers and David Crawford and Candi Staton for the use of Young Hearts Run Free and Otros Aires for Los Vinos.

  Covershot by Konstantin@Dreamstime

  Chapter One

  ‘Guess what’s happened!’

  A candy-striped straw fell from Lisa’s lips as Sasha slipped into the seat opposite. She pushed away the dregs of her milkshake and met her friend’s dancing eyes and pretended to hazard a guess.

  ‘Erm…?’

  As usual Sasha was brimming with secrets but she extended the moment by summoning a waitress and ordering a large mug of hot chocolate. Then she dug in her bag, took out her phone and began to text, biting her lower lip as her thumb flew across the buttons.

  Lisa slumped back in her seat, watching from the corner of her eye as Sasha unwound a multicoloured scarf from about her lower face.

  It was cold outside, the coldest December for thirty years and the tip of Sasha’s emerging nose was attractively pink, unlike Lisa’s which was an interesting shade of puce and beginning to peel after a heavy cold.

  Pulling the scarf free of her neck, Sasha gave Lisa the benefit of her infectious three-cornered grin and leaned forward confidingly over the table.

  ‘My boss, Mike, is in hospital.’

  Lisa raised her eyebrows. ‘And that’s good news is it? Well, whatever happened to Christmas spirit?’

  ‘No, no. Of course, I’m really sorry Mike is sick but … you must see what this means.’

  Sasha flicked back her hair and pinioned Lisa with her dancing eyes. Beneath the table Lisa squeezed the roll of fat at the top of her waistband, already regretting the extra mince pie and cream she’d indulged in.

  ‘No, I’m sorry, Sash, I don’t get it. I don’t see how Mike being ill can, in any way, be good news. It’s only five days until Christmas, doesn’t he have a wife and kids? It could ruin their holiday. What’s up with him, anyway?’

  Sasha waved a hand, dismissing the question. ‘I’m not sure, it’s his appendix, I think; but that’s not really the point.’ She sat back and smiled a thank you as the waitress set before her a large steaming mug of hot chocolate, complete with whipped cream, marshmallows and chocolate sprinkles.

  As always, she bit the chocolate flake in two and handed Lisa the remaining half before picking up a spoon and beginning to eat whipped cream from the top.

  ‘It means that they have asked me to do all his interviews for the duration of his illness.’

  Lisa narrowed her eyes, beginning to understand what all the excitement was about.

  Sasha was a rookie chat show host; a sort of runaround-come-dog’s-body for Mike Bywater, the biggest cheese to ever hit the small screen.

  Delighted at last to have Lisa’s full attention, Sasha gave a short burst of triumph, stifling a squeal as Lisa’s mouth fell open and her eyes widened.

  ‘But, isn’t he supposed to be meeting Andrei Kovalevsky for the Christmas Eve show? Surely they are not letting you to interview him. I mean …oh, my God …they are …’

  Sasha dropped her spoon and the girls clasped hands over the table, squeezing tight, Sasha’s face stretching into a comical grimace.

  She was fit to burst with excitement. ‘I know, I can’t believe this is happening. Andrei Kovalevsky, the most beautiful man on the planet and me, Sasha Johnson. It’s like a dream.’

  Lisa picked up the spoon and began to demolish Sasha’s cream before it disintegrated into the hot chocolate.

  ‘Hey, do you want to borrow my Valentino, the red one? It is a size twelve and way too tight for me. Even when I could fit into it, it just emphasised my fat bits but on you it will be stunning.’

  Sasha put her head on one side, her strawberry blonde hair trickling like water over one shoulder.

  ‘You don’t think dressing up too much will make it look like I’m after him or anything?’

  ‘Well, you are, aren’t you, if you’re really honest?’

  Sasha’s face darkened to a colour not too far removed from the dress in question.

  ‘Of course not. You know I’m not like that. I’m waiting for the right man.’

  ‘Sash, get real; when it comes to Andrei Kovalevsky every woman is ‘like that.’ Flippin’ ‘eck, go for it, girl, what better man to lose your virginity to? You’ve held on to it far too long in my opinion. Even a one-night stand with him would be enough for me …I‘d be over the moon with a quick snog under the mistletoe.’

  Sasha gave a wistful, uncertain laugh.

  ‘As if he would ever look at someone like me.’

  Lisa’s eyes swept across her friend’s flawless skin, wide blue eyes and what she could see of her perfectly proportioned figure. Sometimes it was hard to believe that Sasha really had no idea of how good looking she was or the effect that she had on almost every man she met. While Lisa relied on four-inch heels and half an inch of foundation to get her through the most ordinary day, Sasha dared to leave the house with no makeup at all. And when they kicked off their high heels at a dance Sasha still managed to look elegant while Lisa was so short, she didn’t look old enough to be out. Sometimes Lisa wondered why she didn’t find herself a shorter, fatter, plainer friend.

  Sasha and Lisa had known each other for ever but it was a wonder their friendship had lasted, for their working lives were world’s apart. Shortly after graduating from university, Lisa had secured a dull secretarial post at the social services while Sasha had landed her dream job in television.

  Sasha had worked hard, leaving little time for a private life or romance. In the early days she had been employed as a runner, making tea, taking messages. Later she had been raised to the post of researcher, slowly edging her way up the ladder until she was finally allowed into the inner sanctum of Mike Bywater, the smooth-talking, self-obsessed chat show host that prime time audiences loved to hate.

  The producers were always promising her a shot at hosting the show but, until now, her job had been restricted to digging for information, compiling a list of questions deep enough to penetrate the surface, but not intrusive enough to offend. The gently probing interviews convinced the celebrities that, when they were with Mike, they were with a friend, a confidant. It was her hard work that had put Mike where he was, at the top.

  Sasha knew she could go far if she were just given a chance. She had begun to think she would never rise any higher, never get her face fully into the limelight and she thanked God for the burst appendix that had laid the mighty Mike Bywater low, and just might finally prove to be her lucky break.

  During the run up to Christmas a list of minor celebrities were scheduled for the show and Sasha was not the least worried about any of them. But Andrei Kovalevsky was the ‘big one.’ She felt very differently about him.

&nb
sp; He was her idol. As a teenager his picture had hung on her bedroom wall and each night before she went to bed, she had kissed it goodnight and greeted it again each morning. Thinking about that now made her feel foolish. Will he be able to tell? she wondered, as if she was branded with some sort of badge that advertised her obsession.

  Well, even if she really wanted to, there was no getting out of it; she just hoped the whole thing wouldn’t end in disaster. Suppose they postpone it? she thought wildly, or even worse, cancel it? But it had taken the producers months to persuade the international heart-throb to agree to appear on the show and they were not likely to let him slip away now. Mike had made that very clear.

  He called Sasha from his hospital bed and, casting off his smooth image, gasped out instructions, threatening her with dire consequences should she screw things up.

  ‘I’m trusting you, Sasha, against my better judgement; and if you put one foot wrong you will never work for me or this station again…or any other T.V. station either.’

  Sasha rolled her eyes and made a face at the phone. Mike wasn’t usually so stroppy, so she knew he must be in a lot of pain.

  ‘Yes, Mike, of course, I won’t let you down. Relax; you can trust me. Did you get the flowers I sent? And the grapes?’

  Mike grunted a rude reply. He wasn’t so much a bad boss but just unbelievably vain. In his own estimation he was God’s gift to women, he was all over them at work and his private life was littered with petty scandals. How his wife put up with it, Sasha would never know. Personally, she found his inflated ego distinctly off putting. It had not been easy working for him all these years and she was more than ready to show the producers that what they really needed was someone like her. She was young, fresh, with new opinions, new ideas; her innovative take on the programme was sure to prove just how very stale The Mike Bywater Show had become.

  Mike was so yesterday.

  Sasha was tomorrow.

  This was her chance to prove herself.

  Now, with a week of shows already behind her, she was amply confident and exuded just the right amount of friendliness. But today was different and her usual natural self-assurance had deserted her for, today, she had to interview the most beautiful man who had ever breathed and as the time grew closer, her poise began to drizzle away.

  Time was short now. She glanced at her watch. In less than five minutes, in front of several million viewers, she was expected to coolly converse with Andrei Kovalevsky, as if it was something she did every day.

  Beneath the slinky, red Valentino dress her heart rattled like a woodpecker on a pole, her hands felt sweaty, her mouth dry, she dabbed her top lip before wiping the tissue across her palms. Then, taking deep breaths to calm her palpitating heart, she glanced once more in the mirror, half regretting the fantastic outfit of Lisa’s, and opened the dressing room door. Her heels clattered along the corridor as she headed for the studio floor. One last time, the make up lady dabbed her nose with powder before nodding to indicate she was done and Sasha ran her tongue across her teeth and took a deep, deep breath.

  They were ready for her; she walked, more confidently than she felt, across the set where two cosy, black leather chairs waited centre stage in the spotlight. She took her seat, straightened her back, making sure her dress decently covered her thighs and lifted her chin. She was ready to smile and pretend that her knees were not shaking and that it was not panic that had injected the flush on her cheeks and the brightness in her eyes.

  Something fluttered violently in her chest. She sucked in more air. Lights darted about the stage and the audience began to applaud as the camera tracked a tall, shadowy figure in the spotlight as Andrei Kovalevsky stalked, like a lynx, toward her.

  ***

  Andrei was not pleased. After months of bullying he had finally given in to his agent and agreed to appear on The Mike Bywater Show. It was a programme, and a host, that he deplored but he had to admit that Mike Bywater’s interviews usually captured the public’s attention and just now Andrei needed to win back the love of his fans.

  In recent years he had earned the reputation as a bit of a ladies man, a rake that excelled at partying, gambling and womanising. In fact, he had broken all the commandments that his mother had reinforced in him as a child.

  He knew why it had begun, why the straight and narrow had suddenly seemed to be the fool’s way. Life had taught him that being a good person made no difference. It won you no prizes; he might as well be a bastard.

  He found he was good at it too. The booze and the women had offered sanctuary when he needed it but, now he was finally ready to stop, put aside the bottle and look around for a good woman, he was discovering that it wasn’t as easy as he had thought.

  As he began to slide down the popularity stakes his agent was constantly on his back. Twice now he had turned up for rehearsal’s drunk, once he had failed to turn up at all. In the great scheme of things these sins sounded petty but, in Andrei’s world, if you wanted to stay at the top you had to conform.

  He couldn’t afford to be dropped from Celebrity Dance. Dancing was his life, his livelihood. So, a month ago he had given up the booze, almost, and was trying to move in better circles where the women were both classier and harder to get.

  When the invitation came in to appear on The Mike Bywater Show it offered Andrei just the sort of exposure he needed and so he had reluctantly agreed. But, just two hours ago, his agent had telephoned and confessed that he was not, after all, to be interviewed by the dislikeable but influential Mike Bywater but by some unknown female instead. Sasha - somebody or other.

  He had tried to back out, made a lot of phone calls, thrown his weight around and tried to force a way out of what he saw as a bad situation but he was restricted by contracts. There was no escaping either the red tape or the interview.

  As his limo wound its way through London toward the television studio Andrei decided that, as he was being forced to do something that every instinct urged him not to, he would be as uncooperative as possible.

  The studio lights came on. He stalked across the stage and sprawled in the empty chair, tossing the camera a smile destined to send all the women in England swooning to their knees. One flash of his perfect teeth, the glint of his dark, sexy eyes and the applause of the live audience grew to deafening proportions. Crossing his long, lean, leather-clad legs, he swivelled in his chair to greet the presenter.

  He blinked. The blinding studio lights made a halo around her hair and, as her face came slowly into full focus, Andrei forgot his determination to be disobliging. She was smiling, her pink lips stretched wide, her thick lashed eyes set wide apart, skin glowing, hair writhing in vibrant snakes about the prettiest face he had ever seen. Her eyes met his and it was as if a hot knife had been thrust into his chest, where his heart used to be.

  He swallowed, leaned into her welcome and she took his hand. Her palms were warm, slightly moist but pleasantly so. She continued speaking, her lips moving; he glimpsed the pink tip of her tongue and his attention lingered on her mouth, waiting to see it again, wondering how soft her lips were, how they would taste.

  At first, he heard only the music of her voice, the sense of her speech falling on his ears in a confused jumble. He answered wildly, hoping that somehow his instincts would take over and see him through. As her voice continued, his eyes left her wonderful face to trickle down her luxuriant neck, resting for a moment on her full, red clad breasts before travelling to her slim waist, and journeying along her lengthy, slender legs.

  ‘When did you first learn to dance, Mr Kovalevsky?’

  He jerked his head, fumbling for his senses, blinking into lights that were no more dazzling than his hostess. He moistened his lips, cleared his throat, wrenching his attention back to the matter in hand. Andrei tugged at his tie, pulling himself together but his voice when it came was hoarse as if he needed a drink.

  ‘Oh, I was a boy. M-my mother is a great lover of the dance and she showed me …just the rudimentary step
s. Later, I took lessons and …it all took off from there really.’

  ‘Then the world owes your mother a lot, Mr Kovalevsky. We all loved you in last season’s Celebrity Dance. I’ve followed your career for a long time and I for one was gutted when you only came second. Tell me, just how important is it for you to win? How determined are you to lift that Celebrity Dance trophy?’

  She was warming to the interview now. He raised his head and looked into her bright eyes. It was like staring at the sun; uncomfortable, dangerous but somehow compelling. He blinked and swallowed, a muscle in his jaw tensing as he ran a hand through his hair, sending a ripple of delight through the largely female audience.

  ‘Oh, you can rest assured, Miss Johnson, I don’t care how long it takes but I will not rest until I have won it.’

  ***

  As the interview continued Sasha’s nerves increased so much that her palms were sweating and she was sure she was chattering like an idiot. But, somehow, she managed to get the words out and they were almost through it, the countdown to the end of the show in sight. She began to wind up the discussion.

  He seemed more relaxed now. At first she had thought he didn’t like her, he was remote, distracted and at one point she had thought he was ready to flee and would simply get up and walk out.

  Her mind was whirling and she had no idea which questions she had already asked or which she had forgotten and, for once, Sasha didn’t mind that she wasn’t allowed to let her questions probe his smooth exterior too deeply. She had been spellbound from start to finish by the powerful animal magnetism that he exuded.

  She had read about animal magnetism but had always thought it was a phrase invented for the sole use of romantic novelists. But, one moment in Andrei’s presence illustrated exactly what the expression meant. Effortlessly, he drew the attention of the whole studio toward him and just being beside him affected her whole being. He made her feel predatory, his beauty appealing to something buried deep within her, something fundamental and rather dangerous. When he swept his thick lashed eyes across her he seemed to be making love to her, the sound of his voice pouring over her like warm honey. Being with him made her heart beat differently; her metabolism increased, her voice moved an octave higher and her body assumed a whole new language of its own. There was nothing she could do about it but she became aware that she was leaning toward him, flicking her hair, crossing and uncrossing her legs, and she was ashamed of herself. What on earth was she doing behaving just like the sort of woman she despised?