You’ll get the baby but you won’t get your man
While he’s busy loving every woman that he can.
It was a raunchy routine but the steps were simple enough and she had picked it up quickly. As the music throbbed she began to forget herself and lose herself in the dance. She bent backwards, her spine arched, legs long, golden hair like a waterfall. From the doorway Andrei watched, committing every move to memory, wishing she would let go like that when she was in his arms. She was giving it everything, he couldn’t tear himself away from her thrashing legs, her whiplash hips, her bouncing breasts but, as the song drew to a close, knowing she would not be pleased to discover she had been watched, he slipped quietly away.
Ten minutes later Andrei opened the door and breezed into the practice room.
‘You’re late,’ Sasha challenged with delight and Andrei laughed, taking Sasha by surprise.
‘I’m sorry, I – I had an important call come through.’
Immediately Sasha’s face fell, her emerging amusement extinguished. His call had probably been from some woman. He strode across the room and stripped off his top clothes leaving just a white singlet that emphasised his deep tan and well-defined torso. Sasha turned away.
‘God,’ she admitted to herself at last. ‘Lisa’s right. I do want him. I want him so badly.’
Most days she infuriated him by questioning his every decision as if she were the dancer and he the pupil. But for the rest of the afternoon she submitted to Andrei’s coaching without any argument. She was pliable, eager to learn, biddable and for once the lesson went peaceably and they parted, if not friends, then as allies.
As Andrei guided his car through the crowded traffic, he frowned, his mind focussing on Sasha and the dance. This one troubled him more than the others had. There was just one more practice session until the big night and he knew she still wasn’t giving it her all. Andrei had seen with his own eyes just how good she could be, he still went hot just thinking about the way she had moved when he had spied on her, dancing alone. If he could just get her to let go, just that little bit more, their Saturday night Samba could be sizzling hot. The problem was how do you get a girl as uptight as Sasha to let go of her inhibitions.
***
Andrei beckoned Sasha into his dressing room. ‘I want to show you something.’
Instantly on the alert, she went with him. The day bed where he napped between sessions was piled with clothes but he cleared a space for her and she sank into it, looking around at his strewn costumes, the makeup scattered before the mirror. She hadn’t imagined he would be untidy, he was so self contained, she thought he was the type who would colour co-ordinate his socks.
‘What do you want, Andrei?’
He held out a book. ‘I wanted to show you this.’
It looked like a photograph album and, curiosity piqued, she began to flip the pages, starting at the back and working forward. It was a record of his life, both of his work and his family. He watched her examine photographs of him with his leading ladies from other shows, his captured image smiling back at her as he never did in reality. In most photographs a woman was at his side, beaming with the kudos of just being with him. Most of them were beautiful creatures, exotically dressed and extravagantly coiffured.
I bet he’s slept with them all, she thought, leaning closer toward a glossy print of a skimpily clad female.
‘That’s Conchita Marlais, isn’t it?’ she said outloud.
He leaned over her shoulder, his face close to hers. ‘Yes, we almost won that year …almost isn’t enough though, Sasha.’
She continued to flip over the pages, her eyes casually skimming the smiling faces, the glitzy costumes. One photograph was of a grand final, the year he and his partner had come third. The girl, who was hardly old enough to be called a woman, had her legs wrapped around Andrei’s waist as she leaned backward, supported by his strong arms, her generous breasts threatening to tumble from her skimpy bra. Sasha felt a dart of jealousy. There had been so many glamorous women, no wonder he didn’t want her. Andrei’s hand was warm on her shoulder.
‘We came third that year but …she wasn’t as good a dancer as you.’
His breath buzzed in her ear, sending a platoon of goose pimples marching across the surface of her skin; her nipples tightened and she shivered.
Then she turned another page and came to a stop, her eyes fastened on the image of marital bliss. A man and woman stared proudly at the camera with the happy face of a child between them; a little girl who was the absolute image of Yana. Beneath it a childish hand had written in black pen, Yana 1992.
‘This is your sister?’
‘Yes, she was about seven then, I think.’
‘She is lovely.’
‘Was lovely.’ Andrei’s voice was soft in her ear before he stood up and moved away. ‘Every dance night I miss her more, wishing she were in the audience watching. She used to love to watch me dance although she lacked the skill herself.’
Sasha couldn’t speak. Her mind was filled with the image of her own daughter, Andrei’s daughter, loving to watch the dance. If only things were different, if only she had told him in the beginning. She swivelled round to look at him but his back was turned, the broad expanse of his shirt presenting a tempting place to rest her cheek. She longed for the courage to slip her arms around his waist and whisper the truth but, with a sigh, she remembered that he would be so angry and everything would be spoiled. Even the little part of him, the time she was allowed to spend with him now was better than nothing. She cleared her throat.
‘Why did you want to see me?’
Andrei turned, a bashful look on his face. ‘I was feeling a little nervous and I knew you would be too, I thought we could share it. Here.’
He was holding out a glass with an inch of clear liquid in the bottom.
She sniffed it. ‘Vodka? Is that wise?’
He perched on the arm of the sofa. ‘A couple won’t hurt. I don’t want you legless, that would never do.’
She sniggered softly and sipped, the heat of the alcohol burning a path to her stomach.
‘Sasha?’ At the sound of his voice she looked up, her eyes questioning and found his were calm and somehow sad. She raised her eyebrows, urging him to continue and, after thinking for a moment, he shrugged. ‘It would be so much easier maybe, if we could be friends.’
For what seemed an age she stared at her glass, then she drained it and stood up, her smile brittle again.
‘We are friends.’ He was looking at her intently but, although she tried to return his gaze, his proximity, together with the sudden direction the conversation had taken, left her flummoxed. She drained her glass. ‘I have to get dressed.’ She put down the empty glass and made to walk past him, leave the room but he grabbed her wrist, pulling her back.
‘No, you know what I mean. We should, perhaps, be better friends, as we were once before.’
He took her hand and, in a kind of dream, she stared down at their entwined fingers, the sickening beat of her heart pounding, dull and heavy, beneath her fragile ribcage. This wasn’t the arrogant Andrei she had come to expect, the bully she detested, the man who screwed up her mind and played lottery with her heart. This was the old Andrei that she had met so briefly some half dozen years ago and she knew very well just how dangerous he was.
She felt something shift inside, dislodging the barriers and, although her body didn’t move, and her mind screamed caution, her spirit seemed to float toward him. Don’t fall for it; it’s a trick. He just wants to hurt you …don’t listen.
She snapped to attention, blinked rapidly and snatched back her hand, shaking her head. ‘Andrei, you know that is never going to happen.’
As the door slammed Andrei collapsed into a chair, his fingers gripping his hair. ‘Arrrhhhh.’ The damned woman was infuriating. He picked up his discarded glass and drained it before pouring himself another large measure.
The next time he saw Sasha, Vanessa was helping h
er to fasten a coronet of feathers in her hair. She was wearing a completely backless white outfit that seemed to consist of nothing but straps and sequins, and her shapely bottom was accentuated with cascading white feathers to match the headdress. Andrei’s heart turned over. He had never seen anything sexier in his life. He walked toward her, his scrotum tightening as he tried to conceal his hammering heart.
Sasha turned as he approached, her cheeks turning pink when his eyes travelled appreciatively up her long legs, grazed her hips and rested overlong upon her diamante covered breasts. She lifted her chin and waited for him to speak.
‘How are the nerves?’ he asked. ‘Did the vodka help?’
‘I think so,’ she lied. ‘I’m hardly nervous at all, tonight.’ Then, placing her hand in his, she let him squire her onto the dance floor. At the sight of the exquisite couple the auditorium erupted into wolf whistles and cheers.
Was she really here, doing this, with the eyes of the world watching her every move? Trying to ignore the fact that she was semi naked, covered only by feathers and a few strategically placed gems, she brazenly raised her head and waited for the music to begin.
At first, she moved automatically, not really feeling the music, forgetting to act out the story of the dance. She couldn’t forget Andrei’s words; they replayed in her head. He had held her hand and asked her the very question she had secretly been longing for; to resume their former love affair, a love affair that had never properly begun. Her mind returned to the photograph album, the picture of his sister who’s smiling face so resembled her daughter’s. Part of her wanted to retract the rejection, confess that she wanted him too. Maybe she should tell him the truth and see if he hated her for it. It was worth a shot wasn’t it, if she really wanted him?
Oh, young hearts, run free,
Don’t ever be hung up,
hung up like my man and me …
She arched backward over Andrei’s arm and he dipped his face toward her chest, she felt his breath, hot and rapid, on her skin, sending simmering warmth through her body. And, he said, he wanted me, she thought as he spun her around, keeping her hips tight against his groin as he ground into her from behind.
She caught her breath, opened her eyes wide as something hot and hard stirred between them, something that was not usually so apparent during practice when they wore far less flimsy clothes.
Sasha’s mind returned acutely to the present and she was suddenly intensely aware of the watching crowd, the tension that screamed in the air. Andrei squeezed her waist tighter, sending a ripple of delight through her body. ‘Ah, welcome back, Sasha. Now concentrate and dance!’
For a few brief seconds his dark eyes bore into hers before he swung her around keeping his hips tight against her groin before setting her down on her feet again.
Automatically, above her head, her hands danced a ballet of their own as she wriggled her bottom while Andrei snaked seductively down her body. Sinuously, she gyrated her hips, his face was just inches from her crutch, his hands scorching a path across her skin as he played to the audience with a lascivious smile. While her arms remained above her head, his hold moved to her waist, supporting her as the dance took her bending over backwards. Like the girl in the photograph, she wrapped both legs around his hips as if they were joined at the waist and she hung upside down, totally at his mercy, totally conquered.
‘Christ,’ thought Sasha, her chest heaving. ‘I hope my Dad isn’t watching!’
It took her some time to stop her limbs from trembling. Mike and Pandora, thinking her nerves were due to the imminent scoring, took pity and poured their honeyed compliments upon her while they waited for the judge’s remarks.
‘That was fantastic, Sasha. Andrei has done a great job with you, well done both of you.’
Sasha barely heard their word. She was in a daze and didn’t really understand when they were awarded the highest scores ever given for a Samba in Celebrity Dance’s history. But Andrei heard and, to the delight of the audience, he lifted her high in the air, pirouetted before letting her side down the length of his body, his hands keeping her safe, or as safe as any woman could be in his grasp. Then, kissing her soundly on both cheeks and raising their joined hands and blowing kisses to the crowd, he dragged Sasha, who was still reeling with shock, from the stage.
Backstage people milled about, intent on their business, their voices muted. The noise from the studio floor lessened. Sasha and Andrei, their bodies still pumping with adrenalin, remained totally lost in the fiction of the dance. Andrei was that fiery, muscle-bound hero of the narrative and Sasha was his victim. When he pushed her against the wall she didn’t fight him. She looked up at him, her moist lips parted, her eyes luminous, knowing his intention exactly and that she really should stop him, but instead, with her heart fluttering and the blood dancing through her veins, she waited to receive his kiss.
His lips fastened on hers and immediately Sasha felt she was drowning. It was as if she were under water, her senses flooded with his essence. He was in her mind, his soul brushing hers, his hands strong on her shoulders as she was crushed against the wall by the weight of his body, her breasts flattened against his sweating torso. For a short while they writhed together, all of her senses screaming as she relaxed into him revelling in the sensation of his mouth and the force of his desire. But, when she felt his hand began to creep up her thigh and grip her barely covered bottom, his straining erection thrusting against her, a warning bell rang loudly in her head, urging her to think again. She pulled away, shook her head, trying to clear it.
‘No, Andrei.’
‘You don’t mean that.’ He murmured, continuing to caress her, his right hand travelling up to cup her breast, his mouth on her neck, making her senses reel. It felt so good and the longing to give in to him was so strong that it took all her will power to place her hands on his chest and prise herself away.
‘I did mean it! Leave me alone.’
She didn’t dare look into his furious face and, filled with shame, fixed her eyes on the floor instead. ‘I’m sorry, Andrei; it just can’t happen, not again.’
‘Why not? Why can’t it happen? What is to stop us?’
He was angry, his face white, his lips tight, his eyes burning with frustrated desire. Sasha hesitated, the idea of confessing everything fluttering in her mind. But, one look at Andrei’s sparking eyes, and her courage fled, just before she did.
‘Lots of things!’
As she ran from him he reached out to catch her arm but she evaded his grip and fled along the corridor leaving a scattering of white feathers in her wake. Andrei swore loudly and punched the wall, not even registering the pain as the flesh was torn from his knuckles.
He had blown it; he was a fool. He should have given her more time, but how much time did the woman need? He knew she wanted him, her body told him that, her response to his kisses left him in no doubt about it. There must be more to it, something she was not telling him. She must be involved with another man.
Running a sweaty hand through his hair Andrei stalked moodily along the corridor after her. He would force himself to apologise now before things began to fester further between them. It was imperative that the relationship between them was maintained. She would be impossible to work with if he gave her time to sulk by leaving it until Monday. Quickly he sprinted after her, coming to a sudden halt when he saw her standing with a companion in the shadows. Frozen into shock, his heart banging, his mouth dry and knowing he should look away, Andrei watched as she almost collapsed into the arms of another man.
‘Hey, what’s up Sasha?’ Mike poked his head forward, trying to see into her face. ‘Come on, chin up, you did fine out there.’
Sasha gazed wildly around, her mouth misshapen with grief, her eyes swimming with tears that spilled down her cheeks, ruining her make-up.
‘I know, it – it isn’t that.’
‘What is it, then? You can tell Uncle Mike.’
He slid an avuncular arm around her sh
oulders and pulled her luscious body against his. His cologne was so overpowering, it would stay in her nostrils for days but she relaxed against him, grateful of his familiarity. She laid her face against his suit and cried a bit more, smearing her lipstick. Mike might be a bit of a twit but she knew she could trust him. At least he took rejection in good humour and never held a grudge when she turned him down.
‘It’s Andrei,’ she sniffed. ‘We had a row.’
Mike patted her shoulder, drew her closer so that her breast squashed against the front of his Armani jacket, his hands slipping further down her back while he murmured platitudes.
‘Oh, that’s just the tension, the strain of the competition. We all fall out from time to time in this business, don’t we? Even you and I have had our moments.’
Sasha managed a drizzly smile as he took out an enormous white handkerchief and she let him carefully dab her eyes. From the other side of the stage, where their words couldn’t be heard, they looked exactly like lovers and, certain now just who was it was keeping him and Sasha apart, Andrei watched them together, with fury in his heart.
Sasha peered into the mirror and dabbed some tell tale smudges from around her eyes. She stood up and turned from side to side, checking her outfit was intact and acknowledging, somewhat grimly, that her appearance contrasted incongruously with the state of her mind. She was a samba queen with a broken heart.
She smirked miserably before straightening her shoulders and preparing to face the eyes of the world. After the passion that had flared between them she had no idea how she was ever going to face Andrei again. How on earth do you ignore something as earth shattering as that kiss? It had taken all her willpower to push him away. She wanted him with every nerve of her body but could see no way of getting him, not for good anyway. Once he learnt the truth he would be livid and any hope of romance between them out of the question. He would hate her, there was no doubt about that.
Come, Dance With Me Page 8
