Come, Dance With Me

by Mary Middleton

  ‘Just think, Andrei, this time next week you could be Celebrity Dance Champion; aren’t you excited?’

  ‘Of course, I am.’ He sat back in the limo and watched her, enjoying her animation. ‘I am just sorry the end of the show means we won’t be working together anymore.’

  ‘No.’ Sasha sobered, her happiness dwindling a little as she thought of returning to her normal life, working alongside Mike everyday, instead of the man she loved.

  Andrei reached out and slid her skirt up a little and let his hand rest on her warm thigh. He still relished these intimacies; it was bliss, after so many weeks of denial, to be able to touch her whenever they were alone.

  ‘In the future we will have to make do with night time like other couples do.’

  ‘Mmm.’ Secure in the knowledge that they could not be seen through the blacked out windows, she nestled against his chest listening to his voice rumbling from deep within as he continued to speak.

  ‘And when its over, we should take a holiday and spend some proper time with Yana. I will feel more secure once she knows I am her father, more like part of the family.’

  His left hand played with the ends of Sasha’s hair, twirling it about his finger, enjoying the silky feel of it, remembering how it had tickled his belly when she made love to him earlier in the day. Beside him Sasha sighed contentedly.

  ‘I’m sorry I was such a silly fool, Andrei. We could have years of happiness behind us by now and Yana’s childhood would have been so much more …’

  He squeezed her closer.

  ‘Hey, be quiet. Think of the happiness that awaits in the future, not the sorrow that is behind us. We will make up for the lost years, just you wait and see.’

  ‘We are here now.’

  As the limo swung into the studio precinct, Sasha sat up and, just in case there should be reporters waiting, she moved away to the other side of the car. But, as she reached out for her bag, he trapped her hand and brought it to his lips.

  ‘I love you, Sasha Johnson,’ he said, and her answering smile was all the reward he needed.

  It was strange to be the one in the spotlight. Whenever she had been lucky enough to host part of the Wednesday and Friday shows, aiming questions at the guests, she had always hoped their replies would be sensational.

  Now, with the boot on the other foot, she sat at Andrei’s side and prayed she would give nothing away and tried to pretend that they were nothing more than dance partners. After a hesitant assessment of Andrei’s mood, Mike flashed them his contrived smile. He tugged at his tie, leant forward in his seat and gave Sasha the benefit of his least insincere twinkle.

  ‘Sasha, how are you doing? You look fantastic and you have certainly surprised the nation with your wonderful dancing. At the start of the competition, did you have any idea you could dance?’

  Her mind flashed back to her first night with Andrei, when he had waltzed her from the dance floor straight into his bed. She tossed back her hair and her lips spread warmly.

  ‘No idea at all, Mike. It has all come as a lovely surprise.’

  ‘It’s easy to see you are enjoying it. How does it feel, being centre of attention and everyone’s golden girl?’

  She blushed prettily. ‘Am I? I don’t know about that. The competition is not what I expected. I mean, when I began it, I thought I’d be out in the first week or something. I certainly hadn’t expected to reach the final. But Celebrity Dance has got me in its spell now. I am in the bubble and I’m loving it.’

  Mike turned to Andrei, his smile faltering a little.

  ‘And what about you, Andrei, did you expect her do so well?’

  Andrei was slumped in his seat, his foot balanced on the opposite knee. He gave the camera the benefit of his best smile and a ripple of pleasure ran around the audience.

  ‘No. I took one look at those long legs of hers and thought she would be clumsy, like a new born colt, all legs and tumbles.’

  Taking his life in his hands Mike rubbed a finger along his jaw. ‘We all read in the papers a while ago about a romance developing between the two of you. Is there any truth in that?’

  Andrei fired a deadly look in Mike’s direction and, seeing he was about to lose his temper, Sasha leaned forward.

  ‘I was so cross about that, Mike. The newspapers print what they like without any regard for the damage they might do. I mean, my family read all that stuff, and just suppose I had a boyfriend, what would he have made of it?’

  ‘So, that’s a ‘no’ then, is it? The connection we see between you on the dance floor is just business, no sniff of a love affair?’

  ‘No.’ Sasha sat back and folded her arms and, seeing he would get nothing more out of her, Mike transferred his attention to Andrei.

  ‘So, it hasn’t been easy teaching Sasha to dance, then?’

  Andrei let his eyes flicker toward where Sasha sat in the spotlight, her skin and eyes illuminated with the inner glow of love. ‘It’s never easy, Mike, but my first impressions were totally wrong. She is the best partner I’ve ever had, professional or otherwise.’

  At his words the audience erupted into cheers. Sasha blushing furiously now, shook her head. ‘Oh, no, that isn’t true. It can’t be.’

  ‘Really?’ Mike leaned closer, intent on getting a scoop. ‘Better than your professional partner, Celia Chernikova?’

  Andrei shrugged. ‘Without wanting to detract from Celia’s talent in any way, she is a wonderful dancer but Sasha has something quite unique. When she dances she absorbs the narrative, lives it. So it doesn’t matter if one or two steps are badly placed or if her flicks and kicks are a little loose. When Sasha dances it is about her heart, her emotions. You watch us when we tango on Saturday and you will see what I mean.’

  ‘What the hell did you say that for?’ Sasha demanded as they made their way back to the limo after the show. ‘I could have died of embarrassment.’ She lunged for him playfully and he jumped back, laughing, teetering at the top of the steps.

  ‘Andrei!’ Sasha leapt forward, tried to grab his jacket but was too late, his foot turned and he tumbled down the steps to the gutter. ‘Oh, my God, are you alright?’

  Andrei sat up, grabbed his ankle, groaning, his teeth clenched, sweat breaking out on his forehead.

  ‘Shit. We must get you to the hospital.’

  Sasha sat on a hard seat in the hospital corridor and stared at the wall. She had been here for over two hours, her mind in chaos, wishing she could back track to the few moments before the accident. How could I have been so stupid?

  The surgeon said it wasn’t broken and that was the main thing. He would dance again; the question was ‘when?’

  She dabbed her tears with a damp hanky, streaking her mascara, reddening her eyes even more. There was no doubt that the dream of winning the Celebrity Dance Trophy was over. She didn’t mind for herself, not too much, but she felt so badly for Andrei.

  Three times now, he had been so close and to lose it this last time was probably more than he would be able to stand. He had tried to hide his anxiety, telling her it was just one of those things but she wasn’t fooled; she knew he was close to despair. As the nurse had wheeled him in to see the doctor his face had been white and pinched. And Sasha knew she was responsible. When would she ever stop hurting him?

  To top it all, on their way to the hospital he had received a text message from Celia, telling him in no uncertain terms what she thought of his interview on The Mike Bywater Show and suggesting that he find himself another partner if she, Celia Chernikova, couldn’t compare to a lousy amateur.

  Poor Andrei; his future in dancing looked very bleak. Why had she been so stupid, practically pushing him down the steps? If he could only have a fair shot at the final she had no doubt at all that he could win it but, now, it was looking more and more as if he wouldn’t be able to dance at all. And I had so wanted to be the one to win that damn trophy with him.

  She sniffed again, and began to text Lisa to tell her she wouldn’t be h
ome after all. Lisa, not knowing what had happened, would imagine her happily tucked up in bed with Andrei and Sasha was happy to let her think that, she would find out the truth soon enough. It would be all over the morning papers

  As she replaced the phone in her bag, a door opened and Andrei emerged, his skin pale, eyes raw, mouth taut and his right foot bound up in fat bandages.

  He hobbled toward her, his crutches clicking on the tiled floor.

  Sasha stood up. ‘Oh Andrei, what are we going to do?’

  ‘I don’t want to discuss it, not right now, Sasha. I just want to go home.’

  The next day his dressing room was crammed with floral tributes from friends and fans. The team and the director clustered around him while the producer, John Leabridge, leafed through his file of paperwork.

  ‘You will just have to see how it goes, Andrei. Rest up until the weekend. We can’t make a firm decision until the specialist has reviewed it again on Saturday morning. In the meantime, Sasha, you can rehearse with Matthew. If it comes to it, he will partner you on Saturday.’

  Sasha leapt to her feet.

  ‘What? Dance with Matthew? No, I won’t. If Andrei can’t go on then neither shall I’

  John held up a hand. ‘I’m not discussing it further right now, Sasha; you rehearse with Matthew, that way if Andrei is Ok to go on then you will know the steps. It makes sense, see?’

  She looked at Andrei who was sitting forlornly, wearing only one shoe, his bandaged right foot resting on a stool. ‘Andrei, I don’t want to dance with …’

  ‘Just do it, Sasha. Do it for me, it’s what I want. If I can’t dance, then at least watching you win will be some small compensation.’ But I can’t win without you, she wailed silently.

  Sasha’s head was in turmoil. Two days of misery to live through. Torn between wanting to win, worried that Andrei would not recover in time and her growing certainty that, if he couldn’t compete, then she didn’t want to dance at all.

  Everyday Andrei sat in on the practice sessions, watching in frustration as she messed up, time after time. She was struggling to accustom herself to a new partner and Matthew’s very different teaching technique. They were mismatched. He was too tall for her, his body parts not where she expected them to be.

  As Andrei noted Sasha’s set jaw and saw the increasing friction between her and Matthew, he knew she would never pull it off without him. Each practice session ended with Sasha in floods of tears and Andrei knew, that for her sake, he just had to recover in time. He could not let Sasha down, not after they had come so far.

  On Friday evening Andrei, dosed up on painkillers, eased his foot into a bucket of ice cubes, determined to have the swelling and the pain down to manageable proportions by the morning.

  ‘You will get frost bite,’ Sasha cried, after dipping a finger into his bucket to test the temperature. ‘Its freezing.’

  Andrei smiled grimly, determined not to let her see the extent of his agony.

  ‘Go to bed,’ he told her. ‘I will be there shortly; and wear something nice, these ice cubes are making me horny.’ He laughed at her disbelieving expression. ‘Ok,’ he laughed, ‘maybe it’s you, not the ice. Give me half and hour. Go, warm up my bed, woman.’

  In the morning at the studio she waited in torment for the doctor’s verdict. She paced the floor, chewed her nails, drank pots and pots of coffee, refusing to rehearse or go to make up until she had the go ahead from Andrei. At eleven thirty her phone beeped and she opened her in-box, pressed her thumb against the ‘new message’ tab. Three words flashed onto the screen.

  ‘It’s a go.’

  With a yelp of triumph, she leapt from her stool and hurried off to wardrobe with her heart singing. Maybe everything would be all right! She got straight on the phone to spread the news. Andrei would be here soon. They were going to dance, in the final after all!

  Andrei flexed his ankle. He had lied to the doctors when he told them there was no pain. It twinged when he rotated it but, with another dose of painkillers, he was sure he could stand it. His foot looked small and pale now the bandages were off and, after showering, he sprayed it with muscle relaxant and put on a tight ankle support.

  He ate lightly, drank even less, his nerves much more acute than he was willing to let anyone see, and began to prepare for the evening ahead. In makeup they slicked back his hair and highlighted his cheekbones, making up his eyes with dark smouldering shadows, so that he looked mean and moody in his trilby hat.

  The suit he was wearing was black, the lines of his jacket sharply cut and a sequined ribbon ran down the outer leg seam of his trousers. His shirt, also black, was teamed with a silvered waistcoat. After a last, long look in the mirror, he swivelled on his heel and, without any sign of discomfort, went off in search of Sasha.

  He knocked twice on her dressing room door.

  ‘Andrei.’ She dragged the door open.

  His chin dropped as his brain processed what his eyes were seeing. Her face was made up as dramatically as his, her hair swept to one side, the fringe flattened to her skull, perfectly formed kiss curls adorning each cheek. His eyes gravitated lower.

  ‘Holy Mary.’ Andrei swallowed an obstruction from his throat.

  She was dressed all in black, a clinging lace dress with a skin tone lining that made it seem her naked flesh was visible through the lace. The lycra hugged her body, moulded to her full breasts, caressing the delicious curve of her spine, the roundness of her bottom. The skirt was cut at an angle, exposing the entire length of one very long, black stockinged leg, a glimpse of creamy skin at the thigh.

  ‘How is your foot?’ She turned away and Andrei’s eyes fastened on her behind as she bent over to slip on her high-heeled sequined shoes.

  He groaned aloud.

  Sasha stood up quickly, turned to him, her eyes full of concern.

  ‘What is it, does it still hurt?’

  ‘No, no. It isn’t my foot that is aching, it is my groin. Christ, woman, come here.’

  He backed her into the room, slammed the door closed behind them and, with a strongly beating heart, reached out for her. But then, before he touched her, he pulled back, his hands hovering, not so much as brushing her body, as he realised that the merest contact would be fatal. There wasn’t time; it would have to wait.

  He couldn’t kiss her either, not without ruining her makeup and they were on in about five minutes. A muscle quivered in his jaw as his sudden excitement strained against his flies. Sasha blinked slowly, her false lashes sweeping her cheek and the tip of her tongue peeking out as she moistened her red lips.

  As if someone were pointing a gun at him, Andrei held up his hands and closed his eyes, banishing her from his vision. ‘Walk away, Sasha, before it is too late. I will join you at the stage door.’

  After a few seconds her perfume wafted in his face and he heard the door open and close. Only when he was sure she had gone did Andrei dare to open his eyes and release a long, ragged breath while he waited for his erection to recede.

  The stage was dark. A spot lit lamppost appeared, where a woman dressed in sheer black lace struck a rigid pose. Her body curved seductively, bottom thrust out behind, her breasts prominent in front, her chin was down and one hand to her head, touching her trilby hat. The music began.

  She reached out, wrapped herself around the lamppost, slid down it, one leg sweeping backward, her crutch almost touching the floor before she snapped upright again. Applause erupted as she twirled around and bent so far backward it seemed she was sure to fall.

  Alone on the rostrum she danced with her hat, clutching it in both hands, pulling it to her chest and thrusting it away again, pirouetting, her perfect shape silhouetted in the Midas light.

  Then, Andrei appeared and slunk up behind, reached out and stole her trilby, placing it on his own head, just as she fell backward into his arms. A breathless audience watched entranced as he spun her around, raised her up, slinging her backwards over his shoulders before descending the steps to th
e main dance floor.

  The tempo changed and they moved together, their bodies in unison, the lights playing across the floor, inflaming the mood. Sasha looked like a professional, her ganchos perfectly executed, legs flicking and kicking, her eyes fastened unflinchingly on Andrei, her face deadpan and determined, as if she would have him or be damned.

  He grabbed her thigh, hooked it around his waist and spun, lifting her effortlessly, their noses close together as she ran her leg up and down his, writhing along his body like a python on a branch.

  Sasha was aware only of the music, and Andrei’s hands scalding her flesh. She had never felt sexier. With his breath on her face, his body was hot against hers as they moved, fluid and feline, very quickly about the stage. A dozen spins around the floor, kicking and flicking, stalking each other, both dancers and audience carried along by the seduction of the dance.

  As they entered the last phase, he pursued her backward, stalking her until he overwhelmed her with his masculine strength and bent her backwards. She sank beneath him, her left leg sweeping out wide, exposing a long white thigh above black stocking tops. As he lifted the hat to shield their faces from the audience, she tilted her face up for his theatrical kiss, finally vanquished.

  ‘I think it’s time everybody knew, don’t you, Sasha?’ Andrei whispered and, with deliberation he let the hat drop to the floor. Then, in full view of the watching world, he covered her lips in a protracted, full-mouthed kiss.

  When Sasha’s arms slid up and around his neck, prolonging the moment and cementing their relationship before millions of spectators, the crowd went ballistic. The applause was deafening, continuing long after he had raised her up and they skipped bashfully across the floor toward the judges.

  ‘Look at them! Look at them!’ Mike was crying, indicating the audience standing in ovation. ‘Oh, that was wonderful, wonderful.’