Disappointment burst her fantasy bubble. She looked down at her leg, suddenly the pain that had been muted screamed. She saw how the red was spreading, the swelling thickening.
‘The reaction is getting worse,’ she muttered, biting her lip because her thigh was hot, itchy and sore.
‘It certainly is,’ he answered abruptly, returning from the cupboard, still not looking at her directly. He pierced the seal on the small tube, squeezed some of the white cream onto the tips of his fingers. ‘I’ll give you a couple of antihistamine tablets as well. Have them when you get home—they might make you drowsy.’
She nodded, not able to speak any more. He’d gently spread her legs wider again and with fingers was smoothing the cream across the hot, tight skin. Seemed he’d forgotten he was going to make her do that herself. She looked at him as he watched what he was doing. Now she knew exactly why all those dancers faked injuries to get him to tend them—he was fun. And he truly was gorgeous with his perfect features and height. So very male. So very close. Touching her in a way that suggested other kinds of touch might be even more moving. Her lashes lowered as the tips of his fingers circled carefully, narrowing in on the sting site. She shouldn’t be feeling it so sensually, but she was. She shouldn’t be imagining those fingers gliding higher, but she was. She shouldn’t be heating, melting, wanting—but she was. And she couldn’t help the small shudder as he stroked in that smooth, regular rhythm.
He looked up; his eyes bored into hers. All tease gone and nothing but banked fire in the black eyes.
‘You need to do this yourself.’ Honest, raw—faint sheen sparkled on his skin as if he too felt a fever.
Her throat tightened, rendering her mute. So she nodded. But even that took effort. It was as if he’d some spell cast over her. Her heart wasn’t racing, it was thumping so slowly, and every beat was so huge it hurt. She thought her eardrums were going to burst with the pressure. Both his hands rested on her now, no longer rubbing the cream, but holding her thigh. He could tighten his grip any moment.
If he wanted.
His gaze dropped a couple of inches south of her eyes. She knew what he was thinking about. She was thinking about it too. Wanted it. Her lips tingled, dried, she was desperately trying not to lick them. Suddenly he was closer, so close that?—
‘Hey, Gabe, how’s our new girl?’
Gabe moved so fast Roxie didn’t have time to blink before he was at the sink, running taps and scrubbing his hands.
‘You mean me?’ Roxie stared at the vivacious blonder than blonde who’d just burst into the room. Chelsea, the leader of the dance troupe.
‘Yeah, are you okay?’ Chelsea came up close to look at Roxie’s leg. ‘Looks ouch.’
‘It’s okay.’ Seriously, she’d forgotten it in that overpowering moment with his hands on her. ‘Really, I’m... just fine.’ Just breathless.
‘Great. Because up to the bee thing, you blew us away. We want you in.’
‘You do?’ Roxie gaped. ‘Really?’
She’d thought she’d blown it with the whole allergic-reaction-and-screams- of-agony routine.
‘Yeah, you’re classically trained, right?’
‘It was obvious?’ She was stunned; she hadn’t been to a ballet class since she was sixteen.
‘Not in a bad way, but I thought I could spot that underlying technique a couple of times. Your freestyle was amazing and I totally want to raid your moves. I’ve not seen a girl break the way you do. We need some edge and you definitely have it.’
Wow. No one had ever said she had ‘edge’ before. Then again, no one had seen her dance in years. She’d gone into that all but empty stadium today and just given it everything. And she’d done it.
Elation added to the excitement that had already been flooding her. She couldn’t resist glancing at the tall, darktorment now standing a few paces behind Chelsea. But in the split second she looked, she saw the naked emotion on his face.
Anger.
His thunderous expression momentarily crushed her mood. Why did he look sobothered^
‘I’ll leave these pills for you here.’ He brushed past Chelsea and brusquely put a small pill pack on the edge of the table. He left the room faster than a streaker ran the length of the pitch in an international match.
‘Hottest thing on two legs, isn’t he?’ said Chelsea a few seconds after he’d shut the door one decibel short of a slam.
‘I’m sorry?’ Roxie blinked, still absorbing his massive mood swing.
‘Gabe,’ Chelsea explained. ‘Hotter than any of those players. Fit plus brains plus wads of old money.’
‘Really?’ Roxie hoped her suddenly ravenous curiosity wasn’t too obvious.
‘Yeah but don’t bother looking. See how he shot out of here the second he could?’
