He snorted out a laugh. “I’m sure they won’t mind sharing my bed with you.”
“I didn’t sayIwould be sharing your bed, either.” God, that would be too much like moving in with him, as opposed to using his house as a temporary living space while she got her shit sorted out.
“Why not?” At her withering glare, he held up his hands. “All right, all right. You can take the guest room.”
Not the answer she was looking for. He hadn’t said,Of course I won’t bring any other women home while you’re staying there.Still, she wasn’t likely to receive any other offers tonight, and desperate times called for desperate measures. Besides, it was only temporary.
“Okay.” She ignored his beaming smile and held up a finger. “On one condition.”
He shrugged, his arrogant confidence both infuriating and sexy. “Whatever you want.”
Her pulse beat faster in her throat. She couldn’t believe she was going to say this to him, but it was necessary, both for her career and her emotional well-being. If she were going to live with him, she needed boundaries.
“No sex.”
His expressive brows shot up. “What?”
“No sex. Not while I’m living with you. I mean, staying with you. Temporarily.”
His jaw worked as he considered her words, then he shrugged. “Sure.”
His agreement came too quickly, and it wasn’t like him not to argue, but she had no other options.
True to his word, he helped her finish packing up the apartment. Even though he made a show of digging through her lingerie drawer and waving her lacy underthings in the air, the task was faster and less stressful with him around. Dimitri ran to the hardware store for supplies, they sealed the furniture in plastic, and finally, there was nothing left to do but drive to his place in Beverly Hills.
This was a setback, but she would get through it. All she had to do was make it to the end of the summer, save money, and then find a new apartment before the next season ofThe Dance Offstarted filming.
She’d prove she could do this on her own. And try her damnedest to protect her heart in the process.
3
Dimitri had driven over to Natasha’s with the intention of calming her down and trying to be of help. And yeah, also because he wanted to see her. He’d never heard her sound as out of sorts as she’d been on the phone, and it worried him. Tasha was always cool as a cucumber, and even harder to read. Seeing her with red-rimmed eyes, and her tawny brown cheeks pale with fatigue, had him on the verge of panic. When she’d gone down worst-case-scenario-road to moving back to New York, he’d blurted out his offer. It had surprised him—and her, too, if her wide eyes were any indication—but now that it was out, it seemed like a good idea. A great idea. The best idea, even.
Anyway, it made sense. Nikolai had moved out a few months ago, his room sitting vacant, yet still fully furnished. The house echoed with the quiet left by his younger brother’s absence. After growing up surrounded by relatives, living alone bugged the hell out of him.
More, he liked having Natasha in his space. She never stayed long—even when she spent the night, as she had last night—and she never left a trace, but each time, she left him wanting more.
Sometimes the depth of his want for her scared him, and he ran in the other direction. Weeks or months would pass before he called her again.
And he always called her. She never reached out to him.
Other times, that desire for her made him want to chase her down. He’d invite her over for a weekend, or claim to be in her neighborhood, or go to a club where he knew she’d be.
When he asked, she always said yes. But he always had to do the asking. She never sought him out, never pursued him. Yet she was always there when he wanted her.
They both slept with other people, too. It was part of this casual, no-commitment thing they had going on. It sucked, but it was the cycle they were locked in, and he hadn’t been able to see a way out.
And he didn’t like to be alone.
Now, he solved two problems. The chance to develop a new dynamic with Natasha, and someone to fill the empty space in his home.
The perfect solution.
Except . . .
She’d said no sex.
If he put himself in her shoes, he understood where the stipulation came from. He was a judge. It might not look good if the showrunners knew they were living together. But it was the off-season. No big deal. No one would know.
