He couldn’t take it another second. Before ducking back out of the office, he said, “Gimme a sec,” and stalked into the room to flip the papers over. When he came back and shut the door behind him, Natasha gave him a quizzical look that bordered on hurt.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to go into your office,” she said in a quiet voice.
“That’s not—” Crap, he’d made her think he had something he didn’t want her to see. “I know. But you can. It’s okay.” He was making a mess of this. He had to get her to the next room before he made it worse. “Anyway, there’s something else I want you to see. You’re going to like this.”
“You better not turn around with your dick hanging out,” she muttered as she followed him down the hall.
He barked out a surprised laugh, and leered at her over his shoulder. “Don’t give me any ideas.”
Her snicker eased the tightness in his shoulders.
“Here we are.” He opened the door with a flourish, stepping back so she could get a good look inside.
The expression on her face made up for all the awkwardness of their tour. Dark eyes rounded, those pretty lips parted in awe, she entered the room on her own and turned in a circle to take it all in.
“You have a private dance studio?” The wonder in her voice warmed him, and he followed her in.
“Of course.” He grinned, checking out their reflections in the wall of mirrors. “Doesn’t everybody?”
She shot him a smirk, and he moved closer. “You can use this anytime you want.”
“Thank you.” She ran her hand along the barre on the opposite wall. “I will.”
Without a word, he took her hand from the polished wood and pulled her into a spin. She followed his lead, as she always did. When they danced, nothing stood between them. He led, she followed, and he lost track of everything but the movement of her body and keeping them in flow. He’d danced with countless women over the course of his career, but never anyone like her. She was the best, and she got him like no one else did. Ever since that first time, when she’d walked into his rehearsal room by accident and he’d pulled her in to try out the number he was choreographing, he’d known.
He wanted to dance with her forever.
Before he could approach her about that, he had to get her past this “no sex” rule. It was ridiculous. They’d been together on and off for three years. They needed to move forward, not backward.
When he tugged her back into his arms, she landed against him with her hand on his chest. With one hand on her back and her body pressed to his, he caught the undulation of her spine as she finished the move. It was part of the dance, sure, but he knew her movements and her body well enough to catch the telltale extras. The slight arch of her back, the short thrust of her hips, the sharp intake of breath bordering on a moan.
She was turned on.
His body pulsed and hardened. He slid his hand up between her shoulder blades and tilted his head down.
With a gasp, Natasha shoved against his chest. When he released her, she backed away from him, toward the door.
“Let’s get something straight,” she said in a low voice, at odds with the heat in her gaze and the slow way she licked her lips. “We’re not roommates with benefits, okay? I thought I made that clear.”
“Yeah, sure.” For now. “You’re my guest. I want you to feel comfortable here.”
She narrowed her eyes like she didn’t believe him. “Thanks for the tour. I’m going to go unpack.” She hurried from the room, leaving him standing on the dance floor with his reflection.
Dimitri scrubbed a hand over his face and trudged back to his office. Well, that had been a fucking disaster. He wanted Natasha more than he’d ever wanted anybody or anything, and he’d managed to insult her and put her on guard. Not just today, with his careless words, but by neglecting to give her a tour in the past. How had he never noticed that she’d only seen the spaces where they’d fucked? Why hadn’t he shown her the rest of his home?
He sat in his desk chair and leaned back as far as it would allow, staring at the ceiling like it would give him some answers.
In the back of his mind lived a tiny, flickering hope that someday they’d figure out how to talk to each other, be open with each other, and test how deep their connection ran.
But what if sex was all they had? Or great dance chemistry? He didn’t have anything else to base his hunch on, that she was the woman for him.
The contract on his desk caught his eye, mocking him. Those papers, stamped withThe Dance Off’s logo, represented his failure to take risks and produce his own projects, and his reliance on the industry machine to keep him in the spotlight.
Hell, maybe his focus on Natasha was further indication that he was just lonely and looking for a distraction. Someone to fill the space, consume his attention.
No. Deep down, he carried an undeniable certainty that they were right for each other. Yet in the three years they’d been . . . whatever they were doing, she’d never shown any sign that she wanted more from him than what their arrangement allowed.
He wanted more, and had since the beginning. But he wouldn’t ask, not until he was sure she wanted more, too.
