Anita leapt away from Patrick and turned, plastering a smile on her face.
“Toni! What are you doing here?” Her voice was too shrill. She bustled over to adjust the bunting by the check-in desk. She couldn’t look at him. That was all. Nothing had just almost happened. She had not almost made a huge mistake. Ballroom and romance did not succeed for her.
Toni stood against the short wall dividing the studio floor from the changing area chairs, arms crossed over her chest and smiling knowingly. She was wearing a black-and-red jumpsuit that hugged her curves and had tied it with a thick black belt to accentuate her waistline.
“Patrick said you needed help getting ready for the party tonight,” Toni replied evenly, her gaze flicking from Anita to Patrick. “I’ve never been to one of these shindigs before. Looks like fun.”
How much had she seen? It was just a dance, that was it. It was completely unrelated to the temperature in the studio dropping about thirty degrees.Anita wrapped her arms around her body, holding in the warmth.
“I’ll go get the catering,” Patrick finally offered. But Anita could not look at him, could not watch him leave. She opened several folding chairs, then gazed helplessly around the studio.
Anita felt the other woman’s eyes on her.Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.She had owned this studio for two years and never been unprofessional before. “You’ll like the party,” Anita finally said, if only to break the silence. “We play a bunch of nightclub andother dances, and there’s a good mix of levels. Everyone is very friendly.”
“Patrick certainly is.” Toni stopped moving chairs and now leaned against the mirror, one hand on a hip. “Come on, sugar. Spill.”
It was definitely colder in the studio. Anita checked the thermostat, which was set to sixty-eight. She just had to call a repairman in the morning. That’s all.
Toni was still watching her.
“There’s nothing to tell.” Anita unloaded a container of plastic wine cups onto the refreshment table, then moved to the small refrigerator for the bottles of wine she had stored. Yes, wine. But no. She could not have anything to drink until afterward. No one wanted a hostess who reeked of booze.
“Come on, hon. If Patrick had ever looked at me that way, I would not be able to say that there was nothing to tell.” She loosed a long, low wolf whistle. “That boy is smoking.”
“He’s my friend.” Anita choked. The sign on the door advertising the party was crooked. She could fix that at least.
Toni chuckled. “You’re selling the both of you short. I’m not saying you need to marry him, just enjoy it. Did you ever enjoy anything when you were with Mikhail?”
“Of course.” Not that any examples sprung to mind. She had enjoyed that one time when Mikhail had gone back to the Ukraine to visit his family. Though that was probably not what Toni had meant.
“Really? So you are telling me that dancing with that gorgeous, sweet, kind man who clearly has an enormous thing for you does not make you want at least to jump his bones? Try him on for size, just once?”
Anita tried not to hesitate. Really, she did. She tried not to picture waking up beside him on a Sunday morning, her legs entwined with his. The way he would probably bring herbreakfast in bed, let her watch what she wanted on TV. The way it would feel to slide her tongue against his, feels those incredible hands on her body, his weight on top of her…
But it was Patrick. She would disappoint him in the end, and he did not deserve that.
She sniffed back her tears and straightened her smile. This was a part she knew how to play. Even if it killed something inside of her.
“Absolutely not. I’ve danced with a lot of good-looking men. It doesn’t mean I was attracted to all of them. There is nothing between me and Patrick besides a friendly dance agreement.”
“Food’s here,” Patrick said stiffly.
Anita’s blood turned to ice.
He carefully placed the catering box on the refreshment table, then turned back to the door. “Looks like things are good here. Bye.” He slammed the door closed as he left, the bell jangling angrily.
If only the studio floor could have swallowed her whole at that moment. The Chinese food he had brought churned within her.
She covered her face with her hands, pressing the palms into her eyes. She just needed to count her breaths, that was all. Just one, two, three.
A comforting hand alit upon her arm. Anita glanced at her friend.
“Patrick is a good man.” Toni’s voice was soft, calm, reassuring, but stern. “If you really are not into him, which by the way I don’t think is true, but if you aren’t, you need to be kinder to him. This isn’t you.” That bombshell dropped, Toni unpacked the catering box.
A moment passed, then another. Anita could not find her breath again, but she had to. She had to. There was no one else.
She straightened her posture, lifted her chin, squared her shoulders, and got back to work.
Chapter Eighteen
