Part 24 (2/2)
Everything between my legs was throbbing in time with the music. There were a thousand sensible reasons why we shouldn't tempt fate here. But l.u.s.t overrode sense. I turned my head to say ”All the way” as I reached back and tugged on his hips.
”Are you sure?” He slid his palms over my nipples, which were hard as gla.s.s. ”I would love to lift you onto my c.o.c.k right now. You're plenty wet. Your dress would hide it. But nothing would hide the look of ecstasy on your face.”
I wiggled back against him, trying to be as much of a tease to him as he was to me.
But the song came to an end and he stood up straight, turning me to face him and kissing me as the final chords played, then faded.
”Can we stay through one more song?” I asked, my arms around his neck.
”I'm not sure either of us has the patience for that,” he said.
”James.” I ground my hips against him.
”Patience,” he repeated. ”I know. You want to push the envelope. You want to go further, do more than we've ever done before. The more deeply in love with you I fall, the more I do, too.” He spun us in a slow circle, like we were in the center of the world's grandest ballroom.
I remembered what he'd said, about discipline and self-discipline being equally important. About control. Ferrara was the one who was going too far and getting too carried away. ”You have a point.”
”I want nothing more than for all of this to be over with. Ferrara, the rehearsals, the contract, I want all of it behind me so I can concentrate on you. Hmm. Maybe I will build a playroom or a dungeon after all, once I'm done having you in every other room in every twisted way my mind can imagine.”
”You tease.”
”Always. Or at least until we get back to the room.” He smirked. ”Come on.”
As we walked away, hand in hand, a young man in a military uniform at the railing dropped to one knee next to us and held a velvet box up toward the shocked woman beside him. Camera flashes lit up their faces as she grabbed him and kissed him. I guess that meant yes.
Fourteen.
Your Soothing Hand Rehearsal started for real the next day. Before we left the room in the morning, as we were finis.h.i.+ng our room service breakfast, James said to me, ”I want to ask you something. About how you relate to the other dancers. Because you have the role of princ.i.p.al, that already sets you apart from them somewhat.”
”Is that a problem?”
”I'm getting to the question. I don't think we should pretend anymore.”
”Pretend what?”
”That you're just another dancer.”
My heart jumped suddenly into double-time. ”You mean, tell them about us?” I hadn't thought James would be so ready to acknowledge me.
He nodded. ”Even if you could keep up the facade, I don't think I can. I'll be too tempted to put my arm around you, look lovingly at you, and kiss you when the opportunity arises.” James was trying hard to maintain his usual cool exterior, but he couldn't keep himself from a smoldering smile. Which was his point. ”I'll try, if you think it'll make things too difficult for you with the others, but I don't think I'll succeed.”
”What if they turn catty like Ferrara and hiss at me?”
”On the contrary, I think they'll be highly amused to see me letting my hair down. I expect we might both have to accept some good-natured ribbing, though, Karina.”
”Why, because I'm the new dancer? Or because these people are your extended family?”
”There is that word 'or' again. Can you think of a reason it wouldn't be both those things?”
”Ha-ha, no. But I'm right, aren't I? These folks are your real family.”
”You may be right about that.” His eyelashes looked long as he dropped his gaze to the empty plate in front of him.
”I know I am. I've never seen you more comfortable around people. They clearly have a lot of history with you, and a lot of affection for you.”
”Performing together builds a certain kind of bond,” he said, as if it needed explaining.
”So does sharing a secret,” I pointed out. He nodded as if he agreed with that, too.
When we got to the theater I realized my a.n.a.logy of the troupe and crew being his extended family was even more apt when I met his ”brothers,” the musicians in his band. In contrast to James's groomed appearance, they were a disreputable-looking lot, sitting at a front table and talking cheerfully like they owned the place.
James would be splitting his time between rehearsing with us and rehearsing with them. They were still writing some of the music, though from the signs of jet lag on their faces, it would be another day or two before they were up to the task. For the next several days, as Alicia taught us the steps, it was mostly to her counting out the beats, anyway. I worked a lot with Ben and Pascual, who each learned all of James's parts as well as an ensemble role. When I was up close with them, of course, I could tell they weren't James, but they were really excellent mimics. During one lunch break, Pascual entertained the group by imitating Roland, only to be one-upped by Ben, who did an impression of Annika. I literally laughed so hard I rolled on the floor. (It helped that I was already sitting on the stage at the time.) We settled into a comfortable routine of rehearsal. There was no sign of Ferrara or Phil for more than a week, and I was beginning to think maybe we weren't going to hear from them again. James often had dinner delivered to his suite in the evenings, and invited various people to join him on different nights. That night it was Alicia and Ramon, and the four of us shared a bottle of wine and talked.
At one point James excused himself to take a phone call, so I asked Alicia, ”How long have you been working with James?”
She glanced around instinctively, then relaxed as she realized all three of us were in that exclusive club that could call him by name.
”Almost ten years.” She counted backward on her fingers. ”Yeah. Ten years. Time flies when you're having fun!”
”Did he always do such elaborate stage shows?”
”Oh, not always thematic operas like this one, but he usually had a dance component to his live performances. He was much more raw in the beginning.”
I had no idea what he had been like ten years before, though Becky kept telling me to watch the old videos. ”Raw?”
”Well, you know how he is. He's physically expressive when he wants to be, but he was more or less untrained as a dancer. Self-taught. But Sabine whipped him into shape quickly.”
”Did she?”
”Oh yes. Polished off all the rough edges, the asymmetries. I'd say it took two years of fairly diligent work to really give him the chops he has now, though.” Alicia took a sip of her wine. ”You look fascinated.”
”I am fascinated! Not every rock star has legit moves.”
”Not every rock star works as hard as he does.”
Ramon lifted his winegla.s.s. ”Amen to that. Now, seriously, how does a workaholic like that retire?” He looked at me for an answer.
I shrugged. ”I think he'll find other things to do. He said the music industry is too depressing. Too many crooks and liars.”
”He's right about that,” Alicia said with a sigh. ”I keep hoping he'll go more seriously into conceptual dance.”
Ramon snorted into his winegla.s.s. ”He keeps hoping you'll go more seriously into conceptual dance. You could be the next Moses Pendleton, Alicia. You know he'll bankroll it if you say the word.”
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