Ballet Shoes and Engine Grease (20 page)

“
I’m sorry, Nick.”

He
turned around to face her, the night darkness through the
glass panels framing him. There was genuine warmth in his smile.
“Water under the bridge,” he said. “The only thing that bothers me
now is where that damn ring ended up. It must have fallen out of my
pocket when the car rolled over. Four carats of marquise cut
diamond buried somewhere in the wreckage. I could have given it to
my mother for Christmas and saved myself bit of money.”

Crimson
stood up and went to him, her arms wide in
invitation. “Let’s figure out something that could serve as a bed,”
she told him. “I don’t want to be a lost opportunity.”

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Chapter Eleven

Crimson heard Nick
growl in frustration as their gazes roamed
the dark room, taking inventory of their surroundings in a
desperate attempt to find some soft surface to lie down upon.
Nothing but the hard nylon carpet beneath their feet, and the
linoleum floor in the corridor that separated the two rows of glass
fronted offices.

Outside, in the parking lot, lights flared
in the darkness. “They’re leaving.” Crimson turned to study the
landscape through the smoky panels of the building. “They are all
getting in their cars and driving off. No one will come upstairs.”
She turned to Nick. “There’s some sectional seating at the end of
the corridor, just outside the accounts office.”

He was out
before she’d finished the sentence. She hurried
after him, found him sliding out the coffee table between the pair
of lightweight couches and pushing the two short sections together,
end to end, making them into a long, narrow bed.

She smiled at him
. “You look like an overdressed removal
man.”

Finished with the
task, Nick surveyed the results with
satisfaction. “The overdressed part is easy to fix.” He strode over
to her, halted in front of her. She could feel the heat of his
body, could smell the faint fragrance of the stage makeup that he
hadn’t had a chance to remove. He lifted a hand. One fingertip
extended, he skimmed across the top of her breasts, the way she’d
noticed that he liked to do.

“
Are you sure, Crimson?” he asked.
“There’ll be no turning back. No refunds, no cancellations. I’ll
try not to hurt you, but I don’t come with a guarantee.”

“
I…” For a moment, she didn’t know what to
say. She had expected him to make an effort to overwhelm her,
batter down her defenses without realizing they had already fallen.
If she’d had any means of resisting him, any hope of standing firm
to protect her heart, the surprise of hearing him so humbly ask for
permission had taken them away.

“
You first,” she said, her gaze skimming
over his lean, loose limbed body covered in the elegant evening
clothing.

“
Sure.” He indicated her flimsy costume.
“You have a head start, anyway.”

It
took him less than five seconds to kick off his shoes and
strip off his bow tie and send his jacket and shirt and everything
else flying in all directions. Instinctively, Crimson crouched to
neaten the disarray, but as Nick moved to stand before her,
completely naked, she forgot what she was doing. Slowly, she
straightened, able to do nothing but stare.

There was no moon, only the faint glow of
stars that peeked down from between the ragged clouds. The eerie,
almost colorless light spilling in through the glass panels
illuminated his tousled dark curls and classical features. Like
strokes of silver from an artist’s brush, the cool, pale light
flowed down the powerful curve of his shoulders and painted shadows
on the generous dusting of dark hair on his chest.

He looked like a statue of a Greek god in
a museum, and she ached to touch him. Ached to run her hands along
the warm, vibrant skin that covered his ribcage, ached to feel the
blood pulsing in the veins that corded his muscled forearms. Ached
to feel the fire and passion in him, revel in the knowledge that he
was alive, a flesh-and-blood man, not something cast in stone or
marble or bronze.

For a full min
ute, Nick stood still, letting her look, letting
her take her time, but there was no vanity in his stance. If
anything, there seemed to be a hint of uncertainty in how he simply
waited for her reaction. It crossed her mind that he might think
she was used to the perfect bodies of male dancers, and was now
wondering if she’d find him lacking in some respect.

Finally, Nick broke the silence. “Your
turn.”

At his softly spoken words,
Crimson became all too aware of
the power he had over her, of how she seemed to no longer have a
will of her own. She made no reply, merely shifted on her feet,
shivering a little in the night chill. Not appearing to notice her
hesitation, Nick closed the distance between them.

“
Time to level the playing field.” Bending
a little, he fisted his fingers in the hem of her scanty costume
and started lifting up the garment. “Is this thing delicate?” he
asked.

Her gaze fell on his
hands. Big, dark, powerful. The contrast
between his strength and the gossamer fabric sent a tingle of
awareness through her. His palms had calluses. She remembered
seeing him in overalls, pulling a cloth handkerchief from his
pocket to wipe away the engine grease on his skin.

It occurred to her
now that despite his education and the
blue-blooded family background, Nick Constantine was essentially a
masculine man, a very physical man, one who thrived on competition,
on challenges. A renewed fear seized her that she might be nothing
more to him than a challenge, one more female to be
conquered.

“
Are you all right?” Nick asked, alarm in
his voice. “Do you have your inhaler?”

She studied his face, saw the
concern
in his
expression, the sincerity in his eyes, and that sudden stirring of
fears vanished, melted into the night shadows outside. “I’m fine,”
she told him, and flapped his hands away from her costume. “I’d
better take this off carefully, in case it’s needed for any
retakes.”

S
lowly, she lifted the garment over her head. His eyes on
her were like a touch of fire along her skin. Beneath the silk
slip, she was naked, except for a pair of snug, minuscule panties,
barely more than a thong. Her costume was cut to flare open as she
danced, offering tantalizing glimpses of the top of thighs and the
curve of her buttocks.

“
Dear Lord…Crimson, let me...I have to…”
Nick fell to his knees in front of her. His hands curled around her
legs and slowly swept up, past her hips, higher up, until his
fingers could slip beneath the waistband of those
almost-not-there
panties.

“
You have the most amazing legs I’ve ever
seen,” he said roughly.

“
It’s wonderful what thousands of hours of
training can do,” she replied.

He glanced up at her face then. The
solemnity in his gaze made her heart leap. Despite her flippant
comment, she was trembling with emotion, but she forced a shaky
smile for him, a valiant attempt to keep things light, and not read
too much into anything.

With infinite care, as if he had all the
time in the world, Nick lowered the
flimsy underwear down her legs, his head bent so
close that she could feel the warm puffs of his breath on her skin.
The sensation sent desire spiraling up inside her. Impatient now,
Crimson lifted her feet, one at a time, to help him release the
tiny scrap of silk and lace.

Flicking his wrist, Nick tossed the
garment aside. As if sensing her urgency, he reached up between her
legs, a light touch of questing fingers. A jolt of raw pleasure
flowed through her. Unable to stop her reaction, she arched her
back and cried out, the sound rippling along the empty
corridor.

Nick spoke in a thick, husky voice.
“Are you ready for me,
Crimson?”

Too frantic to form words,
s
he merely
nodded.

“
Protection.” He moved away, still on his
knees. The loss of his nearness felt like a current of cold air
sweeping over her. Crimson waited, her whole body thrumming with
anticipation, while Nick crouched down on the floor, the lean
muscles bunching and flexing beneath his bronzed skin as he
searched in his scattered clothing.

He produced
a foil square and held it in the air like a
trophy. “I left my phone, my wallet, and my car keys in my jeans.
The only thing I transferred into the pocket of the dinner suit was
this. Can you believe, they make them in different sizes in Japan?”
he asked conversationally as he tore open the packet.

“
Large, no doubt?” She managed a wry
tone.

“
Of course.” He gave her a smug smile,
applied the protection with swift, practiced moves. Then he lifted
a brow at her, a trace of seriousness mixing in with the
lighthearted banter. “I assume you’ve seen small and medium and can
tell the difference?”

An answering smile tugged at her
mouth
. “If that’s your
way of making sure you’re not my first lover, the answer is
yes
. I had
experienced that part of the male anatomy even before our first
encounter in the boardroom. And…” She drew out the moment, darted a
meaningful glance at his groin. “…That’s definitely large. Perhaps
even extra large. But, as you know, I’ve already proved that I can
handle you.”

“
Good. Then I don’t have to worry about
going slow.” In a flurry of movement, he jumped up to his feet,
scooped her into his arms, and swung her toward the
couch.

She
emitted a small cry of alarm as the dark corners of the
office and the night shadows outside spun in a wild circle around
her. Laughing, he cradled her high against his chest and carried
her to the couch. He lowered her onto it, and settled his big body
over her, caging her down against the cushioned surface of the
sectional seating.

She felt
surrounded by him, by his heat, by his strength,
by his scent. Even now, a faint trace of engine oil, of leather and
speed and danger clung to him, perhaps from leaning against the
race car during the filming. As his legs slid between hers and
nudged them apart, a wild need for him soared inside her. She
wanted to scream it out, wanted to have the corridor echo with the
sound.

But, instead, she merely said, “Then don’t
go slow.”

Bracing up on his elbows,
Nicked got into position and
pushed into her, easing his way in stages until he was fully
embedded within her. And then he stopped. She lifted her hips to
meet his, her whole body trembling with a violent, aching want. He
must have sensed the tremors that shook her, but even then he
didn’t move. Instead he lowered his mouth to hers in an exquisitely
tender kiss.

“
It’s not a race, Crimson,” he said. “Not
this time.”

He scattered kisses on her face,
on her eyelids, her cheeks, the
tip of her chin, the side of her neck, the curve of her shoulder,
and everywhere in between. She buried her fingers in his hair,
holding on to him, not wanting the moment to end but yet wanting
something more, wanting what he hadn’t given her yet.

Pausing,
Nick raised his head to look into her face. By
now, Crimson’s eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and she could
make out his features. His eyes, the dark eyes that always seemed
so impenetrable, now appeared full of questions. For a moment, she
thought he was going to say something, perhaps ask something, but
then he brought his mouth back to hers for another deep, hungry
kiss that enflamed the need inside her.

And then he began to move within
her
, gentle and fierce
at the same time, pushing her to take more of him while he cradled
her in his safe embrace. She could not think, could only feel. The
raw, volatile emotions that soared between them swept her along, as
if she no longer had a separate identity, could no longer exist
without him.

When the waves of completion broke over
them,
in perfect rhythm,
perfect timing, she had to force herself not to speak out loud the
words that her heart was beating against her ribs. Instead, she
wrapped her arms and legs tight around him, buried her face in the
crook of his shoulder, and gloried in the feel of his body pulsing
in unison with hers.

****

Nick lay wedged against Crimson on the
narrow couch. An hour ago, he’d called himself a million kinds of
fool for having only slipped one condom into his pocket, but in
truth he was enjoying just holding her, dozing and
talking.

“
Have you ever been in a serious
relationship before?” he asked.

She gave him a
comical scowl. “You mean this is a serious
relationship?”

She’d been doing
it all night, he’d noticed. Sending him a message
that she was not expecting anything, demanding a commitment. He
wasn’t quite sure why the idea sent a tug of irritation twisting in
his gut. No commitment was good, right? Any man’s dream, sex
without expectations. He tucked the dinner jacket more securely
around her shoulders and kissed the tip of her nose. “Okay,
delete
before
. Have you
ever had anyone important in your life? I told you about my past,
and sharing confidences is a two-way street.”