ROMANCE: PARANORMAL ROMANCE: Coveted by the Werewolves (Paranormal MMF Bisexual Menage Romance) (New Adult Shifter Romance Short Stories) (363 page)

              And so she tossed one ball into the air, two, and three.  They rotated and she flipped them, not stumbling even a little when Adam, with a surprised look on his face, tossed her the next two balls.  Three he might have been expecting, but there was no way Adam Santino, the best juggler in the world, had been prepared for her to juggle five balls.  She tossed him one over her shoulder, then the next, feeling the audience draw in a bated breath at the seamless exchange.  Adam was juggling, doing spins and tricks with the four, and motioned to Mackie to toss him the fifth. She did, and watched the audience gasp at his prowess.  The trick ended, Mackie knew, with Adam tossing each one of the five balls to someone waiting in the wings, and it wasn’t long before he started doing just that.  One quick motion, however, and Mackie was in between him and that person, catching all four and then, for the final flourish, balancing the fifth one on the back of her foot as she stood on one leg. 

              Adam turned around and caught sight of what she had done.  Watching the handsome juggling master’s jaw unhinge, Mackie gave a little flick with her foot and the ball sailed over her head to land in the crook of her elbows with the rest of them.  Handing them off to Adam’s assistant, who was waiting, also slack-jawed in the wings, Mackie strode past Adam and the cheering audience, swinging her slender hips the whole way down.

              And the best part?

              Adam Santino simply could
not
take his eyes off her.

*              *              *

              The audience clapped, but this time, it was not for a handsome man in black giving ordinary objects wings.  This time, Mackie knew that it was for her, for her rendition of
The Four Seasons
, the piece where she embodied the title so passionately that the applause had continued on for five straight minutes after she was done.  People stood.  It was heartening to see that even if the American Ballet Company thought that cruise ships were not classy enough to uphold their reputation, good ballet was appreciated even by the lowest common denominator.

              All right, so she was a
bit
of a snob.

              Mackie chuckled to herself as she toweled the sweat off her brow.  She was almost done changing when someone knocked on the dressing room door.

              “Is the lovely lady in green ready to be congratulated on her second spectacular performance?” chirped Adam Santino from the door.

              A jolt of wakefulness went through Mackie’s body.  She stood and crossed the room, unlatching the door to let the juggler in.  He entered, pressing a small arrangement of lilacs into her hands.  Surprised, Mackie accepted, pressing her face into them.  Where could he have gotten lilacs aboard a ship God knows how far from any shoreline?  She put them on the table to finish dressing.

              “It’s more like pink tonight,” she told him, slipping into a cardigan of the mentioned color.

              “Ah pink.  The color of how tickled I was by your little trick last night,” Adam told her, his fine body leaning against the wall as he crossed his arms in what was unmistakably a challenging stance.

              “Is that what you meant by my second performance?”  Mackie asked, feeling light and alive, endorphins from her performance and the nearness of this man filling her.

              “Don’t get me wrong, you are a most marvelous dancer,” Adam said, pushing himself off the wall and walking over to where she was sitting on the chair to rest the heels of his hands on the back of it, framing Mackie in the reflection in the mirror.  “I enjoyed myself ever so much watching your absolutely incredible body twist and bend like that.  But as the foremost juggler pretty much anywhere, you can imagine I am much more interested in your prowess from last night.”

              Good God, he was cocky.  But charmingly, completely forgivably and excitingly so.  Mackie felt a small pulse of adrenaline surge through her.  She relished a challenge.

              “I’m afraid that’s something that you’ll simply have to file away in your ‘Mysteries of the World’ box,” she said, with an expression of perfect innocence.  Adam’s eyes lit up in the mirror; clearly, he was enjoying himself as much as she was.

              Slowly and deftly, Adam brought his incredible face down to her ear.  She could feel his warm breath on her cheek and neck as he considered their reflection, ivory and coffee, before speaking.

              “My favorite thing in the world is solving mysteries, did you know that?”

              “And how do you plan to solve this one?” she asked, heart thumping all out of sorts.

              “I plan to break you down at dinner tomorrow night.  Up to the challenge?”

              Mackie’s eyes caught Adam’s gray ones in the mirror.  She was filled with a sudden desire to press every available inch of bared flesh against Adam’s muscled forearms.  Licking her lips, she said, “If you think you can handle it.”

              Adam laughed aloud, caught off guard.  With one swift motion, he kissed her cheek, gave a little bow, and exited the dressing room, leaving Mackie with her cheek electrified and her skin singing.

              As she got ready for dinner the next day, she couldn’t help but wonder at herself.  It was true she had never had much time for men due to her strict schedule as a ballet dancer, so where had she learned to flirt like that?  Maybe it was because there was something so likable about Adam, something that was as simple and wonderful as taking this job offer had been.  Besides, it was her time to cut loose, wasn’t it?  Why not cut loose with a gorgeous man who seemed enthralled by her?  The dress she had chosen for the night, dark blue velvet, molded itself to her body more than could possibly be decent.  Thin straps formed the extreme V of her neckline, and the velvet clung to her small breasts.  Too often, Mackie had noticed all the flaws of her body—the thickness of the muscles of her thighs, her insubstantial breasts, all the qualities that were so appropriate in the dance world that she never thought could be appreciated by men.  But yesterday, Adam had looked at her in a way that made her fairly certain he was undressing her, and quickly, in his mind.  So why not tease him just a little bit more? Mackie swelled with the power of her own sexuality.

              She glanced down at her gold watch.  Damn, she was early.  She decided to explore the ship a little bit, wandering in and out of the small boutiques that featured pearls, mascaras, and sweatshirts that were all ridiculously overpriced and glittering with the kind of newness that made them seductive.  She liked the feeling of anonymity the wandering gave her, even though from time to time, she could hear someone whisper about her, about the
ballerina
, as she walked by. 

              Somehow, miraculously, of the forty plus bars that King Royal boasted, Mackie managed to find the same one as from her first night.  The bartender handed her the same dirty martini that she had enjoyed so thoroughly then; Mackie took it with surprise, amazed he remembered without her even having to say a word.  As she tilted the martini glass back against her lips, the faint strains of ‘ol Blue Eyes came drifting, curling gradually against her ears.  On impulse, she decided to follow it; if she was going to be on this ship for so many more weeks, she should know who on the ship enjoyed the classics as much as she did.  Grabbing her glass and purse, Mackie set out to adventure.

              Only to find that her adventure wound her around the grand staircase to the fairly non-exciting main lobby. She didn’t localize the sound of the music, however, until she rounded the edge of the staircase to find what had to be the ship’s most unassuming lounge.  Off to the left, a photographer had set up a tropical backdrop for the photos most of the passengers seemed unbelievably willing to purchase, and he was surrounded by a plethora of white leather couches that were scattered amongst large potted plants.  It was from behind one of these plants that a man was playing a creamy baby Grand.

              Settling down into one of the white couches and sipping her drink to have something to do with her hands, Mackie watched the man play.  Was he Spanish or Greek, she wondered, trying to discreetly catch a better look at his face.  He was in his late twenties or early thirties, muscled through the shoulders, which she found unusual for a musician, and playing the steady ease of someone for who such a song is child’s play.  He did not even glance at the keys, but would look beyond the edge of the piano from time to time, a clearly fashioned smile touching his face gently as he connected eyes with one of the crew.  Mackie liked that he was a people watcher, and quite suddenly, she knew that she wanted him to notice her, as well.

              Downing the rest of the drink, she moved to a couch that was directly to the man’s right.  It took all her courage, but she willed herself to sit there and not order another drink as pretense that that was her aim.  Her aim was to get to know the man with the soft brown hair standing up from his head as if shocked by electricity, so why pretend otherwise?  She was a grown woman, for fuck’s sake.

              She was a grown woman, Mackie realized slowly, and when the musician’s eye finally caught hers, she uncrossed and crossed her long, dark legs sensuously, and stroked one finger against the pebbly surface of her evening bag.  When she looked back at him, there was a real smile on his face, one that did not come and go this time.

              The song ended, and it was followed by another, something from Cage the Elephants, a song with a far harder edge, and the sudden change from classic to rock thrilled her.  She associated personality with music, and the loping, rapid beat of the song played on her skin just as surely as the pianist’s smile had.   A few minutes later, the song came to a close, and so, apparently, did his work evening.  From beneath the piano bench, he pulled a folder full of sheet music and put away the songs he had played that night.  He was just sliding the folder into a black messenger bag when Mackie gathered up the boldness to approach him.

              “I found myself wondering,” she said to him, leaning on one elbow against the creamy Grand, “what manner of man plays Sinatra and a song that normalizes prostitution in the same breath?”  Good Lord, alcohol was liquid courage, indeed.

              “And I found myself wondering what manner of woman manages to find the self-assurance to watch a man she doesn’t know so openly,” he answered her, eyes twinkling with humor.  His face was not what she expected.  It was craggy, as if hewn from rock, with a prominent Roman nose, dipping just a touch in the center.  His mouth looked like it was carved from deeply hued quartz, a man’s mouth, a mouth that looked like it enjoyed whiskey and kissing breasts. 

              “The kind of woman who likes her classical with a hint of badassery,” Mackie replied, enjoying the contours of his face a great deal.

              He chuckled, and the sound was deep and engaging; it made her want to take another step closer to him, so she did.

              “And what does such a woman do for a living?  A photographer, a collector of images?”

              “A ballerina.”

              His eyebrows spiked.  “A ballerina, really?”  His warm brown eyes traveled down the length of her body, dancing along the midnight blue velvet, warming her skin.  She noted that his accent was different, belonging distinctly to neither country she had guess he was from earlier.  She strained to get a look at his nametag, because all King Royal employees had their country of origin printed below their name. 

             
Mici
(it read)

              And below,

             
Romania
.

              “Have you always wanted to be a pianist, Mici from Romania?” she asked.

              “No.  I hated piano when I was little, but my parents, God bless them, made me practice anyway.  You can imagine that now—“here he gestured around him at the middy lights of the lounge, “I am quite glad they did.  I came here with a degree from the conservatory, and now I get to see the warmest places in the world.”

              “Cold in Romania?” Though the remark may have been the hallmark of small talk everywhere, the way they were looking at each other was the hallmark of unmistakable attraction.  He was a largely built man, square in body and heavily muscled in the upper body.  He had the looks best associated with the roguish characters in smutty historical romance novels, the kind of brute power about him that made women swoon and try desperately to reform him. 

              “Yes,” he answered, eyes snagging on her mouth.  “But I find it’s always much warmer whenever there’s a beautiful woman around.”

              Mackie blushed.  She actually blushed.  Damn the man.  Her naughty working vacation had just been kicked up a notch.

              “Why Mici,” she answered, running a hand along the smooth top of the baby Grand, “I’ll bet you say that to all the girls.”  Was this truly coming out of her mouth?  Where had she worked up the
gumbos
?

              Mici, however, did not think there was anything that was strange about her words at all.  In fact, the smile lurking about the corners of his mouth deepened, and he looked her directly in the eyes. “No,” he told her, the syllable licking her from tip to toe, “Just the ones who appreciate the classical mixed with the badass.”