Dance of Dreams Read online

  The music had stopped. Nick was talking to the dancers again as the director spoke to some invisible technician on his headset. Ruth let her eyes follow Nick. “Yes, he seems to be.”

  “Like a boy with a new train set.”

  Ruth gave Nadine a quizzical look. “Train set?”

  “The fresh excitement, the enthusiasm,” she explained with a sweeping gesture of her hand. “He’s loving this.”

  “Yes.” Ruth looked back at Nick. “I can see that.”

  “Your dances went well.” At Ruth’s deprecating laugh, Nadine went on. “Oh, I know you had some adjustments to make. That’s life.”

  “Were you watching?”

  “I’m always watching.”

  “You’re not usually kind, Nadine,” Ruth commented wryly.

  “My dear, I’m never kind. I can’t afford to be.” The music began again, and though Nadine’s eyes were on the stage, she spoke to Ruth. “They did go well, all in all. The tape is magnificent.”

  “You’ve seen it?” Ruth was all attention now.

  Nadine merely lifted her brow in response. “The program should be all we hoped for. I can say frankly that you and Nick together are the best I’ve seen in some time. I never thought he’d find a partner to equal Lindsay. Of course, your style and hers are very different. Lindsay took to the air as if she were part of it—effortlessly, almost mystically. You challenge it, as if defying gravity.”

  Ruth pondered over the description. It seemed to make perfect sense. “Lindsay was the most beautiful ballerina I’ve ever seen.”

  “We lost her because she allowed her personal life to interfere,” Nadine said flatly.

  “She didn’t have any choice.” Ruth rushed to Lindsay’s defense. “When her father was killed and her mother so badly hurt, she had to go.”

  “We make our own choices.” Nadine turned to face Ruth directly. “I don’t believe in fate. We make things happen.”

  “Lindsay did what she had to do.”

  “What she chose to do,” Nadine corrected. “We all do.” She studied Ruth’s frown. “I’ve had one priority all my life. I’d like to think all my dancers were the same, but I know better. You have the talent, the youth, the drive to make a very important mark in the world of ballet. Lindsay had just begun to make hers when she left. I wouldn’t like to lose you.”

  “Why should you?” Ruth phrased the question carefully, keeping her eyes on Nadine. She was no longer aware of what was happening on stage.

  “Temperaments run high in dancers.”

  “So I’ve been told,” Ruth said dryly. “But that doesn’t answer my question.”

  “I need both you and Nick, Ruth, but I need Nick more.” She paused a moment, watching her words sink in. “If the two of you come to a time when things are . . . no longer as they are, and you can’t—or won’t—work together, I’d have to make a choice. The company can’t afford to lose Nick.”

  “I see.” Ruth turned back to the stage and stared at the dancers.

  “I’ve thought a long time about speaking to you. I felt it best I make my position clear.”

  “Have you spoken to Nick?”

  “No.” Nadine looked at Nick as he stood with the technicians. “Not so bluntly. I will, of course, if it becomes necessary. I hope it doesn’t.”

  “Quite a number of dancers in the company become involved with each other,” Ruth commented. “Some even marry. Do you make a habit of prying into their private lives?”

  “I always thought there was fire behind those scrupulous manners.” Nadine smiled thinly. “I’m glad to see it.” She paused a moment. “As long as nothing outside interferes with the company, there’s no reason to create unhappiness.” She gave Ruth another direct look. “But Nick isn’t merely one of my dancers. We both know that.”

  “I don’t think you could say that what’s between Nick and me has interfered with the company or with our dancing.” Ruth sat stiffly.

  “Not yet, no. I’m fond of you, Ruth, which is why I spoke. Now I have to go wring a few more dollars out of a patron.” Nadine rose and, without another word, moved up the dark aisle and out of the theater.

  On stage, Nick watched his dancers. He saw them both individually and as a group. This one’s arm wasn’t arched quite right, that one’s foot placement was perfect. He kept a close eye on the corps. There were two he planned to make soloists soon. There was a young girl, barely eighteen, whom he observed with special interest. She had an ethereal, otherworldly beauty and great speed. She reminded him a bit of Lindsay. Already he saw her as Clara in The Nutcracker the following year. He would have to induce Madame Maximova to work with her individually.

  The director stopped the tape, and Nick moved forward to correct a few minor details. They had been working nearly two hours and the hot lights shone without mercy.

  Nadine, he thought as they began again, is like a hawk hunting chickens when she holds auditions for the corps. Poor children; were they ever really aware of the drudgery of dance? So few of them would ever go beyond the corps. Again he watched the young girl as she spun into her partner’s arms. That one will, he concluded. She’ll be chasing after Ruth’s heels in two years.

  He smiled, remembering Ruth’s corps days. She’d been so young and very withdrawn. Only when she had danced had she been truly confident. Even then—yes, even then—he had wanted her, and it had astonished him. He had watched her grow more poised, more open. He’d watched her talent blossom.

  Five years, he thought. Five years, and now, at last, I have her. Still it wasn’t enough. There were nights his duties kept him late, and he was forced to go home to his own empty apartment knowing Ruth slept far away in another bed.

  He wondered whether he was more impatient now because he had waited so long for her. It was a daily struggle to keep from hurrying her into a fuller commitment. He hadn’t even meant to tell her he loved her, certainly not in that flat, unadorned manner. The moments before she had turned and given the love back to him had left him paralyzed with fear. Fear was a new sensation and one he discovered he didn’t care for.

  Part of him resented the hold she had on him. No one woman had ever occupied his thoughts so completely. And still she held part of herself aloof from him. It was tantalizing, infuriating.

  He wanted her without reserve, without secrets. The longer they went on, the more impossible it became to prevent himself from pressing her for more. Even now, with his mind crammed with his work, he knew she sat out in the darkened theater. He sensed her.

  She shouldn’t be allowed to pull at him this way, he thought with sudden anger. Yet he wanted her there. Close. The words he had spoken when he had come to her apartment in the night grew more true as time passed. He needed her.

  At last the taping session was completed. Nick spoke with the director as dancers filed offstage. They would cool their bodies under showers and nurse their aches. Ruth rose from her seat in the audience and approached the stage. The musicians were talking among themselves, stretching their backs.

  “One hour, please,” Nick called to them and received a grumbled response.

  Technicians shut off the high wattage lights, and the temperature dropped markedly. The crew was talking about the Italian deli down the street and meatball sandwiches. With a laugh, Nick declined joining them. His offer of yogurt in the company canteen was met with unilateral disgust.

  “So.” He drew Ruth into his arms when she stepped onstage. “What did you think of it?”

  “It was wonderful,” she answered truthfully. She tried not to think about her conversation with Nadine as Nick gave her a brief kiss. “Apparently, you have a flair for Americana.”

  “I always thought I’d make a good cowboy.” He grinned and picked up one of the abandoned prop hats. With a flourish, he set it on his head. “Now I only need six-guns.”

  Ruth lau
ghed. “It suits you,” she decided, adjusting the hat lower over his forehead. “Did they have cowboys in Russia?”

  “Cossacks,” he answered. “Not quite the same.” He smiled, running his hands down her arms. “Are you hungry? There’s an hour before we begin again.”

  “Yes.”

  Slipping an arm around her, he tossed off the hat as they crossed the stage. “We’ll get something and take it up to my office. I want you alone.”

  Ten minutes later Nick closed his office door behind them. “We should have music for such an elaborate meal, yes?” He moved to the stereo.

  Ruth set down their bowls of fruit salad as he switched on Rimsky-Korsakov. After turning the volume low, he came back to her.

  “This first.” Nick gathered her into his arms. Ruth lifted her mouth to his, hungry for his kiss.

  Her demand fanned the banked fires within him. With a low sound of pleasure, he tangled his fingers in her hair and plundered. Her mouth was avid, seeking, as she let the kiss take her. Desire was a fast-driving force that rocketed inside her. She slipped her hands under his sweat shirt to feel the play of muscles on his back. His mouth began to move wildly over her face; her lips ached for his.

  “Kiss me,” she demanded and stopped his roaming mouth with hers.

  The kiss was shattering and stormy. It was as though he poured all his needs into the single meeting of lips. It left her breathless, shaken, wanting more. He probed her lip with his teeth until she moaned in drugged excitement. Then he drove deeper, using his tongue to destroy any hold on sanity. Ruth murmured mindlessly, craving for him to touch her.

  As if reading her thoughts, he brought his hand to her breast. She shuddered as the rough fabric of her cotton blouse scraped her skin. With his other hand he tugged it from the waistband of her jeans. His fingers snaked up over her ribcage and found her. Together they caught their breath at the contact.

  When the phone on his desk began to ring, Nick let out a steady stream of curses. He spun to answer and yanked the receiver from the cradle.

  “What is it?”

  Ruth let out a long breath and sat. Her knees were trembling.

  “I can’t see him now.” She had heard that sharp, impatient tone before and felt a small tingle of sympathy for the caller. “No, he’ll wait. I’m busy, Nadine.”

  Ruth’s brows shot up. No one spoke to Nadine that way. She sighed then and looked up at Nick. No one else was Davidov.

  “Yes, I’m aware of that. In twenty minutes, then. No, twenty.” He set the phone down with a final click. When he looked back down at Ruth, the annoyance was still in his eyes. “It seems an open wallet requires my attention.” He swore and thrust his hands into his pockets. “There are times when this business of money drives me mad. It must be forever coaxed and tugged. It was simple once just to dance. Now it’s not enough. They give us little time, Ruth.”

  “Come and eat,” she said, wanting to soothe him. “Twenty minutes is time enough.”

  “I don’t speak of only now!” The anger rose in his voice, and she braced herself for the torrent. “I wanted to be with you last night and all the other nights I slept alone. I need more than this—more than a few moments in the day, a few nights in the week.”

  “Nick—” she began, but he cut her off.

  “I want you to move in with me. To live with me.”

  Whatever she had been about to say escaped her. He stood over her, furious and demanding. “Move in with you?” she repeated dumbly.

  “Yes. Today. Tonight.”

  Her thoughts were whirling as she stared up at him. “Into your apartment?”

  “Yes.” Impatient, he pulled her to her feet. “I cannot—will not—keep going home to empty rooms.” His grip was firm on her arms. “I want you there.”

  “Live with you,” Ruth said again, struggling to take it in. “My things . . .”

  “Bring your things.” Nick shook her in frustration. “What does it matter?”

  Ruth shook her head, lifting a hand to push herself away. “You have to give me time to think.”

  “Damn it, what need is there to think?” He betrayed the depth of his agitation by swearing in English. She was too confused to notice. She might have been prepared for him to ask her to take such a step, but she hadn’t been prepared for him to shout it at her.

  “I have a need to think,” she shot back. “You’re asking me to change my life, give up the only home of my own I’ve ever had.”

  “I’m asking you to have a home with me.” His fingers dug deeper. “I will not go on stealing little moments of time with you.”

  “You can’t, you won’t! I have the final say in my own life. I won’t be pressured this way!”

  “Pressured? Hell!” Nick stormed to the window, then back to her. “You speak to me of pressures? Five years, five years I’ve waited for you. I wanted a child and must wait until the child grows to a woman.” His English began to elude him.

  Ruth’s eyes grew enormous. “Are you telling me you felt . . . had feelings for me since . . . since the beginning and never told me?”

  “What was I to say?” he countered furiously. “You were seventeen.”

  “I had a right to make my own choice!” She tossed her hair back and glared at him. “You had no right to make it for me.”

  “I gave you your choice when the time was right.”

  “You gave!” she retorted. Indignation nearly choked her. “You’re the director of the company, Davidov, not of my life. How dare you presume to make any decisions for me!”

  “My life was also involved,” he reminded her. His eyes glittered as he spoke. “Or do you forget?”

  “You always treated me like a child,” she fumed, ignoring his question. “You never considered that between my childhood and dancing, I was grown up before I ever met you. And now you stand there and tell me you kept something from me for years for my own good. And you tell me to pack my things and move in with you without giving it a thought.”

  “I had no idea such a suggestion would offend you,” he said coldly.

  “Suggestion?” she repeated. “It came out as an order. I won’t be ordered to live with you.”

  “Very well, do as you wish.” He gave her a long, steady look. “I have an appointment.”

  Her eyes opened wider in fresh rage as he moved to the door. “I’m taking some time off,” she said impulsively.

  Nick paused with his hand on the knob and turned to her. “Rehearsals begin again in seven days,” he said, deadly calm. “You will be back or you will be fired. I leave the choice to you.”

  He walked out without bothering to close the door behind him.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Lindsay hefted Amanda and settled her into the curve of her hip while Justin skidded a car across the wood-planked floor.

  “Dinner in ten minutes, young man,” she warned, stepping expertly between the wrecked and parked cars. “Go wash your hands.”

  “They’re not dirty.” Justin bowed his blond head over a tiny, flashy racer as if to repair the engine.

  Lindsay narrowed her eyes while Amanda squirmed for freedom. “Worth might think otherwise,” she said. It was her ultimate weapon.

  Justin slipped the toy Ferrari into his pocket and got up. With a weighty, world-weary sigh, he walked from the room.

  Lindsay smiled after him. Justin had a healthy respect for the fastidious British butler. She listened to the squeak of her son’s tennis shoes as he climbed the stairs. He could have used the downstairs bath, but when Justin Bannion was being a martyr, he liked to do it properly.

  It amazed Lindsay, when she had time to think of it, that her son was four years old. He had already outgrown the chunky toddler stage and was lean as a whippet. And, she thought, not without pride, he has his mother’s hair and eyes. Glancing around the room, she grimaced at the
wreckage of cars and small buildings. And his mother’s lack of organization, she mused.

  “Not like you at all, is he?” She buried her face in her daughter’s neck and earned a giggle.

  Amanda was dark, the female image of her father. And like Seth, she was meticulous. Armies of dolls were arranged just so in her room. She showed almost a comical knack for neatly stacking her blocks into buildings. Temper perhaps came from both of her parents, as she wasn’t too ladylike to chuck a block at her brother if he infringed on her territory.

  With a last kiss, Lindsay set Amanda down and began to gather Justin’s abandoned traffic jam. She stopped, car in hand, and shot her daughter a look. “Daddy won’t like it if I pick these up.”

  “Justin’s sloppy,” Amanda stated with sisterly disdain. At two, she had a penchant for picking up telling phrases.

  “No argument there,” Lindsay agreed and passed a car from hand to hand. “And he certainly has to learn better, but if Worth walks in here . . .” She let the thought hang, weighing whose disapproval she would rather face. Worth won. Moving quickly, she began scooping up the evidence. “I’ll speak to Justin. We won’t have to tell Daddy.”

  “Tell Daddy what?” Seth demanded from the doorway.

  “Uh-oh.” Lindsay rolled her eyes to the ceiling, then peered over her shoulder. “I thought you were working.”

  “I was.” He took in the tableau quickly. “Covering up for the little devil again, are you?”

  “I sent him up to wash his hands.” Lindsay pushed the hair out of her eyes and continued to stay on her hands and knees. Amanda walked over to wrap an arm around Seth’s leg. Both of them studied her in quiet disapproval. “Oh, please!” She laughed, sitting back on her haunches. “We throw ourselves on the mercy of the court.”

  “Well.” He laid a hand on his daughter’s head. “What should the punishment be, Amanda?”

  “Can’t spank Mama.”

  “No?” Seth gave Lindsay a wicked grin. Walking over, he pulled her to her feet. “In the interest of justice, I might find it necessary.” He gave her a light, teasing kiss.