Dance of Dreams Read online

  He lifted a brow at the question, and though his eyes never left hers, she felt the rest of her body grow warm from them. “Because I wanted to,” he told her at length. “It’s a good reason.” He rose then, and she got up with him.

  “But you never wanted to before.”

  The smile was quick, speeding across his face. “Didn’t I?”

  “Well, you never kissed me before, not like that.” She turned away, pulling off the T-shirt she wore over her bone-colored leotard.

  He studied the graceful arch of her back. “And do you think I should do everything I want?”

  Ruth shrugged. She had come to dance, not to fence. “I imagined you did,” she tossed back as she approached the barre. As she went into a deep plié, she cast a look back over her shoulder. “Don’t you?”

  He didn’t smile. “Do you mean to be provocative, Ruth, or is it an accident?”

  She sensed the irritation in his voice but shrugged again. Perhaps she did. “I haven’t tried it very often before,” she said carelessly. “It might be fun.”

  “Be careful where you step,” he said quietly. “It’s a long fall.”

  Ruth laughed, enjoying the smooth response of her muscles to her commands. “Being safe isn’t my goal in life, Nikolai. You’d understand if you’d known my parents. I’m a born adventurer.”

  “There are different kinds of danger,” he pointed out, moving back to the CD player. “You might not find them all pleasurable?”

  “Do you want me to be afraid of you?” she asked, turning.

  The player squawked when he pressed the fast forward button. “You would be,” he told her simply, “if it were what I wanted.”

  Their eyes met in the mirror. It took all of Ruth’s concentration to complete the leg lift. Yes, she admitted silently, keeping her eyes on his. I would be. There’s no emotion he can’t rip from a person. That, along with his technical brilliance, makes him a great dancer. But I won’t be intimidated. She dipped to the ground again, her back straight.

  “I don’t frighten easily, Nick.” In the glass, her eyes challenged.

  He pushed the button, stopping the machine. The room was thrown into silence while the last of the sun struggled into the window.

  “Come.” Nick again pressed a button on the player. Music swelled into the room. Walking to the center, Nick held out a hand. Ruth crossed to him, and without speaking they took their positions for the grand pas de deux.

  Nick was not only a brilliant dancer, he was a demanding teacher. He would have each detail perfect, each minute gesture exact. Again and again they began the movement, and again and again he stopped to correct, to adjust.

  “No, the head angle is wrong. Here.” He moved her head with his hands until he was satisfied. “Your hands here, like so.” And he would position her as he chose.

  His hands were professional, adjusting her shoulders, skimming lightly at her waist as she spun, gripping her thigh for a lift. She was content to be molded by him. Yet it seemed she could not please him. He grew impatient, she frustrated.

  “You must look at me!” he demanded, stopping her again.

  “I was,” she tossed back, frowning.

  With a quick Russian oath he walked over and punched the button to stop the music. “With no feeling! You feel nothing. It’s no good.”

  “You keep stopping,” she began.

  “Because it’s wrong.”

  She glared at him briefly. “All right,” she muttered and wiped the sweat from her brow with her forearm. “What do you want me to feel?”

  “You’re in love with me.” Ruth’s eyes flew up, but he was already involved with the CD player. “You want me, but you have pride, spirit. You won’t be taken, do you see? Equal terms or nothing.” He turned back, his eyes locking on hers. “But the desire is there. Passion, Ruth. It smolders. Feel it. You tell me you’re a woman, not a child. Show me, then.”

  He crossed back to her. “Now,” he said, putting a hand to her waist. “Again.”

  This time Ruth allowed her imagination to move her. She was a gypsy in love with a prince, fiercely proud, deeply passionate. The music was fast, building the mood. It was an erotic dance, with a basic sexuality in the steps and gestures. There was a great deal of close work, bodies brushing, eyes locking. She felt the very real pull of desire. Her blood began to hum with it.

  Eagerly, as if to burn out what she was feeling, she executed the soubresauts trapped somewhere between truth and fantasy. She did want him and was no longer sure that she was feeling only as Carlotta. He touched her, drew her, and always she retreated—not running away but simply standing on her own.

  The music built. They spun further and further away from each other, each rejecting the attraction. They leaped apart, but then, as if unable to resist, they came back full circle. Back toward each other and past, then, with a final turn, they were in each other’s arms. The music ended with the two wrapped close together, face to face, heart to heart.

  The silence came as a shock, leaving Ruth dazed between herself and the role. Both she and Nick were breathing quickly from the demands of the dance. She could feel the rapid beat of his heart against hers. Her eyes, as she stood on pointe were almost level with his. He looked into hers as she did into his—searching, wondering. Their lips met; the time for questions was passed.

  This time she felt the hunger and impatience she had only sensed before. He seemed unable to hold her close enough, unable to taste all he craved. His mouth was everywhere, running wildly over her face and throat. White heat raced along her skin in its wake. She could smell the muskiness of his sweat, taste the salty dampness on his face and throat as her own lips wandered. Then his mouth came back to hers, and they joined in mutual need.

  He murmured something, but she couldn’t understand. Even the language he spoke was a mystery. Their bodies fused together. Only the thin fabric of her leotard and tights came between his hands and her skin. They pressed here, touched there, lingered and aroused. His lips were at her ear, his teeth catching and tugging at the lobe. He murmured to her in Russian, but she had no need to understand the words.

  His mouth found hers again, hotter this time, more insistent. Ruth gave and took with equal urgency, shuddering with pleasure as he slid a hand to her breast for a rough caress while her mouth, ever searching, ever questing, clung to his.

  When he would have drawn her away, Ruth buried her face in his shoulder and strained against him. Nothing had ever prepared her for the rapid swing of strength to weakness. Even knowing she was losing part of herself, she was unable to stop it.

  “Ruth.” Nick drew her away, his hands gentle now. He looked at her, deep into the cloudy depths of her eyes. She was too moved by what was coursing through her to read his expression. “I didn’t mean that to happen.”

  She stared at him. “But it did.” It seemed so simple. She smiled. But when she lifted a hand to touch his cheek, he stopped her by taking her wrist.

  “It shouldn’t have.”

  She watched him, and her smile faded. Her eyes became guarded. “Why not?”

  “We’ve a ballet to do in less than three weeks.” Nick’s voice was brisk now, all business. “This isn’t the time for complications.”

  “Oh, I see.” Ruth turned away so that he wouldn’t see the hurt. Walking back to the bench, she began to untie her shoes. “I’m a complication.”

  “You are,” he agreed and moved to the player again. “I haven’t the time or the inclination to indulge you romantically.”

  “Indulge me romantically,” she repeated in a low, incredulous voice.

  “There are women who need a candlelight courtship,” he continued, his back still to her. “You’re one of them. At this point I haven’t the time.”

  “Oh, I see. You only have time for more basic relationships,” she said sharply, tying her tennis shoes w
ith trembling fingers. How easily he could make her feel like a fool!

  Nick turned to her now, watchful. “Yes.”

  “And there are other women who can provide that.”

  He gave a slight shrug. “Yes. I apologize for what happened. It’s easy to get caught up in the dance.”

  “Oh, please.” She tossed her toe shoes into the bag. “There’s no need to apologize. I don’t need you to indulge me romantically, Nick. Like you, I know others.”

  “Like your designer?”

  “That’s right. But don’t worry, I won’t blow any more rehearsals. I’ll give you your ballet, Nick.” Her voice was thickening with tears, but she was helpless to prevent it. “They’ll rave above it, I swear it. It’s going to make me the most important prima ballerina in the country.” The tears came, and though she despised them, she didn’t brush them aside. They rolled silently down her cheeks. “And when the season’s over, I’ll never dance with you again. Never!”

  She turned and ran from the studio without giving him a chance to respond.

  Chapter Four

  The backstage cacophony penetrated Ruth’s closed dressing room door. It was closed, uncharacteristically, for only one reason: She wanted to avoid Nick.

  He was always everywhere before a performance—popping into dressing rooms, checking costumes and makeup, calming preperformance jitters. No detail was too insignificant to merit his attention, no problem too small for him to seek the solution. He always had and always would involve himself.

  In the past Ruth had cherished his brief, explosive visits. His energy was an inspiration and settled her own anxieties. Now, however, she wanted as much distance between herself and the company star and artistic director as possible. During the past weeks of rehearsal that hadn’t been possible physically, but she would attempt an emotional distance nevertheless.

  She felt reasonably certain that although Nick wouldn’t normally respect a closed door, he would, in this case, take her point. The small gesture satisfied her.

  Perhaps because of her turmoil and needs, Ruth had worked harder on the role of Carlotta than on any other role in her career. She was determined not just to make it a success, but to make it an unprecedented triumph. It was a gesture of defiance, a bid for independence. These days the character of the sultry gypsy suited her mood exactly.

  In the three weeks since her last informal rehearsal with Nick, both dancers had kept their relationship stringently professional. It hadn’t always been easy, given the roles they were portraying, but they had exchanged no personal comments, indulged in none of their usual banter. When she had felt his eyes follow her, as she had more than once, Ruth forced herself not to flinch. When she felt his desire draw her, she remembered his last private words to her. That had been enough to stiffen her pride. She had clamped down on her habit of speculating what was in his mind. She’d told herself she didn’t need to know, didn’t want to know. All she had to do was dance.

  Now, dressed in a plain white terry robe, she sat at her dressing table and sewed the satin ribbons onto her toe shoes. The simple dancer’s chore helped to relax her.

  The heat of the bright, round bulbs that framed her mirror warmed her skin. Already in stage makeup, she had left her hair loose and thick. It was to fly around her in the first scene, as bold and alluring as her character. Her eyes had been darkened, accentuating their shape and size, her lips painted red. The brilliantly colored, full-skirted dress for the first scene hung on the back of her door. Flowers had already begun to arrive, and the room was heavy with scent. On the table at her elbow were a dozen long-stemmed red roses from Donald. She smiled a little, thinking he would be in the audience, then at the reception afterward. She’d keep his roses in her dressing room for as long as they lived. They would help her to remember that not all men were too busy to indulge her romantically.

  Ruth pricked her finger on the needle and swore. Even as she brought the wound to her mouth to ease the sting, she caught the glare of her own eyes in the glass.

  Serves you right, she told herself silently, for even thinking of him. Indulging her romantically indeed! She picked up her second toe shoe. He made me sound as though I were sixteen and needed a corsage for the prom!

  Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. Ruth put down her shoe. She rose and went to the door. If it were Nick, she wanted to meet him on her feet. She lifted her chin as she turned the knob.

  “Uncle Seth! Lindsay!” She launched herself into her uncle’s arms, then flung herself at the woman beside him. “Oh, I’m so very glad you’re here!”

  Lindsay found the greeting a bit desperate but said nothing. She only returned the hug and met her husband’s eyes over Ruth’s head. Their communication was silent and perfectly understood. Ruth turned to give Seth a second hug.

  “You both look wonderful!” she exclaimed as she drew them into the room.

  Ruth had been close to Seth Bannion during much of her adolescence, but it hadn’t been until she’d gone out on her own that she had truly appreciated the changes he had made in his own lifestyle to care for her. He was a highly successful architect and had been a sought-after bachelor and world traveler. He had taken a teenager into his home, adjusted his mode of living and made her his priority. Ruth adored him.

  She clasped her hands and admired them both with her eyes. “You look so beautiful, Lindsay,” Ruth enthused, turning to take her in. “I never get used to it.” Lindsay was small and delicately built. Her pale hair and ivory skin set off her deep blue eyes. She was the warmest person Ruth knew; a woman capable of rich emotions and unlimited love. She wore a filmy smoke-gray dress that seemed to swirl from her shoulders to her feet.

  Lindsay laughed and caught Ruth’s hands in hers. “What a marvelous compliment. Seth doesn’t tell me so nearly enough.”

  “Only daily,” he said, smiling into Lindsay’s eyes.

  “This is the same dressing room you used for Ariel,” Seth commented, glancing around. “It hasn’t changed.”

  “You should know,” Lindsay said. “I proposed to you here.”

  He grinned. “So you did.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  They both turned, shifting their attention to Ruth. Lindsay laughed again. “I’ve never been very good about tradition,” she said and wandered over to pick up one of Ruth’s toe shoes. “And he didn’t ask me soon enough.”

  The shoes that lined the dressing table stirred memories. What a life, Lindsay thought. What a world. She had once been as much a part of it as Ruth was now. Her eyes lifted and fixed on the dark ones reflected in the glass.

  “Nervous?”

  Ruth’s whole body seemed to sigh. “Oh, yes.” She grimaced.

  “It’s a good ballet,” Lindsay said with certainty. She took the quality of Nick’s work on faith. She had known him for too long to do otherwise.

  “It’s wonderful. But . . .” Ruth shook her head and moved back to her chair. “In the second act there’s a passage where I never seem to stop. There are only a few seconds for me to catch my breath before I’m off again.”

  “Nick doesn’t write easy ballets.”

  “No.” Ruth picked up her needle and thread again. “How are the children?”

  The quick change of subject was noted. Again Lindsay met Seth’s eyes over Ruth’s head.

  “Justin’s a terror,” Seth stated wryly with fatherly pride. “He drives Worth mad.”

  Ruth gave a low, gurgling laugh. “Is Worth maintaining his professional dignity?”

  “Magnificently,” Lindsay put in. “‘Master Justin,’” she quoted, giving a fair imitation of the butler’s cultured British tones. “‘One must not bring one’s pet frog into the kitchen, even when it requires feeding.’” Lindsay laughed, watching Ruth finish the last stitches. “Of course, he dotes on Amanda, though he pretends not to.”

 
“And she’s as big a terror as Justin!” Seth commented.

  “What a way to describe our children,” Lindsay said, turning to him.

  “Who dumped the entire contents of a box of fish food into the goldfish bowl?” he asked her, and she lifted a brow.

  “She was only trying to be helpful.” A smile tugged at Lindsay’s mouth. “Who took them to the zoo and stuffed them with hot dogs and caramel corn?”

  “I was only trying to be helpful,” he countered, his eyes warm on hers.

  Watching them, Ruth felt both a surge of warmth and a shaft of envy. What would it be like to be loved that way? she wondered. Enduringly. The word suited them, she decided.

  “Shall we clear out?” Lindsay asked her. “And let you get ready?”

  “No, please stay awhile. There’s time.” Ruth fingered the satin ribbons nervously.

  Nerves, Lindsay thought, watching her.

  “You’re coming to the reception, aren’t you?” Ruth glanced up again.

  “Wouldn’t miss it.” Lindsay moved over to knead Ruth’s shoulders. “Will we meet Donald?”

  “Donald?” Ruth brought her thoughts back. “Oh, yes, Donald will be there. Shall we get a table together? You’ll like him,” she went on without waiting for an answer. Her eyes sought Lindsay’s, then her uncle’s. “He’s very—nice.”

  “Lindsay!”

  Nick stood in the open doorway. His face was alive with pleasure. His eyes were all for Lindsay. She ran into his arms.

  “Oh, Nick, it’s wonderful to see you! It’s always too long.”

  He kissed her on both cheeks, then on the mouth. “More beautiful every time,” he murmured, letting his eyes roam her face. “Ptichka, little bird.” He used his pet name for her, then kissed her again. “This architect you married—” he shot a quick grin at Seth “—he makes you happy still?”

  “He’ll do.” Lindsay hugged Nick again, fiercely. “Oh, but I miss you. Why don’t you come see us more often?”

  “When would I find the time?” He kept his arm around Lindsay’s waist as he held out a hand to Seth. “Marriage agrees with you. It’s good to see you.”