Page 23 of Dance with Me
Donna only nodded, then walked over to Muriel. Natasha drank more water, then slipped out to change before Dimitri could get her fired on the spot.
10
Mission Turn Natasha On: Accomplished.
As they’d danced, he’d heard every catch of breath, felt every extra undulation beneath his hands. He recognized the glassy look in her dark eyes for what it was:desire.Of course, it had the same effect on him, but he could be patient. He was playing the long game.
Then Muriel approached with a smile that was too sweet to be true. He excused himself from his conversation with Vita and turned to speak to his boss.
“That was great, Dimitri,” Muriel said. “We’d love to have you come in for more of these kinds of spots, if you’re open to it. It really keeps the viewers invested between seasons, and you know you have the rep as the mean judge. They love seeing the softer side of you.”
His shoulders tightened. “No promises. I’ve got some other projects keeping me pretty busy at the moment.” Like getting Natasha to open up to him and accept how right they were for each other.
Muriel was undeterred. “I also noticed we didn’t get your contract for next season. Did you send that in?”
Pizdets.This wasn’t going how he’d hoped. And Natasha had already disappeared, so there was no reason for him to stick around. He had to ditch Muriel. “Not yet. Busy, like I said.”
“Do you want us to print out a copy for you now? You can sign it before you leave.”
Under the collar of his costume shirt, he started to sweat. “I’ve actually got to get going right now,” he said, edging toward the door. He snapped one of the sparkly suspenders. “I’ll bring this back later. See you, Muriel.”
He charged out the door. In the hallway, he untangled himself from the lav mic and slapped it into the hands of a passing PA. Still in costume and makeup, with his hair slicked down with industrial strength hair gel, he dashed out to the parking lot and climbed into the Porsche. He looked for Natasha’s Prius among the many parked in the lot, but didn’t see it. He didn’t know how she’d gotten away so quickly, but he knew where to find her, at least.
When he checked his phone, he had two missed calls from Alex, and five from the restaurant. Shit. Was something on fire?
Everything else would have to wait. He got on the freeway and headed towardKrasavitsa,where he could lose himself for the rest of the day in non-dance related worries.
And he could put off thinking about Alex’s deadline andThe Dance Offcontract for one more day.
11
As exhausted as Natasha was at the end of the day, her mind was still on that promo shoot. She took a cold shower and forced herself to go to bed early, the better to avoid Dimitri, who once again was out. But she tossed and turned, jumping at every little sound. When she heard him come home, her heart pounded so loud, she was sure he’d be able to hear through the bedroom door.
Listening to him moving around the house didn’t help her situation. Her body pulsed with need, and it took all her self-control to keep her ass in bed. It would be so easy. He would say yes. Hell, he’d welcome her if she strolled out and said, “Hey, wanna fuck?” Imagining the look of delight that would transform his features brought on an attack of the giggles, and she pressed her face into the pillow to stifle them.
Eventually, the house quieted. He must have gone to bed. She dozed a bit, but not for long. She tried deep breathing. She tried playing a puzzle game on her phone. Nothing worked.
Disgusted with herself, she threw on her glasses and a thin, over-sized sweatshirt and crept from the room.
On the other side of the house, she let herself into the TV room and fumbled through the pile of remotes before she managed to turn on the TV and pull up the cable guide. She searched for a period drama, full of sweeping music, beautiful costumes, and manicured landscapes, when she found something much, much better.
Aliens Don’t Dance.The movie that had taken Dimitri from competitive ballroom dancing to Hollywood and made him a star.
After looking over her shoulder to make sure the door into the room was shut, she settled in to watch. She’d seen it countless times, of course. When it came out over a decade ago, she and Gina and their dance-major friends from high school had cut their last classes of the day and gone to the five-dollar movie theater to see it. Natasha hadlovedit.
The story of an alien crash-landing on Earth, taking the form of a super-hot human man, and stumbling upon MTV for his Earth education had been silly, sure, but Dimitri made the character of Reygar endearing. The earnest way he used dance to connect with other humans—and eventually with one human woman in particular—warmed her heart, and embodied what dance was all about.
Like all creative arts, dance centered on connection. Dancers used their bodies to make the audiencefeelsomething. They interpreted music into physical form, and thus gave it a shape.Aliens Don’t Dancewas everything she loved about dance—the ability to use movement to express what you couldn’t, or didn’t dare, say in words. Dimitri didn’t talk until the halfway point of the movie, after he was able to repair his ship’s translator device.
Natasha wrapped a crocheted afghan around herself and snuggled further into the comfy leather sofa. It was weird to be watching a young Dimitri on TVin his own house,while he slept a few rooms away. But it also gave her a thrill. This was Dimitri as she’d first seen him, when she was still a teenager, and he’d been in his early twenties. HisUkrainian-by-way-of-Brooklynaccent was slightly more pronounced, his voice not as deep or gravelly as it was now. His face was softer, his body leaner, but he was still a handsome man who oozed sex appeal. He had incredible chemistry with Greta Marcus, the female lead, a once-popular actress who’d faded into obscurity after the movie became a hit, while Dimitri’s career had taken off. Natasha had once looked her up online, and it seemed she’d decided to settle down and have a family. It made sense. This business was hard on relationships and families.
A smile curved Natasha’s lips. Greta was an ideal candidate forThe Dance Off.Maybe she’d suggest it to Dimitri.
A hand clamped on her shoulder. Natasha yelped and leapt a foot in the air. Heart pounding, she stared up at Dimitri, who stood behind the sofa with sleep-rumpled hair, cloaked in shadows. His eyes flicked to the screen and he shook his head.
“I can’t believe you’re watching this trash.”
Natasha squished herself into a corner of the sofa as he came around and sat beside her, watching himself on the TV with a rueful grin.
