Page 87 of Dance with Me
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They took a quick shower, but before they got back in the bed, Dimitri cleared his throat.
“I want to show you something.”
Natasha’s gaze flicked down to his crotch. They were both still naked. “I’ve already seen it.”
“Notthat.Something I’ve never shown anybody else before.”
She snorted out a laugh. “Okay, because we both know a lot of people have already seen your dick.”
He glared at her. “You’re a mean woman.”
Her smug smirk challenged him and turned him on. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
She wasn’t, but nerves made his voice gruff. “Do you want to see it or not?”
“You haven’t told me what it is!”
Embarrassed and out of patience, he grabbed her boot and put it on her. “Come on.” He took her hand and pulled her out of the room, ignoring her giggles.
He was about to show her his most prized possession, the compendium of his life’s work, and she was laughing about his sexual history. Better that she laugh about it. When he thought of where they could be now if he’d had the guts to pursue her earlier, he was hit with a sense of loss and regret so profound, it was like a punch to the chest.
He brought her to his office. The sight of his desk chair reminded him of coming home and finding her twirling around in it, choreographing even with an injured ankle. Both times he’d come across her in the studio, she’d seemed peaceful. At ease. Her shoulders weren’t tense, her brow unclouded by worry. When she danced, or more specifically, when she designed dances, the weight of the world fell away. She loved what she did.
It was why he’d dragged her in here now. She would understand. And after the night they’d had, he was done hiding from her.
Maybe his nerves were obvious, because she’d stopped laughing. Beautiful and distracting, she hovered near the door, arms crossed under her breasts. He probably should have grabbed robes for them first.
“What do you want to show me,Macho?”
Her voice was soft, comforting. She gave him a small smile, which bolstered his confidence.
He went to the desk and pulled out the binder. “This.”
She wandered over as he set it down, but didn’t open it. Her gaze dropped to the bold letters on the cover.
“Idea Book,” she said, reading aloud. Her curious gaze met his. “What’s this?”
He took a breath and placed a hand flat on the cover of the binder. “Detailed notes for every dance show I’ve ever conceived, since I was a teenager. I want to tell stories through dance, using choreography, music, costumes, whatever, to express universal emotions.”
Her eyes widened, and she touched the edge of the cover with her fingertips. “Dimitri, this is . . . full. Practically bursting.”
“Twenty years’ worth of concepts.” He smiled ruefully. “Only one ever made it to the stage, and it . . .”
She covered his hand with hers and shifted closer, until their bodies were touching. “Will you show me?”
Oh, he hadn’t even opened it yet. “Yeah. Sure. Let’s sit over here.”
He picked up the book and carried it over to the narrow sofa at one end of the room. It pulled out into a bed, so the office could double as a guest room. Natasha grabbed the throw blanket off the back and spread it out so they could sit their bare asses on it. Dimitri balanced the book on his knees and Natasha crowded in to look.
“Don’t laugh,” he warned her.
“I wouldn’t laugh about this.”
“You were laughing at me a minute ago.”
“Because I wasteasingyou. I wouldn’t tease you about this.” She nudged him with her hip. “Abrelo.I’m dying of anticipation over here.”
