Page 92 of Dance with Me
Stop holding back.He’d been holding back in so many ways, so many areas of his life. He was thirty-five years old. Wasn’t it time he stopped waiting for the rug to get pulled out from under him?
She yawned so hard her jaw cracked.
“You’re right. Come on.” He stood, cradling in her arms, and carried her out of the office.
“I’m wearing the boot. I can walk.”
“I don’t care. I want to carry you.”
She smiled and twined her arms around his neck as he carried her through the living room and down the hall to his bedroom, where he settled her into the bed.
“You’re not coming to sleep?” she asked, snuggling into her pillow.
“I will in a minute. Just have to send a quick text.”
He sifted through the piles of clothing on the floor until he found his phone.
Let’s do it,he typed, then sent it to Alex. As he walked around the bed to plug the phone in, it buzzed in his hand.
About damn time.
He paused and typed back,You’re up?
The reply came two seconds later.I’m at the airport. Since you wouldn’t answer my calls, I’m hopping on a flight to come knock some sense into your hard head. Glad you’ve seen the light. Pick me up at the airport and be ready to work on the pitch. We need to move fast on this.
Dimitri froze with the phone in his hand. Shit, this was really happening. Just like that. Too quickly.
Alex’s flight info showed up the screen. He was arriving at LAX in eight hours.
“Macho?”Natasha’s head poked out of the covers. “Come to bed.”
How could he resist her?
He texted back one word.Yes.
Then he scooted under the covers, spooning the woman he loved. His love for her, and her understanding, chased away the fear.
He could do this. He and Alex would get the funding and produce the show. He and Natasha would sort out their lives and she would live here with him. He’d be living the dream, producing his own work with his woman by his side.
Everything would be perfect. Steady. Stable. Secure.
What else could a man ask for?
36
“You’re up early.”
Natasha lifted her head at Dimitri’s sleepy grumble. He entered the kitchen and ambled over to where she sat at the counter with her laptop.
“Morning.” She lifted her cheek. He kissed her, then sniffed the air.
“I made you some.” She pointed to the café con leche by the sink. “I’m still in the habit of getting up at the crack of dawn to teach yoga to people who are about to undo all that relaxation during their work day.”
He grunted and, after examining the elaborate swan she’d made on top, took a sip. Breathing a deep sigh, he opened his eyes fully and gestured at the crutches leaning against the counter. “How’s your ankle?”
“A little achy,” she admitted. “I think I overdid it yesterday.”
He scowled. “And you were thinking about going back to work tomorrow?”
