Page 51 of Pas de Don't
“Don’t ever talk about me like that again. I’m not some kind of prize for men who deign to take dance classes, and neither is any other woman in ballet. I’m not a prop, and I’m not a trophy, and I can speak for myself. If Davo had asked, I would have told him I’m newly single and not looking.” The finality in her voice was unmistakable.Not looking.And definitely not looking to give him another chance.
Marcus sighed, exhaling what felt like the last traces of hope. “I know you can speak for yourself. It’s one of my favourite things about you, actually. I really am sorry, Heather.” He held out the warm plastic bag. “I’m gonna go, but you should take this. It’s lamb shanks from Café Luxor, since you missed out on them last night.”
He prompted her to take the bag, suddenly exhausted by the whiplash of emotions he’d cycled through that day: excitement, desire, panic, relief, rage, and now a dull sense of resignation that sat heavily in his stomach.
Heather looked at it then back up at him, and her expression softened.
“Smells really good,” she said. She opened the door by a few centimetres, wide enough for him to hand it through the gap.
“They’ll keep till tomorrow, if you’re having dumplings tonight.”
She nodded, her brown eyes still fixed on his face. Then she opened the door wide enough for him to walk through. “Did you get enough for two?”
Heather couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a meal this sublime. The lamb fell off the bone onto her plate and all but dissolved in her mouth. The couscous, which had started off salty and spicy, soaked in the lamb’s flavorful sauce. The little dining table in her kitchen was even smaller than that of Café Luxor, but it was justlarge enough to fit two plates. And cramped enough that her knee kept bumping against Marcus’s thigh as they ate.
Her muscles still buzzed slightly with the adrenaline that surged through her when she’d found Marcus standing there, looking contrite. She hadn’t expected to see him until Monday morning, when she’d been ready to treat him cordially and like any other coworker—just as they’d agreed. But then he’d showed up looking miserable, like he’d been berating himself all day for what he did.
She was proud she hadn’t let him off the hook. Hadn’t let the expression on his face sway her from saying exactly what she needed to, from unloading the angry thoughts that had been chasing each other around her head since she left the hospital. It hadn’t felt good, exactly, but it had felt true. Like she had excavated a part of herself that had been hidden for a long time and held it up to the light. It felt familiar in her hand, this part of her, even if it bore the permanent marks of the years it had spent underground, buried in the dark.
And then he’d offered her a real apology. Not a “sorry you felt that way” apology, or a “sorry you misunderstood me” apology. Not an apology that was really a guilt trip to make her feel likeshehad hurthimby telling him he’d done something wrong. A real apology. What a novel concept, she thought, swallowing another sumptuous mouthful.
Soon, too soon, her shank was picked clean of meat, and all that remained were a few preserved lemons. Marcus still ate, and for a moment, she enjoyed watching the way his tanned forearms flexed and released as he cut the meat off the bone. When he ran his tongue over his top lip to catch some stray sauce, she let her eyes follow it, and a different kind of hunger skittered through her, warming her skin. She crossed her legs and, this time, bumped the whole table. The plates jumped and clattered, and Marcus sat up with a start.
God, she was so smooth.
“Sorry,” she said, jumping up and trying to cover her blunder. “Do you want some water, or a beer?”
“I could murder a beer after today,” he said, gratefully.
She filled a glass of water for herself and pulled a beer from the fridge.
“I’ve been researching koalas,” she said as she set the drinks on the table and sat back down.
“What, today?”
“Yeah, I needed a distraction. I was mad, and I thought looking at some cute animals might help.”
“And did it?”
“A little. They’re pretty cute. But apparently they sound like pigs. I always thought they’d make some sweet little squeaking sound, but they grunt and snort and it’s...not cute.”
“You still want to cuddle one though, don’t you?” Marcus took a swig of his beer and groaned with relief, and Heather resisted the urge to cross her legs again.
“I absolutely do,” she smiled across the table. “Preferably one that doesn’t grunt too loud. And I learned that the word ‘koala’ means ‘no water,’ because they can survive so long without drinking.”
“Huh, I’ve always heard they’re drunk from the oil in the gum leaves,” he said, holding up his beer, then taking another swig.
“That’s a common myth. They’re just loud and cranky while stone cold sober.”
“So you’re telling me,” he said, standing and clearing their plates, “koalas have been falsely labeled as the winos of the animal kingdom?”
“It sounds like it. Koalas clearly need a better publicist.” She said nothing for a moment as he rinsed the dishes and put them in the dishwasher, then rummaged in the bottom of the takeout bag. Heather stood and joined him at the counter. He stilled as her hip brushed against his side, and she heard his intake of breath when she lifted her hand and traced her fingers down the back of his neck.
“I took a gamble on their dessert options”—his voice was husky as he pulled out plastic packages—“and got you a Portuguese tart. They’re really good, and it was this or rosewater ice cream, which I thought might melt on the way, so ...”
Marcus fell silent when Heather turned her back to the counter and hopped up onto it. For a long moment they looked at each other, and she cataloged the spray of freckles over his forehead and the way the dim kitchen light darkened his eyes to the color of moss. Seconds ticked by, and the cold press of the countertop against her thighs warred with the heat pulsing between them. Then Heather realized: he was waiting for her to ask for what she wanted. The thought made her feel reckless and alive—and at the same time, entirely safe and cared for.
Heather smiled to herself, then scooted sideways, pushing the takeout cartons along the counter until she was in front of him, their eyes level and her knees between him and the counter. Marcus fixed his gaze on her face, his pulse jumping in his throat. He didn’t move when she placed her arms on his shoulders, but she heard his breathing quicken, fast and frantic in the quiet. When she let her legs fall open, he kept his eyes on her face, but released a sound that was half hiss and half moan.
