Page 46 of Barre Fight
“It’s unlocked,” she heard Justin grumble loudly, and she stopped short. Why hadn’t he locked it on his side? She’d certainly locked it on hers, making sure to turn the knob after he left her room the night he’d told her about his childhood.
For a moment, she remembered the way he’d looked at her in front of the stage door last night, like he’d wanted to kiss her. The way he’d bent his body down towards her and searched her face, like heneededto kiss her. She’d wanted it, too, so much that her skin had felt warm and stretched tight, her muscles buzzing underneath it like she’d drunk champagne on an empty stomach. She wanted to know what the hard planes of his chest would feel like under her palms. What it would be like to sift her fingers through his silky hair.
It had been a moment, she told herself firmly. One peculiar, passing moment. And when it ended, when they’d been interrupted and she’d pulled herself away and joined the gathering crowd in the theater lobby, she told herself that her heart was racing because she’d run up the stairs from the stage door in the teeth-chattering cold. Just a moment, she repeated to herself now, as she imagined Justin falling asleep last night with his side of the door deliberately unlocked.
She turned the lock and opened the door, and knew immediately that she’d made a mistake. She was not prepared for the sight of Justin Winters surrounded by rumpled bedding, sitting with his broad, muscled shoulders against the tufted headboard and running his hands through his sleep-mussed hair. Her face heated and her muscles swam with that buzzing champagne feeling again.Just a moment, she repeated to herself. And the moment was over. What was more pressing was the rave reviews ANB had received.
Still, she kept her eyes on her phone as she walked into theroom and half-perched on the piece of furniture that was as far from the bed as possible, which was the desk. She cleared her throat and began to read aloud from theTimesreview.
“‘Australian National Ballet made its return to New York City last night on its first US tour in ten years, and what a difference a decade can make. Under the direction of ANB former principal dancer Peter McGregor, the company has made enormous strides, with the most noticeable improvements in the corps de ballet’s clarity and cohesion of movement, and the standard of its principal dancers, whose opening night performance at Lincoln Center last night did the company and its leader enormous credit.’”
“Well, shit,” Justin said from the bed, his voice alluringly scratchy from sleep, and his relief audible.
“It gets better,” Ivy said, risking a glance up at him, just in time to watch a smile spread over his face like a sunrise, crinkling the corners of his still-puffy eyes. It only made her muscles fizz more insistently under her skin. She was suddenly hyper-aware that she’d barged in here wearing her pajamas, a pair of fleecy mint-green leggings with a black leopard print splashed all over it, and a matching T-shirt. They were warm, but they weren’t especially flattering, a fact that had never bothered her until this precise moment.
“Well, go on then,” Justin said eagerly, and she realized that she’d been gazing at him in silence for… she didn’t know how long. She swallowed hard and kept reading.
“‘Particularly notable was the company’s thought-provoking rendition of Nicola Pearson’s ‘If Love,’ set to music by Philip Glass and unadorned by fussy costumes. Performed on opening night by principals Alice Ho and Justin Winters, it was the highlight of the program, and Ho and Winters the most watchable performers to set foot on the stage all night. Winters is an especially gifted and intuitive partner, always arriving a splitsecond before Ho, ready to assist her. In his hands her impressive technique sparkles and she performs with barely restrained brio.’”
“Well,shit,” Justin repeated, and Ivy could hear his grin.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Ivy held up her hand, “there’s more. ‘Beyond his partnering abilities, however, Winters boasts a breathtaking classical line, combined with a soulful musicality that pairs perfectly both with Ho’s exuberance and Pearson’s demanding but contemplative choreography. He is undeniably outstanding.’”
“Let me see that,” Justin said, climbing out of the bed. He crossed the room in a few long steps and she held her phone out to him. His fingertips brushed hers as he took it from her, but she ignored the hot streaks of desire that ran up her arms at the contact, and instead watched with breathless satisfaction as he scrolled through the review himself, his sunrise smile pulling into a grin that lit up his whole face. The entire room, the entire city.
“Holy shit,” he breathed. “I can’t even...”
He looked up at her, his eyes wide in delight and disbelief. “You did this.”
She shook her head and fixed her eyes on the carpet a few feet away. “I didn’t do anything, you’re the one they’re raving about.”
“No,” he said firmly, holding the phone up and waving it around with a shaky hand. “You made this possible.”
“Well, yes, but—” The rest of her argument died in her throat when he took a step forward, his body suddenly just a few inches away from hers. She forced herself to look up at him and found him searching her face again, his gaze a mix of desire and uncertainty. Through the desire, though, he apparently couldn’t resist arguing with her.
“You’re the one who brought me to New York,” he said.
“You’re the one who dragged me to New York,” she retorted, with a laugh as weak as her knees seemed to have gone.
“Fine, then. We did this,” he conceded quietly. His voice was low and hoarse again.
“We did this,” she agreed, hearing the tremor in her own voice.
He took another half step forward until his body met hers, the heat of it rolling off him and making her pulse speed like, like—like something very fast she couldn’t think of right now, because Justin’s face was inches from hers, and most of her usually impressive vocabulary had evaporated. He laid the phone on the desk beside her, and brought his large, now-empty hand to her cheek. A gentle movement, but she felt it rocket through her body and ricochet off a million screaming nerve endings.
She lifted her head slightly and met his eyes. She thought she knew the question she’d see there, but she wanted to hear it.
“Can we do this?” he asked.
“This?” She tipped her face up further, so her mouth was barely an inch from his. So much closer than they’d been last night, when she’d had to muster all her strength to pull herself away from him. This time she had no intention of pulling away, and she knew he didn’t, either.
“This,” he confirmed, closing the gap still further, until she could almost taste him. Her heart was hurling itself against her ribcage, hammering so hard she thought he must be able to feel it against his chest. He gazed down at her, the ghost of his delighted smile lingering in his hazel eyes, his hand solid and patient and hot, so hot, against her cheek.
Impressive vocabulary be damned. Ivy cast around her ransacked brain and found the only word she actually needed.
“Yes.”
Chapter Twelve
