Page 68 of Barre Fight
She watched him glance around the lobby, and realized with a jolt that he was looking for her, that same searching look on his face that he’d worn during curtain calls. Somewhere beside her, she was dimly aware, the bartender pushed something across the bar towards her, but she barely registered the movement.
Justin spotted her and his gaze met hers, and her stomachjolted as they took each other in. For a long moment she stared at him, standing there fully clothed but somehow sexier than she’d ever seen him. Solid and real, not some dancer far away on the stage, but a whole person she knew and somehow didn’t know nearly well enough.
She wanted to see all of him. She wanted to know everything there was to know about Justin Winters, wanted to crawl inside him and memorize everything—the scars, the sunrise smile, the sweet humor and softness beneath his glowering and his growls. The need for that knowledge made something sharp and urgent twist inside her ribcage, making her mind go temporarily blank except for one thought: tonight couldn’t be the last night. It just couldn’t. She wanted more of him. Craved it. They were getting on a plane home tomorrow, but tonight she’d tell him the truth, which was that she wanted more. And if he didn’t want that too… well, they were getting on a plane home tomorrow.
Justin watched Ivy from across the room, her strong, curvaceous back almost totally exposed by her black dress.
That dress.Sweet Jesus, that dress wasn’t fair. He shouldn’t be expected to stand in the same room as Ivy when she was in that dress, when all that soft, smooth skin was reflecting the warm candlelight around them. When he couldn’t ghost his fingers from the nape of her neck all the way down her spine the way he desperately wanted to. It wasn’t fair to make him circulate around this party, making polite small talk with everyone who mattered in the New York ballet scene, when all he wanted to do was press Ivy up against the nearest wall and get her out of that dress.
She broke his gaze and turned back to the bar, almost as ifshe’d heard his thoughts. He wouldn’t be surprised if she had; surely his desire for her, his need to be near her, was written all over his face. The thought made him move from where he was standing, rooted to the spot near the entrance to the party—if he stayed there much longer just staring, he’d start attracting attention. He accepted a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and tried to keep his eyes on Ivy even as party guests stopped him to introduce themselves and congratulate him on the run.
For fifteen minutes that felt like an hour, he nodded and smiled graciously. As much as he wanted to grab Ivy’s hand and drag her out of here, he was still on the clock. This was a fancy party, but it was work, and Peter wouldn’t be pleased if Justin neglected his professional obligation to chat and charm these people, so that next time the company came back it would be to an even better reception. Finally, there was a break in conversation, and he excused himself to get another drink.
Instead of heading for the bar, though, he made a beeline for Ivy, who was standing with Alice and Izzy, and Carly Montgomery, who’d been Heather’s maid of honor and had taken class with the company a few times when she visited Sydney.
“Justin!” Carly called over Ivy’s head, and he saw Ivy’s back stiffen. That dress didn’t hide a damn thing. Carly waved him over, and he joined their little circle, standing next to Ivy but avoiding her eyes. Was he imagining it, or could he feel the heat radiating from her body? From all that exposed skin? He willed himself to keep a professional distance between them, even though it was taking all his self-control not to stand close enough to smell her perfume.
Carly gave him a quick hug, then released him. “How’s it going, Rocky?”
“You saw that, did you?” he muttered.
“Everyone saw it,” Carly said with a rueful smile. “But Ithink you danced well enough tonight to make them all forget what they saw.”
“I reckon the surprise finale had something to do with that, too. Congratulations again,” he said, nodding at the happy couple. If Izzy smiled any wider she’d hurt herself.
“Alice and Izzy just told us the best part of this whole plot—even I didn’t know,” Carly said.
Justin looked questioningly at Alice, who rubbed her hands together gleefully. “We’re not flying back with you all tomorrow.”
“You’re staying here for a bit?” Justin asked.
“Better! We’re going to Vegas! We’re getting hitched at the Little White Chapel, with a fake Elvis and everything!”
“That sounds…” Well, it didn’t sound like how he’d want to get married, not that he’d spent much time imagining his own wedding. But it sounded very Alice. “That sounds perfect. Nicely done, Izzy.”
“Well thank you,” Izzy said, in a low, rumbly voice. “Thank you very much.”
Justin laughed as Alice put one hand on her hip, raised the other hand, and swiveled her body in her best Elvis impression.
“To Vegas, baby!” Izzy said in her normal voice, raising her glass and a long drag of champagne, and Carly whooped as she and Ivy lifted their own glasses and clinked them against Izzy’s.
A minute later, Alice and Izzy were deep in conversation with Carly about their plans for Vegas, which led to Alice was explaining her parents would insist on throwing them a “proper” wedding when they got home, and then to Carly commiserating about parents who had strong ideas about how daughters ought to comport themselves. All the while, Justin stood next to Ivy, that foot-and-a-half of professional distance between them. Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. He was happy for Alice and Izzy, and he was proud of the company, butcould not stand here another second next to Ivy Page in her torture dress without putting his hands on her.
He faked a wide yawn. “I think I need to call it a night soon,” he said to her, professional as could be.
She looked up at him, and he didn’t miss the way her eyes swept up and down his body, lingering at his throat, where he hadn’t bothered to put on a tie. Effortlessly chic, Matty had called the look down in the dressing room. One less thing for Ivy to take off chic, Justin had thought.
“It’s a little early to leave still,” Ivy said, glancing around at the other women, and at the gathered ballet luminaries. “You’re really that tired?”
Justin yawned again, wider this time, but still fake. He closed his eyes and really hammed it up. Then he opened them and met Ivy’s gaze.
“No,” he said pointedly.
She bit her lip, understanding dawning, and he smothered a grin.
“Well, if you’re tired, we should get you back to the hotel,” she said briskly. Professionally. “It’s been a long week, and we’ve got a big travel day ahead of us tomorrow.”
“Yes,” Justin agreed, not taking his eyes off her face. “Best if we get an early night.”
