Page 46 of Wounded Dance
Ted stands up from the stool. “No prob.” He shakes Blitz’s hand. “Let me know if you need me again.”
“Will do.” Blitz’s face flashes dark for a moment. “Will definitely do.”
Ted heads to the elevator, and Blitz and I walk toward our suite.
“Something’s wrong,” I say. “Why do you think you’ll need Ted again? Do you have to go back to LA?”
Blitz opens our door. “We’re going to be doing some publicity stuff for the DVD release,” he says. “I just think a few extra eyes will be good.”
“You said ‘we’ just now,” I say. “You mean both of us?” My belly quakes. I can’t imagine being out in public with reporters or even strangers with cell phones, recording an outburst with Denham. I was lucky today. It was still relatively secret.
“I’m trying to work things out still,” Blitz says. “The lawyers can sort it.” He perches against the back of the sofa and draws me to him. “Meanwhile, I haven’t seen you in two whole days.”
His lips press into the sensitive skin below my ear, and my anxiety begins to drift away. By the time he has his mouth fully on mine, I’ve let go of the afternoon. I’ve missed him, desperately, and now I can sink back into his attention.
“I love you in pale blue,” Blitz whispers into my ear, tugging the neckline of the stretchy leotard until it bares my shoulder. “Although I think I like you out of it even better.”
My body warms to his hot kisses along my collarbone. He pulls both shoulders of the leotard down and pulls my arms out, first one, then the other.
“I’m going to kiss every part of you,” he says, baring my body, inch by inch. The leotard slides to my waist. He takes both breasts in his hands and his mouth trails down to take a nipple in his mouth. “I missed these,” he says.
I wrap my arms around his neck, eyes closed, reveling in the feel of Blitz. His hair tickles my skin, and I catch the smell of him that is so familiar, pine and leather.
He removes the black vest as he works, kicking off his shoes. Then he kneels in front of me, reaching down for the Crocs I wear to the studio before I change into ballet slippers. He eases them off.
His hands grasp the leotard, which is at my waist now, and jerk everything down, tights and all. For a moment I’m bound at the knees, but Blitz lifts my leg to tug one side the rest of the way down.
Before he reaches for the other, though, he takes advantage of my parted thighs to bury his face there. His tongue slides along me, and I have to clutch the back of the sofa to keep my balance.
“Mmm,” he says. “There’s no place like home.”
He pulls the tights off my other leg and stands up. “Now I’ve got you where I want you.”
He lifts me up into his arms. “To the bedroom with us.”
His footsteps are silent as we move from the living room to the bed. He nudges aside the sheer drapes that surround it, and slides me onto the mattress. I watch him as he slides off his pants, shirt, and boxers.
Then he crawls between the silks over to me. “Think the bartender out there is tired of hearing you cry out?” he asks.
“I think the walls are pretty thick,” I say.
“Mmm,” he says. “Let’s test them.”
And as his mouth works back down my body, he does exactly that.
Chapter 18
It’s a relief to have Blitz back. The weekend means no dance classes, but Blitz decides we should dance somewhere other than Dreamcatcher on the days we don’t have Gabriella to see.
His manager’s assistant sends profile after profile of ballet instructors in San Antonio, plus others willing to travel. We sit cross-legged on the bed with his computer, reading over the qualifications of the teachers, but my heart isn’t really in it.
“This one could teach us ballet lifts,” Blitz says, turning the screen to me.
“We’ve been wanting to do that,” I say absently.
Blitz shuts the lid of the laptop. “Come here, baby,” he says. “This has been the worst week, hasn’t it?”
He pulls me into his arms, and we lie side by side on the enormous bed. Morning is long past, but we haven’t gone anywhere, just soaking in each other’s presence, lounging in soft thick robes and eating room service.
