The Dance Off

His eyes ran all the way up the heavy-duty wire wrapped about and bolted to the beams above. Architecturally inventive as he was, he was pretty sure he’d never look at a beam the same way again.

“You look a little freaked, my friend.”

Ryder flicked a glance to Nadia to find her watching him, her arms folded over her chest. Defensive. And comprehension began to trickle down his spine. So this was how she was going to play it after their afternoon together. His little dance teacher was throwing down the gauntlet.

Schooling his features into the very definition of impassive, Ryder offered up a half-smile. “Dare I ask what it’s all for?”

Nadia cocked a hip, all insouciance and grace. It was a heady combination. Especially since he now knew the curve of that hip, knew the taste of that dewy skin, the skill of that lush mouth, the light that shone from those guarded eyes when she was laid bare.

“How about I show you instead?” With that she unhooked her skirt, and nudged off her shoes, leaving her in the long-sleeved top, black bikini bottoms and fishnets. Holy hell.

With practised ease she slid fingerless leather gloves over her palms, snapping studs behind her wrists with an audible click that he felt right in his groin. A small voice inside his head told him to Run! A louder voice told him to stay the hell where he was, as he might just have found paradise.

With a few quick stretches, she breathed in, then out, ran the soles of her feet over a towel on the floor, stretched out her fingers, steadied her breath. Then she positioned herself beneath the ropes, taking care as she curled them about her wrists, tugging to—he hoped—check the tension. Then, with a quick glance over her shoulder, she said, “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

Her first smile, a glimmer of light in her eyes, she then lifted her feet off the ground and with deft rolls of her arms and flicks of rope behind her knees seemed to float up into the sky.

He’d been fully aware of the grace of her every movement before that moment. He’d danced at her side and in her arms. He’d been inside her and around her and beneath her and above, and been bewitched by the knowledge and control she had over her beautiful body.

But as she turned herself into and out of the grip of the shiny black rope, stopping only for her strong, lithe body to make the most insanely beautiful shapes, all he could think was: upside down and inside out.

No music rent the air as she continued her hypnotic routine; the only sounds the hot summer wind whipping against the window, the swish of the ropes as Nadia tumbled through the air, and the thunder of his heart as he stopped himself time and again from reaching out when he thought she might fall.

But she never even came close.

She knew exactly what she was doing.

She was a wonder.

And then she was falling, plummeting, the rope unwinding from around her.

Fear hurled into Ryder’s throat, until she planted a foot on the floor; her ponytail swishing across her neck as her body came to a halt. Her chest rising and falling. Tousled hair matted to her neck with perspiration. Eyes burning into his as if daring him to even try to think himself worthy of such a creature.

But for the first time in his life Ryder didn’t give a flying hoot if he was worthy. He was a mass of pure instinct. Of need and fear and hunger; all of it primal, uncoiling from deep down inside, reaching out with perfect aim.

Nadia twirled her hands back into the rope till her arms were stretched up straight. “What did you think?”

As if she weren’t fully aware blood was pumping so hard and fast through Ryder’s body he could barely think at all. “If that’s part two of the routine I’ve been sent here to learn,” he said, his rough voice echoing across the huge space, “then Sam can think again.”

Surprise flared in her dark eyes before Nadia laughed, the sound soft, husky.

Her fingers flexed, as if she was about to let go. But Ryder shook his head, infinitesimally, little more than a private wish. Then, after a long hot thick moment in which Ryder’s blood rushed like a river between his ears, she instead rolled the rope higher, trapping her hands further, the stretch revealing a sliver of skin between her top and pants.

When she tilted her chin, she might as well have said, Come and get it. He didn’t need to be asked twice.

Three long strides ate up the distance between them and then his hands were on her cheeks, his mouth on hers. The ropes swung her away from him, but he followed, ravenous, already pushed beyond the edge of reason.

His kisses moved to her neck, her throat, and then he was on his knees, not caring what the dust and old floorboards would do to his suit trousers. He had a million suits. There was only one Nadia, strapped up for his pleasure. And hers.