The Dance Off

A cab pulled up at the kerb ahead, letting out a passenger. Her feet stalled to a halt, her knees twitching, her teeth clamping down on her lip.

Then before she knew it she was running up to the driver, asking if he was free to do a drop-off in Brighton, and was in the back seat and away. It felt like less than a minute before she was out of the cab and walking up to Ryder’s stunning split-level near the beach.

Her hair was damp from the rain. Goose bumps tightened her skin to the point of pain. Her heart knocked hard and heavy against her ribs, opening them up with each beat until she felt as if she were completely exposed. Then, as if she were a magnet and Ryder the centre of the earth, she lifted a hand and knocked.

Blood pumping so hard she could barely hear the traffic and waves and thrash of the wind as the drizzle whipped up into a late summer storm, Nadia waited. The ground tilting out from under her as she realised he might not even be home. And worse, if he was, the second he opened the door and saw her there, he’d know—

“Nadia?” Ryder said, surprise lighting his voice as he did just that.

He was decked out in old jeans that had clearly seen a worksite or two and a black shirt untucked with the sleeves rolled up. His hair was mussed and his jaw unshaven. And he looked so beautiful, so strong, so vital Nadia’s thumping heart leapt right into her throat and stayed there.

Her mouth opened but nothing came out. What could she possibly say? The truth? That her last few days were a fog? That her feet had just brought her there? That her mini emotional breakdown was still very much in force? Either that or she was falling in love for the first time in her life and that she was terrified she’d spend the rest of her life aching without him.

But she’d never had a relationship that didn’t end. Had never had anyone in her life who’d stuck around. Not when she’d asked, not when she’d enticed. Not when she’d out and out begged.

Give a damn and they’ll eat you alive.

Which was how she summoned the remaining echoes of a lifetime of feigned ambivalence, ducked a hip against the doorjamb and looked up at him beneath her lashes. “It’s Tuesday night. And for the first time in for ever I have no plans. You?”

He stood there, a wall of strength and quiet, saying nothing. And a flood of mortification flowed thick and fast through her. Oh, God, she was really alone in this, wasn’t she? The only one feeling at a loss. Like every other time she’d dared to reach out to someone in her life. She took a step backward—

Ryder’s hand clamped over her wrist, and he pulled her to him, and his lips were on hers, her hands in his hair, not an ounce of dying daylight between them as he walked her inside.

He slammed the door shut with his foot before he was all over her again. Ridding her of her bag, her scarf, her jacket. Flicking her hair out of the way to get to her neck.

She leant into him with a sigh, sensation pummelling her; her hair was everywhere, her skin already slicked with sweat. Too much feeling shooting through her to slow it down before it consumed her.

Not that Ryder gave her a chance. With a growl he found a wall and pressed her up against it. And their clothes were gone, skin on skin, his heat filling her up, the light inside her so bright it spilled over in her sighs, her moans, the damp gathering at the corners of her eyes.

And then he was inside her and Nadia spiralled so far down the rabbit hole there was nothing but the deepest delectation and absolute relief.

* * *

Ryder held the mobile phone tight in his hand, not sure how long he’d been sitting up in his bed staring at the screen. Seconds probably, considering it had yet to hibernate to black, and yet it felt like for ever.

“Ryder?” Nadia’s sleepy voice murmured from beside him, just before she snuggled her face into his hip, her arm curling possessively about his thigh. “Was that my phone?”

Ryder gripped the thing a moment longer, stalling, stretching time, before he accepted time had run out. “It rang. I didn’t get to it in time.”

Nadia dragged herself to sitting, bringing his sheet with her. Knees to her chest, she swept the messy mass of her hair from a face soft with sleep and swiped a thumb over the screen. She got halfway through a yawn before she saw the name that had stopped his heart.

Wide awake now, her eyes shot to his. Even in the soft wash of moonlight he saw how big they were. And how damned excited. “I was expecting an email. They said they’d email.” She swept her hair from her eyes again; this time her movements were quick, breathless. “I’m sorry. I have to—”

“Go ahead,” he said, leaning back against his pillow with his arms propped behind his head, like a man with not a care in the world. When truthfully, his insides were coiled so tight that his lungs struggled to fill.