***
The dancers collected their gear. They were soaked with sweat as they filed out of the studio.
Skye watched them go, smiling and waving even as the sweat dried on her skin. That had been an incredible class. Phenomenal.
I’m going to make it.
The smile wouldn’t leave her face. She needed to call Trace and tell—
Her spine straightened. She would be calling Trace, but not yet.
“Looks like your students are happy.”
She glanced toward the front door. Noah stood there, watching her carefully.
She’d had the door open, and unlocked, all morning.
She wasn’t going to live her life under lock and key, not anymore. The studio had to be open during the day so that her students could come and go as they pleased.
“They are happy.” She flashed her smile once again. “Even though I just worked their asses off.” And her own. Her tights and her leotard clung tightly to her skin.
Noah’s lips stretched in a half-grin. She saw a dimple flash in his left cheek. “Why do I get the feeling you could be a drill sergeant?”
“Because I can be.” When it came to dance, that was her domain. She walked toward him, aware of a faint pull in her lower left calf. The leg had been doing so well lately, but she’d sure pushed hard during the morning class.
Don’t limp.
The old mantra slipped through her mind.
His gaze slid over her body. Lingered a little too long on the expanse of her legs. She shook her head at him. “You know, I am engaged to Trace.”
“Are you? I wasn’t sure, not after that scene yesterday.”
Her lips pursed. “I can be pissed and still love him.”
He edged closer to her. “I envy him.”
“I’m surprised you envy anyone.” Were billionaire bad boys supposed to envy other people?
“He’s always had you, hasn’t he?” Noah glanced away from her. “Do you ever wonder what he’d be like if you weren’t there?”
“He hasn’t always had me.” She picked up a towel. Swiped it over the sweat on the back of her neck. “We were together when we were teens, then apart for a decade. I don’t think that counts as always.” She looked up and found his gaze back on her.
His head was tilted to the right as he studied her. “My mistake.”
Yes, it had been. She sucked in a deep breath. She was furious with Trace, but not with this guy. “I’m sorry, you’ve been nothing but kind to me, and you don’t deserve for me to be snapping at you.”
Surprise flickered over his face.
“What?” She forced a laugh. “I promise, I’m not usually a mega-bitch.”
“I never thought you were.”
Skye wondered just what he had thought. He opened his mouth as if he’d ask her a question, but then his lips clamped together.
Her hands tightened around the towel. “What is it?”
“You knew your parents, right? You didn’t join the system until you were much older.”
She nodded. The system. The trail of foster homes that she’d visited over the years.
Skye pulled on a loose sweatshirt and a pair of jogging shorts. She felt too…exposed talking to Noah in just her leotard and tights.
“I never knew my birth parents.” Anger slipped through his voice. Pain. “I always wondered…where did I come from? Who the hell am I, really?”
Skye tossed aside the towel. She slid off her ballerina slippers and put on her tennis shoes. “When I was a little girl, my mother was amazing. She was the center of my life. We baked cookies. Read stories together at bedtime. Played hide and seek for hours.” The memories were there, warming her heart as they always did. Skye tied her shoe laces and then straightened. “But then she…got sick.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Her mind wasn’t right.” Such simple words to describe the psychotic episodes that had started to plague her mother. “She killed my father one night. They were driving home. People saw them. She was at the wheel. He was trying to grab it, to take control, but she drove them straight to their deaths.”
And they left me alone.
“Christ, I didn’t—”
“I know my past. I know where I came from, and each day, I wonder…is that where I’m going? Will I wind up like her?”
He swore.
“Sometimes, not knowing isn’t so bad.” She said this with a certainty that came from her soul. “When you don’t know, then you can think the best.” She gazed into his eyes. “You were given up because your family wanted you to have a good life. They wanted you to thrive.”
He looked down at his hands. “I did. For the first thirteen years, my adoptive parents were my world.”
The first thirteen…“What happened?”
“They loved to sail.” His breath blew out slowly. “Their boat sank when a storm came up. The winds were so strong. I tried to save them, but I just wasn’t strong enough.”
Her stomach clenched. He’d watched them die.