‘Why not sit here to have your dinner?’ he asked casually. ‘You can’t sit at your table up there with all that furniture and crap crammed around it. Have it down here. I promise I won’t bite.’ It was more a dare than an invitation.
She didn’t answer immediately. Interesting how at ease she was with him when they were physical, and how uncomfortable she was at the thought of spending more simple, sexfree time with him. Was she actually shy? That didn’t make sense when she’d been nothing but smart’n’sassy and strong from word go. Assertive beyond belief. He thought about it more carefully—about how she’d hung on the edge of the group of dancers at the after-practice drinks, how she’d hidden in the dark instead of confiding to anyone about her nerves before the game, how she lived behind a giant hedge no one would be mad enough to fight through.
Suddenly, the idea of her being shy made more sense than anything.
‘I’m nearly done anyway.’ He tried to make it easier for her.
She shrugged. ‘I have to get the rest of it.’
‘So go get it,’ he said, as if he didn’t care. Wished he didn’t care half as much as he feared he could.
Three minutes later she perched on the edge of the seat opposite his, her plate full of rabbit food. No wonder she was so slim. He kept the conversation light. Stadium-related stories mostly, until she warmed up and laughed. Until she started talking back. Topping some of his tales with mad-old-lady shopping tales of her own. Turned out her day job was at the gift store at the corner shops, a store no one from their generation would ordinarily enter. He couldn’t understand why she worked there—if she wanted to work in retail, why not some high-dollar fashion place? She had the physique to wear those expensive, slinky numbers and have all the customers desperate to look just like her. That was just one of several things he was biding his time to ask her. But for now, he just talked—nothing too personal or too heavy, but enough to entertain and keep her there until it was late and dark and the bedroom beckoned.
In his big bed in her old room, Roxie stretched. It really was time for her to slope across the garden and curl up on her own hard, narrow stretcher that reminded her of reality. But Gabe’s big arms encircled her. He lifted her, repositioning her so his chest was her pillow, his hand worked through her hair and he rubbed the base of her skull. She let it happen—it felt too good to pull from. Just a few more minutes. No harm would come from that little bit of closeness—right?
‘Why haven’t you gone travelling sooner?’ he asked lazily.
‘I needed to get this place ready.’ The repairs after the earthquake had cost money that had taken her a long time to earn.
‘But you’ve never got round to trimming the hedge?’
She laughed gently. ‘No. At first it was just because I was too busy to get to it. Then I noticed it kept people out. I liked that, keeping my privacy.’
She felt the vibrations in his chest as he chuckled with her—it made for a wonderfully relaxing kind of massage.
‘So what are you going to do once the champagne runs out?’ he asked. ‘Is there a new list or are you just going to travel indefinitely?’
She breathed in deep and sighed as she answered. ‘There’s a new list. I’ll have to find some champagne over there.’ There had to be a new list—her life would just be beginning over there, right? The start of her freedom.
‘Where’s there? What’s first on the list?’
She smiled up at the ceiling as she thought about it. ‘You’re going to think it’s lame.’
‘No, I won’t.’
Oh, he so would. ‘I want to go to the ballet in London.’
‘The ballet? That’s number one?’
She chuckled. Yeah, he wasn’t that wowed. ‘Don’t knock it. I studied for thirteen years, started when I was three. I’ve been dreaming of going there for ever.’
‘If you loved it so much why’d you give up?’ He firmly slid his hand down her back, pulled her lax body even closer. ‘You couldn’t afford classes any more?’
‘Actually my teacher offered to waive the fees, but it was the time more than the money. There were other things I had to do.’ Her grandmother had just had the stroke; her grandfather had needed help caring for her.
There was a small silence, as if he was waiting for her to say something more. Which she didn’t.
‘So the ballet—in London?’ he finally prompted—with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.
‘Yeah, the Royal Ballet at Covent Garden. To see one of the classics. Not your thing, huh?’
She felt his laughter again. ‘All those blokes leaping about in tights and no one saying anything? Nah.’
She nudged his thigh with her knee and teased. ‘I knew you were going to comment about the tights. Why do guys always feel so threatened by them? Hell, the rugby players wear almost as little—their shirts are skintight.’
‘Well, it’s not just the men I’m not so keen on. All the girls are bony. They’ve got no shape, no boobs, where’s the attraction in watching them? They’re not exactly sexy.’
Roxie sat up indignantly and twisted to see his face in the moonlight. ‘You don’t like skinny dancers? Then why have you dated so many?’
‘Not that many.’ He went on instant defence. ‘And I didn’t date them because they were dancers—it was just that they were who I happened to meet.’
Oh, so it was a circumstantial thing, not that dancer girls were his ‘type’? She was fairly surprised—and surprisingly miffed. ‘So you don’t like the ballerina body?’
He paused, a grin suddenly flaring, and he reached up to pull her back to him. ‘I think you know how I feel about your body, Roxie.’
Yeah, that wasn’t good enough. She resisted his tug closer and waited, fingers tapping on his chest.
‘It’s not just beautiful.’ His grin widened as he unashamedly back-pedalled. ‘It’s the way you move. You know what you’re doing, but it’s like its unconscious at the same time. Total natural grace and not like anyone else I’ve met. Ever.’
‘You need to keep the compliments coming because I’m still feeling insecure about the no-boobs bit.’
He laughed harder; she felt his body harden too. ‘You do great in that department.’
‘With my booster bra.’
‘I like them best with no bra, as well you know.’ He slid a broad, warm palm up over her stomach, towards her ribcage, as if to prove it. ‘In fact, you’d be fantastic at burlesque,’ he teased. ‘You know, with those nipple tassles?’
‘Oh, you would know all about nipple tassles,’ she huffed, twisting away to leave him.
Except he grabbed her so she couldn’t, pulling her back and rolling so he had her pinned, oh, so pleasurably. Admittedly she didn’t put up too much of a fight.
‘You want to dance full time?’ His mouth hovered above where he wanted those damn tassles.
‘When I was a kid I did,’ she answered breathlessly, getting distracted by what his tongue was now doing. ‘Reality is, not many people can make a viable living as a dancer. Even if you can it’s not for long—you’re arthritic at thirty. That’s why scoring the gig with the Blades was such a thrill—even for just a short time I’m a pro.’
‘You shouldn’t settle for only a short time. Why not go the whole hog?’
‘It’s too late for classical,’ she moaned. ‘I’m over the hill already.’
His grunt of laughter was muffled against her breast and his fingers teased further south. ‘There are other forms of dance.’
‘I’m sorry to disappoint you, Gabe,’ she panted. ‘But I don’t think burlesque is for me.’
He flexed, teasing her more exquisitely. ‘You could teach or make up the Blades’ routines or have your own shop—you like retail, right? Why not dance gear?’
She actually quite liked that idea. Having a retail space with a studio above it to teach or something. ‘I used to love going to the ballet shop and looking at the costumes.’
‘You love a costume, Roxie?
’
‘You bet I do.’ Yeah, she had a soft spot for sequins and Lycra.