Waking Kiss (BDSM Ballet 1)

But after the performances, I had to go home. Bang, bang, bang, bang.

I didn’t know if it was the bed that kept Liam Wilder on my mind or if I was just cursed to never forget him. I stopped mid-bang, running my fingers over the gathers of satin under the toe. My memories of him were so vivid, I could practically smell the scent of his cologne.

I lifted the shoe to bang it again but then I sensed someone behind me. I whipped around, preparing to scream. A hand clamped over my mouth as I stared into wide amber eyes.

I’m not proud of it, but I clocked him on the side of the head with the shoe. Hard. He let go of my mouth to rub the spot.

“Jesus, Ash. Hello to you too.”

He was dressed for the theater in a tailored charcoal coat and navy blue tie, his hair cinched back in a loose ponytail. He looked amazing.

“You gave me a heart attack,” I said, trying to hide my physical reaction to his hotness. “Why are you here?”

“I heard banging. I thought someone was being beaten to death.”

I twisted the satin ribbons around my fingers. He was smiling, teasing. Beautiful. All I could think of was the way we’d left things, my abrupt meltdown and the fact that I hadn’t called him in all this time. “I’m working on my shoes,” I said. “Did you come to see Rubio dance?”

“Not Rubio. This pretty ballerina I know.” He advanced a step for every step I retreated. “How have you been, Ashleigh?”

I crossed my arms over my chest as he stalked me into the corner by the costume racks. “I’ve been really busy. I’m— I— I have classes, and sews to shoe—I mean, shoes to sew— and…spring rehearsals, and…a lot of dance stuff.”

“A lot of dance stuff, huh?”

I considered running away from him, but what was he doing to me? Just talking in a soft, friendly voice. Handsoming me to death. A lock of hair had escaped his ponytail and curled over the shoulders of his expertly fitted suit. The quality of the garment reminded me of the sheets he’d bought, the sheets I’d slept on for weeks now.

“Uh, thanks,” I said, flushing. “Thank you for the bed.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t call and thank you before now. I lost your number.” I took another step back, squelching the urge to hide behind a row of tulle skirts hanging to the right of me. “The bed’s so beautiful, but…you know…you didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to.” He gave me an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry I broke into your place to deliver it. I wanted to surprise you.”

“You definitely surprised me.” Yes, and broke the goddamn law. I looked up at him from under my lashes. “If you did it because you felt guilty about that night—”

“It was a gift. It had nothing to do with anything except me wanting to give you a bed without any devils under it.”

His words were easy and affectionate, but the memories were killing me. “I can’t sleep with you,” I blurted out. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

“You don’t have to sleep with me.”

“But the bed—”

“Was a gift.”

“If you want to take it back, that’s okay. I’ll understand. You should give it to someone else. A woman…who’s…you know, really sexy and deserving and—”

“Tell me about your life in Cowskull.”

His words hit me like a backhand slap. I decided to pretend I hadn’t heard them. “Well, I’m pretty busy,” I said, looking past him. “I should get back to my shoes.”

“Your shoes can wait a minute.” He leaned down until I met his concerned gaze. “I have to assume something really bad happened to you.”

I stared at him. “How do you know about Cowskull?”

“It took about thirty seconds to do an Internet search for East Wyoming, cattle ranches, and Keaton. Your father’s a piece of work, by the way. Monopolizing land, forcing bankruptcies—”

“I don’t give a fuck about my father.” I shot a wild look at the door as he boxed me further into the corner. “Why are you spying on me? You don’t have anything better to do?”

“I have lots of better things to do, but I worried after I left your apartment. I’ve been worrying for a while now.”

“Why is it any of your business?”

“Because I think someone hurt you,” he said, reaching out to steady me. “I think it was your father. I don’t want to upset you, but—”

“It doesn’t matter anymore, any of that stuff. I’ve moved past it, way past it, and I hate that you—” I caught my breath and pushed away from him. “I hate that you’re throwing all this in my face.”

He followed me to the other side of the room, cutting me off at the door. “I’m not throwing anything in your face. I’m angry for you. I want to help you, if there’s anything I can do.”

I backed away from him, throwing up my hands. “Help me? How could you possibly help me?”

“I could arrange for your father to die in an ‘accident.’” He emphasized the air quotes. “I’m thinking a bull stampede would be sufficiently gory and painful.”

I couldn’t tell if he was serious. Part of me wanted him to be serious but another part of me couldn’t believe he’d pried into my private history. I felt exposed, and I hated feeling exposed.

“None of this is your fucking business.” My voice wavered so I didn’t sound as assertive as I’d hoped. “I don’t want your help. I don’t want your concern. I didn’t even want your goddamn bed and now I’m stuck with it.”

“Ashleigh—”

I brushed off his hand and slipped past him to get my bag. “Just, please…leave me alone. That’s the best way to help me.” The more he stared at me with his pitying, sensitive look the more livid I felt. Before I could duck out the door, he stepped in front of me, blocking my way.

“Have you thought about bringing charges against him? Or, I don’t know? Confronting him and—”

“What? Doing whatever it takes to get past it so we can eventually have sex? So you can get what you want? It’s not happening.”

“This isn’t about what I want. It’s about this pain you’re living with.”

He was so beautiful. So disgustingly beautiful. I stood there, frozen, rigid, unable to reach out to him even though I wanted to.

“It’s not fair for you to carry all this around,” he said quietly. “It’s not.”

“I don’t carry anything around. I’ve done counseling and all that shit. I’m fine this way. I avoid sex by choice.”

“Choice? Is that what it was when you ran to the bathroom to throw up? Are you really happy?”

Was I really happy? What a nasty fucking question to ask someone like me. I shoved against the hard planes of his stomach. “Leave me alone. Stay out of my life and stop spying on me and looking at me like that. I won’t fuck you, ever.” I punctuated each word with another shove against the wall of his chest. When I tried to cut around him to make my escape, my feet got tangled in his. We fell to the floor and he landed so hard on top of me that I lost my breath.

No, not this again. Not Cowskull and struggling and sickening force and fear twisting in my stomach. I kicked at him and beat on his shoulders. He was talking, trying to calm me, but I didn’t hear anything. I needed him off me. “I hate you. I hate you,” I shrieked, finally managing to squirm from under him.

I shot to my feet, shouldered my bag and raced out the dressing room door. I ran down the hall and he trailed after me, step for step. I wasn’t running from him, not really. I was running from myself, from daddy and all the scary things he did to me. The backstage was empty, the studios dark, and I felt like a little girl again, one step ahead of the devil.

“Leave me alone!” I screamed over my shoulder.

“Ashleigh, stop.”

“Go away! Go!” I was rapidly falling apart. He reached for my arm.

“Please—I’m worried about you. You’re distraught.”

“Because of you. You brought everything back,” I yelled, t

urning to glare at him. “With your rose and your kisses, and your spying and your questions.” I swung my bag at him. “I don’t want you around me. I want you to leave me alone!”

He ducked back, holding out his hands. “I’ll leave you alone, I swear. I’m only worried now about how you’re getting home.”

“I’ll take her home.”

We both turned at the sound of the deep, accent-tinged voice. Rubio stood in the hallway behind us, a towel slung over his shoulder. “You go,” he said to Liam. He looked at me, his expression strangely cloaked. “You, wait in the studio.”

Rubio frightened me almost as much as Liam, standing there in the hallway in ragged sweats, a mere human rather than a god. They both terrified me, but at the moment Rubio seemed the lesser risk. I turned and took off, hugging my bag against me. I could hear them talking in low, sharp voices as I hurried toward the lighted room at the end of the corridor.

I stopped inside the door of the studio, trying to calm my thoughts as well as my racing heart. I felt attacked, ambushed. Liam knew too much about me, too many shameful secrets. He said he wanted to help me, but didn’t he realize he was ripping open old scars?

After a few minutes I heard the door to the street slam, heard Rubio’s steps echoing down the hall as he returned. We hadn’t been face-to-face since our dance debacle and the party afterward. I waited for a sneer, for derision, but none came. He held out a hand that didn’t quite touch me, and studied me with his dark eyes.