Confused, she gazed at him. Passion smouldered in the backs of his eyes, but the way he stood so still was so controlled. Was that because his emotions were awry? Was that because he didn’t trust himself?
‘Don’t you think I might have wanted to do the same?’ she whispered, unable to hold back even when she knew she ought.
‘I can’t.’ The words were wrenched from him. His sharply drawn breath sliced into her.
‘So you can give me pleasure but you can’t receive it?’ she asked, somehow feeling even more hurt than before. ‘You punish yourself that much?’
A wild look flared in his expression. Her heart thundered but she refused to run; instead she stepped that last inch closer to stand toe to toe with him.
‘That isn’t it,’ he muttered harshly.
‘Then what is it?’ she whispered, all caution lost. ‘You don’t like sex? Or just sex with me?’
She never talked back this way. She worked to keep men at arm’s length, smiling and dancing but maintaining distance in a finely balanced art. But with Antonio she’d lost all that ability. For the first time in her life, she wanted a man to come closer.
He gripped her shoulders, leaning in to answer her. ‘I haven’t had sex in a long time. Thanks to you, it is all I can think of now.’
Satisfaction poured into her. Raw, feminine, sensual satisfaction. ‘Then what stopped you?’
Why had he rejected her so brutally?
He didn’t answer. He just looked at her. They both knew she would have let him do anything. She’d almost begged. And he’d jerked away. That memory burned. She wanted him to burn too.
‘You’re scared you won’t be any good after so long?’ she taunted.
His laugh was short and unamused. ‘Don’t try to provoke me into proving everything to you again. It isn’t necessary.’
He gazed into her eyes, then his focus lowered to her mouth. Her limbs weakened with that languorous feeling. The low ache that had been with her for days now sharpened. She wanted a kiss. Then she wanted complete satisfaction. It was only a millimetre away. One tiny decision.
‘This situation is intolerable,’ he snapped, pulling her flush against his lean, hard frame. ‘We have to—’
‘Bella? Is that you?’
She jumped, stepping back as Antonio released her at the exact same time. A quick glance at him showed sharp cheekbones and a clamped jaw.
Erik, her former ballet partner, stood just to the side of the wings. He was someone she counted as a friend, but he was the biggest gossip in the company. And with him—watching with eagle eyes?
Sebastian. Her blood iced. Of all the creeps she’d met in the world, Sebastian was one of the worst.
‘I thought that was your dress...’ Erik paused as he looked past her and saw who she was with. ‘I’m awfully sorry. Are we interrupting?’
‘Not at all. Ms Sanchez was kind enough to show me the stage on the way to the celebration,’ Antonio answered with his customary quelling reserve, deflecting any suggestion of impropriety by demeanour alone.
For a split second Bella just gazed at him, amazed at his ability to revert to his formal ‘prince’ façade so quickly. And she now realised it was a façade. Why did he need such a remote, cold veneer? Did he never let anyone in?
He glanced at her, and she was shocked again to see that the heat had completely vanished from his eyes. A different expectation was within them now.
‘Crown Prince Antonio, may I introduce you to Erik Lansing? He was the lead dancer tonight.’ Bella obeyed Antonio’s implicit order and acted as if nothing had happened. ‘And this is Sebastian, the company’s artistic director.’
Instinctively she straightened her spine as she faced her old boss. Sebastian had decided which ballerina got which part in each production. He was the man who’d assumed she’d be happy to become his lover, who’d been angered when she’d said no. She’d had to dance better than ever to prove her worth—to make it impossible for him to deny her the parts. But she could never shake that smoke of suspicion and innuendo amongst the other dancers. Sebastian had liked to let that smoke hang in the air, refusing to have it known she’d rejected him.