Sophie isn't the kind of woman who wastes time, and she isn't the kind who spends months talking to men either, not if it doesn't mean a damn thing. She's hurt because I matter to her.
It's driving me nuts that she didn't finish that sentence before she leaped off the lift. Was she going to say she was falling for me?
Christ, I hope so.
"You have to practice with me in the morning."
I blink at her. "What?"
"Since you think being a ballerina is so easy, you get to practice with me in the morning," she says. "Leotard and all."
Jesus Christ.
"They don't even make leotards to fit me, Sophie."
"Oh, but they do."
I should tell her no. I know damn well I should, because I know her well enough by now to know this is not going to be that simple. There will be pain and suffering involved far beyond a damn leotard. She's going to make me pay for that goddamn article until I regret every word of it.
But if I refuse, I'm basically proving to her that I'm not willing to fight for her…and that's not something I'm willing to do. If she wants to parade me around in a fucking leotard until she's convinced I'm sorry, fuck it. I'll play her game.
My masculinity isn't that fragile. It can handle a few hours of humiliation at her hands. But I want something, too.
"Fine, but I get a prize since you cheated your way to first place."
She narrows her eyes at me. "What do you want?"
"I want you to have dinner with me tonight, just the two of us," I murmur, my voice soft. "It doesn't have to be anything more than that, but I want one date, ballerina."
"And then you'll practice with me tomorrow?" she asks, her steps slowing as we pass the lifts.
"That's the deal."
"Fine." She squints up at me, her lips pursed. "But if you think I'm sleeping with you just because you buy me dinner, you're wrong, Captain."
"You won't be sleeping with me because I buy you dinner, Sophie," I say, leaning in so only she hears me. "When you decide to sleep with me, it won't be because I bought you a steak. It'll be because you ache so fucking bad for just the thought of my cock that you can't stand not having me inside you. It'll be because you need me to make you come more than you need to breathe, ballerina."
Her body sways toward mine, and I groan, desperate to kiss her again right here and now. But I don't. Instead, I step back,trying to be patient. She doesn't fully trust me yet. I need to prove that she can.
And then I can fuck her sideways.
"You ready to ski again?" I ask.
"Hell no," she groans. "I hate skiing."
"Then why…" I trail off, shaking my head. "Never mind. I'm not even going to ask." I'm pretty sure the answer will only stress me out anyway.
"You bet me," she says with a shrug. "I have older brothers, Harlan. I never turn down a bet."
I was right. That answer does stress me out. Jesus Christ.
"You're terrifying," I say, not even joking a little bit.
"Thank you," she says, proud of herself.
I shake my head, chuckling.
A few feet beyond the lifts, Sidney is dusting snow off Hattie, who looks like she wiped out all the way down the mountain. But her face is lit up like a damn Christmas tree, though.
