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My heart began to beat like a drum, loud and wild in my chest and excitement danced through me as my anger towards him calling me, ebbed away.
Don’t do this Raine. Say No.
“Max is in court today he said he’d be late home. So yes, yes I’m free.” I heard my mouth say as it blatantly betrayed my subconscious thoughts.
“Excellent. I’ll meet you at the end of your road in half an hour?”
“How do you know where I live?” I asked like a moron. I slapped my palm to my forehead and shook my head at my stupidity.
“The enrollment form,” he whispered like it was a big secret. He laughed again causing my lips to curl in, to smile.
“Are we going to the studio?” I asked, mentally trying to remember to make sure I took everything I’d need.
“No, Raine. Let’s just say this will be a more hands-on learning experience for you,” he said cryptically, which only left me with more questions forming on my tongue.
“I suggest you wear something loose and flowing. Something that’s not going to restrict you,” he said before I could interject with another question.
I let out a small burst of breath. “Where are we going?” I asked meekly. I pushed my back up against the wall and sighed.
“It’s a surprise, but I will tell you this,” he started, then paused dramatically for several seconds leaving me hanging with baited breath for him to finish. “Make sure you take a Valium before you leave, you are definitely going to need it,” he finished.
I felt my body ignite in a ball of heat, just like molten lava. I tried to process his words and the meaning behind them, as my pulse rate soared. I felt like I was on the slippery slope to a heart attack while my blood swirled loudly in my ears. Before I could ask him what he meant, I caught the disconnection tone in my ear.
I pulled the phone from my ear and stared at it, as I tried to calm down my heart rate.
“This is dangerous, I can’t do it,” I muttered. I returned the handset back to its cradle. I’m a married woman, I’m not single. I shouldn’t be excited at the prospect of spending time with another man. With Nikoli. The dangerous dancer.
Closing my eyes, I took a deep inhalation of breath through my nostrils and blew it out through puckered lips, repeatedly. When I felt my body temperature cool down, and my heart slowed to a more even pace, I opened my eyes.
“Fuck it!” I muttered and raced towards my wardrobe to find something that may or may not fit in with Nikoli’s breadcrumb of a description.
CHAPTER TEN.
I walked gingerly down the road not knowing what the next few hours with Nikoli was going to bring, but despite the nagging doubts pecking away at the back of my brain, reminding me this wasn’t a good idea, a part of me was excited to find out what lay ahead.
A black car up ahead swung open its driver’s door and Nikoli’s gorgeous face poked out. “You came then?” He flashed me that lopsided grin, the one that I was finding harder not to reciprocate with a smile of my own.
“I can’t stay out long, a couple of hours, then I have to go home,” I made a point of telling him as I climbed in the seat next to him.
“Don’t worry, Cinders, I’ll make sure you’re home before he gets back,” he replied. He started up the car and pulled away.
The notes of sandalwood and citrus hit my nostrils from the scent of his cologne and I felt myself slowly relax as it wrapped itself around me in a comforting way. “Where are you taking me?” I asked, quietly gazing out of the window at the world passing me by.
“You’ll find out soon, patience is a virtue, Myshka,” he replied.
I snorted and turned to look at him. “You know, I’m not a little mouse so you can quit with the Myshka name,” I said sternly.
He briefly glanced at me and cocked an eyebrow, “You’re not? Could have fooled me,” he replied with a shrug. “The first time I met you, you were trying to scurry away from the studio, like a little mouse. You’re nervous over everything, like a little mouse, and when you’re embarrassed your voice squeaks like a little mouse,” he replied.
I playfully slapped his arm, “I do not squeak!”
He laughed and nodded his head, a few of his dark threads of hair fell forward and I had to curl my hand into a balled fist to prevent myself from reaching out and pushing them back. “Oh, Raine. Yes, you do squeak.”
“Whatever.” I pouted as I folded my arms across my chest. “So, you’re Russian then? You know, your name, the term Myshka?” I asked trying to deflect my embarrassment via interrogation tactics.
He nodded. “Petra and I originate from the city Nizhny Novgorod, it’s roughly 400 kilometers from Moscow. It’s a beautiful place and these days it is the main center of river tourism in Russia. We left there ten years ago to come here,” he said.
“Really? Why?” I asked intrigued.
