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Surprised by her gall, I turn toward her once again and find anger in her expression.
“Anya is a good person,” she says. “Don’t hurt her.”
She doesn’t wait for my response, and in truth, I’m not sure what I would say. An unbidden twinge of guilt twists my gut. Shoving the emotions down, I turn to follow Whitney from the room and head down the hall toward the smaller dance studios.
I know it’s Anya as soon as I spot her lithe form through the small window in the door, and I open it without knocking. An intriguing musical score greets me, an intricate combination of classical music and a more modern beat. The tune is both haunting and powerful, catching my interest immediately.
Anya twirls across the floor as the music crescendos, her legs twining, seeming to meld into one limb as she spins faster and faster. Her arms shift in a mesmerizing flow that holds my attention. Suddenly, one of her legs shoots back, halting her progress across the floor as she dips her body low, her legs splitting so one foot arcs up toward the ceiling. At the same moment, the beat drops, and my heart stops, affected by the perfectly timed choreography.
Only then do I notice the tall blond dancer who steps forward to capture her ankle in his grasp, as if to make her freeze all motion. He looks younger than her last partner, more gangly than muscled, and almost as tall as I am. He seems like the kind of guy who might spend nights playing Call of Duty with his friends and go home every Sunday for lunch with his mom. But that doesn’t stop the burning jealousy from ripping through me as his hand forces Anya back into motion, her leg swinging back down until she’s tipping backward, falling into his arms as her legs form a gracefully angular pose.
“The fuck?” I demand as they pause there. The guy’s face turned to look longingly down at Anya as her own gaze turns toward the floor.
“Nicolo!” Anya gasps, her face paling as her eyes find mine.
The music continues to blare from the speakers as her partner rights her in an instant and steps back, like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
“What are you doing here?” she asks breathlessly as she rushes to turn off the music.
“I could ask you the same thing,” I say, eyeing her partner with dislike.
“We’re practicing.” Anya’s tone is defensive as she turns to face me once more, the frustration evident in her expression. “This is Robbie. He’s my new partner, who’s helping me out with the winter showcase since Fin won’t be back before the end of the semester.”
A hint of accusation lingers there, and I know she’s thinking about how I’m the reason she has a new partner.
“Nice to meet you, Robbie. Now get the fuck out,” I say flatly.
Robbie jumps into motion, doing as I say without a moment’s hesitation, and he’s out the door in several long strides. Anya’s gaze doesn’t waver from mine as he disappears into the hall, and I can tell she’s pissed. Her lips are pressed into a thin white line, and her arms tense as her hands ball into fists.
“What is wrong with you?” she explodes as soon as we’re alone. “You can’t keep chasing away my partners! I have to dance with someone, Nicolo.”
“I don’t see why.” I stride closer until we’re face to face.
“If you won’t let me dance with anyone else, do you plan on being my dance partner then?” She closes the rest of the distance to glare up at me with such intense fury I feel as though she might spark a fire between us.
I scoff. The thought of me donning a pair of tights to dance with her is so utterly ridiculous I can’t help but find it humorous. “Why don’t you dance alone?”
“Because that’s not the requirement. We’re supposed to have a choreographedduet,” she snaps. “And just because you decided to go all Al Capone on my last partner doesn’t mean I can just up and change my piece to a solo act!”
Anya’s trembling with rage, and yet, I’ve never wanted to fuck her more.
“I think you can,” I murmur, brushing a stray golden curl back from her temple and tucking it behind her ear. “In fact, I want you to prove it.” Tracing her jawline with the pad of my thumb, I make my way toward her chin and gently stroke across her full pink lips.
Anya swallows visibly, her sky-colored eyes dilating in response, and my cock stiffens, knowing I can turn her on with just one touch.
“Come on, little bird. Dance for me,” I say, stepping back toward the speaker her phone is plugged into so I can start the music once again. I make the track roll from the beginning, then I turn to Anya, crossing my arms over my chest as I scrutinize her closely.
Anya hesitates, still standing in the same spot where I left her. As the first tones of the violin filter into the room, Anya bites her lip, but she doesn’t move.
“Dance, Anya,” I command more assertively.
Anya flinches, my order seeming to bring her out of her frozen stance. Obeying, she takes her position, holding her pose for the brief symphonic introduction. And when the first pulsing tones of the contemporary beat fill the air, they bring her body to life.
Bending and twisting, Anya brings shape to the deeply melancholic tune overlaid with bursts of a violin. While the song has a steady rhythm and an unmistakable pulsing beat, Anya’s fluid movements, her graceful arcs and twirls, refine it, transforming it into a masterpiece.
I see the moment she becomes swept up in her art. She gets lost in the music, her face relaxing as her body responds to the song as though she were born to dance it. Something inside me shifts as Anya dances for me alone. As though bewitched by her captivating movements, I find myself unable to look away, unable to speak, unable to breathe. I’m intoxicated as she transforms into an otherworldly being right before my eyes, the music revealing the goddess she keeps locked inside.
Anya rises up onto her toes, and her eyes meet mine as the music begins its crescendo once again. She spins, again and again, faster and faster with every turn, slowly making her way across the room to me. And with every turn, her eyes find mine. A shiver runs down my spine as an inferno roars to life in my chest. As though pulled forward by an indisputable force, I step toward her. Like a powerful magnet, we’re drawn together, Anya twirling weightlessly across the floor as I reach for her.
