Dance With Me (16 page)

The ballerina hesitated for just a moment before saying in a bright voice, “Oh, hi. Listen, this is not a great time.” Sherry had to give the dancer credit for self-possession, but she was not letting her off that easily.

“No. I’m guessing it wouldn’t be, seeing as I just saw you leaving Lumière hand in hand with Sergei Antonov, the man whose proverbial ass you just promised to hand me on a platter. You’ll have to forgive me for being a bit suspicious of your motives.”

She gave a high-pitched whinny. “Oh, my gosh. It completely slipped my mind. I’m in a cab going down 7th, but I can be there in fifteen. I’ll explain everything. Just text me the address again, would you?” Clearly, her words were for Sergei’s benefit.

“Starbucks. Houston and West Broadway.

Kat was waiting for her when she got there, two tall paper cups in front of her. She pushed one toward Sherry as she sat down.

“Double venti latte, no sugar, right?”

“That’s right.” She gave the dancer a questioning look.

“Alexi. And to answer your next question, yeah, he talks about you. A lot.” She rolled her eyes. “Not that we have much time for talking when we’re rehearsing.”

“And do you talk about Sergei?”

“Listen. I know it looks bad…”

“You got that right. What would you think if you were me? Knowing Sergei as I do.” Sherry tugged the low neck of her dress down slightly to reveal the top of her wound.

Kat glanced at it, her eyes flicking away and her mouth twisting to the side in a prissy moue. “I might think that my source couldn’t be trusted.” She fixed Sherry in her pale blue stare. “But you don’t know Sergei like I do.”

Sherry rested her elbows on the table and folded her hands under her chin. “So tell me.”

Kat raked one skeletal hand through her fine blonde hair.
Everything about her is thin,
Sherry thought. Starved. Especially the look in her faded blue eyes.

“Sergei and I had an agreement. He’s reneging on his end of the deal. I need him gone.”

“You’re going to have to give me more than that. How do I know Sergei didn’t put you up to this? Offering to be my source? Only to … what? Feed me false information. Or put me in a vulnerable position.”

The dancer didn’t speak for a moment, just looked at Sherry as if she was trying to channel her trustworthiness through her gaze. But the nervous jiggling of her leg under the table was telling a different story.

If it was a staring contest, Sherry won, the other woman looking away as if she had suddenly seen something fascinating out the window.

“Here’s the deal. I’m thirty-two. Practically a senior citizen in the world of ballet. Sergei let me know that he’d be willing to overlook my age if I’d be willing to let him do whatever he likes with my body.” She shuddered. “He disgusts me, and he knows it. That only turns him on more.”

Sherry nodded. It was just as Alexi said.

“I mean, isn’t that reason enough to hate him?” Kat widened her eyes wide.

Sherry shrugged. “Seems like you’re both getting something out of it.”

The dancer’s eyes collapsed into narrow slits.

“There’s more, isn’t there?”

Kat popped the lid off her drink, stuck her finger in the foam and licked it off. “He’s started seeing someone else. Someone young. My days as Juliet are numbered.”

“So this is about revenge?”

“The oldest motive in the book.” She gave Sherry a saccharine smile. “And who knows? With Sergei out of the way and affirmative action breathing down Robert’s neck, he might think it’s a good idea to appoint a female lead choreographer.”

Sherry stared into the dancer’s eyes again, searching. All she saw was cold, blue ambition. This time Sherry had to look away first. “So you’ll send the documents? The recording?” she said, rising to go. Her story safe, thoughts of Alexi flooded in.

Kat nodded. But as Sherry turned to go, she grabbed Sherry’s wrist, her hand a cold, skeletal claw.

“See, I could have played the victim card, but I didn’t. I knew you’d understand.” She smiled slyly. “We’re a lot alike, Sherry. Ambitious women doing whatever it takes to get what we want.”

Chapter Eighteen

When Sherry arrived at Alexi’s apartment minutes later, he wasn’t there. He still hadn’t responded to her text or calls, either, but she had a good idea of where she might find him.

As she took a taxi back uptown—budget be damned, she just couldn’t face another subway ride—she tried to psyche herself up for her talk with Alexi.
I can do this,
she thought
. I can explain everything logically. Alexi will understand. He will have a rational explanation for the money. We can work through this like adults.

Pushing the door of the bar open, Sherry scanned the crowd for Alexi. It was much busier than it had been when he had taken her there before, and the clientele was different, younger, cooler. There still weren’t many women in the room, a fact that hit home when she was standing at the bar, trying to get the bartender’s attention. She already had the attention of the men on either side of her. She could feel their appreciative gazes on her body as if they were hands.

“Steve,” she called, remembering his name.

He turned, eyes lighting up when he saw her, “Well, well. Miss Sassypants. Didn’t think I’d see you again.”

“Is Alexi here?” she asked.

He tilted his head toward the table in the corner where she and Alexi had sat before. “Alex was in one hell of a funk when he came in, but he’s doing his damnedest to get out of it. Cure by vodka. Among other things.” He winked.

Sherry didn’t like the sound of that one bit. As she wove her way through the crowds, she could see Alexi wasn’t alone. A group of men with more tattoos than uninked skin stood around the table. Another sat across from him, a purple-haired young woman in the tiniest of denim shorts perched on his knee. Everyone was watching as Alexi, left hand splayed flat on the table, stabbed a knife into the spaces between his fingers, faster and faster, until he missed, nicking the edge of his middle finger.

“Ooh.” The crowd gathered around the table made a sound that was half cheer, half boo.

“Fuck!” he shouted, but he was smiling. The smile disappeared when he looked up and saw Sherry. Everyone turned to look at her, but she ignored their stares.

“Alexi,” she said. “What are you doing?” She could see several small scabs forming on his hand where he had missed before. The bald man with the girl on his knee had some, too.

The smile returned to Alexi’s lips, but his eyes remained cold and flat. “We are playing a game. Right now I am winning. You like games, Sherry, maybe you would like to play? Or maybe you will be the prize?”

He nodded his head at the purple-haired girl. She stood up and walked toward him, lowering herself slowly onto his knee, watching Sherry as she did, a smirk on her pretty black-painted mouth. Alexi wrapped his arm around her little waist.

“Sugar is the prize.” Alexi nuzzled the girl, his eyes not leaving Sherry’s. “But this is not fair to my friend, here.” He nodded toward the bald man across from him, who turned to look up at Sherry, a drunken leer on his acne-scarred face.

“I’m all for double or nothing,” he said, his eyes gobbling her up. His friends laughed.

“Deal,” said Alexi, stabbing the knife into the table.

White-hot rage filled Sherry’s chest. “No deal.” She grabbed the switchblade and closed it, handing it to the bald man. “Now if you don’t mind,” she addressed Alexi’s new friends, smiling through clenched teeth. “I need to have a private word with Alexi.”

She grabbed Sugar’s arm and yanked her up. “And you,” she hissed into her ear. “Get some self-respect. You’re better than this.” She handed the girl the vodka. “Now fuck off.”

Sliding into the vacant chair across from Alexi, she held out her hand. “Give it to me.”

His hands were tucked under his arms. Looking down at the table, he stretched out his left hand. She took it, inhaling sharply when she saw the punctures and slices, each one in some stage of forming a scab.

“Alexi,” she said, her voice pained.

He pulled his hand back, tucking it under his arm again. The muscle in his jaw flickered under his skin. He looked into the distance, his eyes clouded with vodka and hurt.

“You said you will explain everything. So explain,” he said.

“Look, Alexi. You have every reason to be angry with me. But not for what you think I’ve done. Not for what Sergei told you.”

He glanced at her, then away. “There is nothing to think. I can see for myself.” He pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket and slid it toward her. There was a picture of the back of Ken’s glossy black head, and her, hands entwined with his.

Sherry closed her eyes, helpless fury washing over her. “Sergei.”

He leaned toward her, his eyes wet, his jaw clenched. “You said I shouldn’t trust Sergei, but now I see the truth. It is you I shouldn’t trust.” He looked away from her again, blinking back the forming tears.

“It was a misunderstanding, Alexi,” she said, putting her hand on his forearm. “My meddling mother, she… He thought we were there on a date. We weren’t. When Sergei took that photo, I was in shock. Ken, the guy in the photo, was telling me he had been holding a torch for me since he was eleven. I was stunned. I had no idea. That’s not why I was there.”

He looked at her, his green gaze piercing her as if he was looking into her soul. She could see that he believed her, or desperately wanted to. “Why were you there?”

It was her turn to look away. “It’s complicated.”

“Again with the complicated,” he said, throwing himself back into his chair in exasperation.

“I thought you like complicated.” She bit her lip, a smile twitching at the corner.

His eyes searched hers, his expression sad. “I thought so, too. But maybe you are too much.”

Her heart wrenched at his words as much as the look in his eyes. “Maybe.”

They were silent for a moment. The noises of the bar filtered into Sherry’s consciousness, the talking and laughter and music suddenly jarring.

She reached for his hands. He let her take them. “Alexi, we need to talk. But not here. Let’s go…” She was going to say home but stopped herself. “Let’s go back to your place.”

“No.” He shook his head. “Let’s go to yours.”

Sherry’s heart sank. “But I made noodles.”

“We will eat them after. I want to see where you live. After tonight, I realize I don’t know you. My heart knows you. But not my head. I need to see who you are.”

She groaned. “This is who I am.” She gestured to herself. “If you see my place you’ll definitely want to break up with me.”

He tilted his head. “I don’t want to break up with you. I told you. I love you.”

“What about me being too complicated?”

“You told me you will explain. I believe you.”

“And what about Sugar?”

He stood up, still holding her hands. “A game, I told you.”

She stepped closer to him, looking up into his eyes. His proximity made her dizzy. “But would you have claimed your prize if you had won?”

He shrugged. Cupping her face, he tilted it up and bent toward her, brushing his lips over hers. “I want to claim my prize now.”

She felt hot, liquid, molten with desire. “Then let’s go back to your place. It’s closer.”

His tongue flicked into her mouth, sending arrows of sensation into her core. He ran his hands down her back, cupping her cheeks and pressing her pelvis into his. Moving his mouth to her ear, he whispered. “I have a better idea.”

Spinning her around, he held her by the shoulders, directing her through the crowd. “Walk past the bar,” he said, his voice soft and seductive in her ear.

“The bathroom?” she asked.

“Past that,” he said. She could feel the strength of his need pressed up against her. A shiver of desire ran through her.

They moved through the narrow hallway, past the men’s and ladies’ rooms toward the emergency exit. “Through there,” he said.

She pushed open the door which deposited them into a dark alley. Down one end, she could see the street, cars and pedestrians passing, down the other, a chain-link fence. Alexi nudged her toward the fence. His hands were on her hips now, under her dress, sliding under the waistband of her panties.

“Did you wear this for him?” he asked, breathing into her ear.

“No, for you.” She reached behind her to grab his hips and push them against her.

He stopped and slid one hand down the front of her panties, separating her lips with his fingers and slipping inside her.

“You’re so wet, my flower. Are you wet for him?” His voice was low and husky. His hard body pressed against her from behind as he massaged her swollen bud, his fingers slipping over the slick surface.

Gripping the fence, she rocked into his hand, panting. “No, for you.”

He pulled his hand out of her and ripped down her panties. Hearing the cold, metallic sound of his zipper, she stepped out of them and tilted her ass up toward him, pressing her chest toward the fence. He lifted her skirt up and ran his hand over her naked curves and down her flank. She waited, holding her breath.

“Only for me?” he asked, sliding two fingers into her wet opening from behind. She pushed back onto him, and he spread her wider, placing the tip of his penis inside her.

“Only for you,” she said, aching with want, desperate to feel him filling the whole of her. He plunged into her then, hard and fast, taking her breath away. His fingers dug into her hips as he pulled out then thrust into her again, deeper and harder. Her body quivered with each thrust as the tip of his member rubbed that sensitive spot deep inside her. Her passage contracted around him as her pleasure built.

He stopped then, still filling her with his smooth, thick hardness. He buried his face in her hair, inhaling her scent. His hands moved from her hips to her mound. Holding her wide open with one hand, he circled her aching, swollen bud with the middle finger of the other. Exquisite ripples of pleasure coursed through her, so sweet and intense they almost hurt. She was so close to coming that she felt as though she was on the edge of a cliff, leaning forward, when he stopped. His finger hovered over her.

“Tell me again,” he said, his hot, moist breath in her ear sending shivers down her spine. “Tell me how you are only for me.”

“I’m yours,” she said, her voice half-whisper, half-moan. “Only yours.”

“Always mine?” he asked. His finger started circling again. Harder, faster, smaller and smaller circles. There was no holding her pleasure back any longer. She came, the waves of pleasure consuming her, her tight passage contracting around Alexi’s hard length.

“Always,” she cried, rocking against him. He gripped her hips then and thrust into her deep and hard, again and again. Another wave of pleasure washed over her. Her whole body tingled and quivered, as if each individual cell was filled to bursting with bliss.

“Oh, Alexi!” She didn’t recognize her own voice, it was so drenched with desire.

He cried out then, his own climax wracking his body with spasms, his fingers digging into her hips as he emptied himself into her. “Sherry, Sherry,” he breathed, wrapping his arms around her and clutching her to him, as if filling her wasn’t enough. He wanted to surround her, too.

Leaning against the fence, catching her breath, with Alexi wrapped around her, she felt whole and complete. It was like she had looked into the void of life without Alexi. Now, the thought of being without him … she couldn’t go there. The talk she had planned to have with Alexi wasn’t going to happen. She couldn’t just drop the story on the ABC. Frank would kill her. But she could change it, surely. Reporters did it all the time. Altered things to protect their sources. She wasn’t sure how she’d do it, but she would.

Alexi gave her a final squeeze before pulling away from her. She turned to face him, leaning against the fence because her legs were still trembling. He had shed his jacket and was pulling his t-shirt over his head. Crouching at her feet, he used it to clean the stickiness from her thighs. He dropped it and helped her step back into her panties, rising to standing as he pulled them up over her hips.

Smoothing her skirt down, he looked into her eyes, a tiny smile playing over his lips.

“How could I think of being with anyone else when this beautiful flower is mine? Only mine. Always.” He kissed her softly.

“I can’t imagine,” she said, wryly.

He touched the tip of her nose with one finger. “Always joking, my Sherry.”

He picked up his jacket and put it on over his naked torso, zipping it up. Reaching for her hand, he said, “Now, I want to see the garden where this beautiful flower grows.”

“Well, you’ll see plenty of dirt, I can assure you of that.”

He laughed and squeezed her hand. “Perfect.”

They walked toward the street. “No bullshit, though. Chemical fertilizers only.”

He raised a questioning eyebrow. “Such as?”

“Oh, the usual. Ambien, mostly.”

At the street, he flagged down a cab and held the door open for her.

“Brooklyn. Fort Greene. Corner of Cumberland and Flushing,” she told the cabbie.

Alexi slid in after her. “You take Ambien. Sleeping problems?” he asked.