The Redemption of Darius Sterne (16 page)

And he had also known when he'd got out of bed this morning, after another restless night's sleep thinking about her, that this couldn't go on any longer, that he needed to see her again, to kiss her, to make love to her. He had fully intended to see Miranda later today.

Walking into his mother's home and finding Miranda calmly drinking tea from one of his mother's twee china cups had been the last thing he had expected!

He gazed down at her hungrily now through narrowed lids and he knew exactly why he had so badly needed to see and be with her again.

‘I would love to stand here and talk to you all morning,' she now told Darius with ill-concealed insincerity as she gave an impatient glance down at her wristwatch, ‘but I really do have a class in just under an hour. And you're obviously here to visit your mother,' she reminded him.

‘You and I need to talk.'

‘Some other time,' she dismissed distractedly, her smile bright and meaningless as she turned to go down the rest of the steps and along the path towards the metal gate leading out onto the street.

Darius watched in frustration the gentle sway of Miranda's hips as she let herself out of the gate before turning and walking the short distance to where her car was parked further down the street. She unlocked the door and got in behind the wheel before turning on the engine and driving away.

All without so much as giving him even the briefest backward glance, and the contained expression on Miranda's face as she drove away told him that she had already dismissed him.

His first instinct was to follow her right now, and demand that she finish their conversation. He also intuited that Miranda didn't want to talk to him.

Well, to hell with that!

The two of them needed to talk. Not least about the conversation she had overheard at the hospital a week ago between himself and Xander.

* * *

‘So this is your little dance studio...'

Andy had been in the middle of her limbering down routine, following her late morning class, but she turned sharply now to look across the studio to where Tia Bellamy posed elegantly in the doorway.

Tia looked as beautiful as ever, in a fitted black dress, and four-inch-heeled strappy sandals—instantly making Andy aware of how dishevelled and sweaty she was in her leotard, the dampness of her hair confined in a topknot, the flatness of her ballet shoes also making her several inches shorter than Tia.

Deliberately so?

Probably, Andy conceded heavily as she picked up a towel and draped it about the dampness of her neck and shoulders, before answering the other woman. ‘Yes, this is my dance studio.'

Blue eyes swept over the mirrored room contemptuously, that gaze no less condescending as it returned to Andy. ‘I suppose it's one way to make a living.'

‘I suppose it is,' Andy echoed wryly; the gloves definitely appeared to be off today. Not such a surprise, when there was no male audience for Tia to play to! ‘What can I do for you, Tia?' she enquired briskly as she tidied the benches along one wall, picking up a stray towel here and there ready for the laundry. ‘I take it this isn't a social call?'

‘Hardly, when you and I were never friends to begin with.' Tia made no attempt to hide her disdain.

Andy gave her a considering look. ‘Why
was
that? What was it about me that you disliked from the moment we were first introduced?'

‘Don't be naive, Andy,' the older woman replied sharply.

‘I'm not.' Andy's expression was genuinely perplexed as she gave a shake of her head. ‘I truly have no idea what I ever did to you to make you dislike me so much.'

Blue eyes narrowed viciously. ‘You
existed
!'

Andy's breath caught at the back of her throat at the sound of the other woman's vitriol. ‘I don't understand.'

‘Of course you don't.' Tia continued to glare at her. ‘You were such a little innocent it never even occurred to you that I was older than you, more senior than you in the ballet company, and that it should have been
me
who was chosen to dance the lead in
Giselle
and
Swan Lake
, rather than being chosen as your understudy.'

‘It wasn't—I wasn't responsible for making those choices.' Andy gave a dazed shake of her head.

Tia snorted scornfully. ‘Oh, everyone talked for months about how wonderful you were—the ballet company, other dancers, the public. You were tipped to be the next Fonteyn.' Her top lip curled. ‘What a pity you ultimately weren't able to live up to all that potential!'

‘That wasn't my fault.'

‘Isn't that the age-old cry of every failure that ever lived?' Tia strolled further into the studio, the coldness of her gaze sweeping disparagingly over all that Andy had worked so hard to achieve and build these past years.

Andy remembered what Darius's response had been the night she had called herself a failure. ‘I didn't fail, Tia, I just made a career change because of my circumstances.'

Tia gave a smile much like a cat that had lapped up a bowl of cream. ‘And what circumstances would those be, Andy?'

Andy let out an impatient sigh. ‘Look, Tia, I have absolutely no idea what you're doing here...what possible reason you could have for deliberately seeking me out in this way.' Because, there was no denying it, the other woman
had
come here deliberately. ‘But I think it obvious from our brief conversation that we have nothing left to say to each other.'

‘You may have nothing to say to me, but I still have plenty of things to say to you,' Tia bit out coldly. ‘The main one being that I want you to refuse Catherine Latimer's invitation to dance at the gala next month.'

Andy blinked. ‘How could you possibly even know about that?'

‘How?' Tia bit out disgustedly. ‘Because the stupid woman telephoned me yesterday with the idea, if you agree to perform at all, of asking the two of us to dance together at the finale after dancing individually.
I
am a prima ballerina.' Blue eyes flashed. ‘I do not dance with performers who are inferior.'

‘It's a charity gala, Tia.'

‘That doesn't mean it should be performed by people who are charity cases themselves!'

Andy flinched at the other woman's deliberate cruelty.

Admittedly, she hadn't had a chance to finish her conversation with Catherine Latimer this morning, because of Darius's unexpected arrival, but she had to agree that Catherine's idea, of Tia and Andy dancing on stage together at the end of the gala performance next month, was ludicrous. Even the hours they would necessarily have to spend together rehearsing would be impossible, let alone the two of them actually dancing on stage together in public.

‘I'll speak to her.'

‘You won't just speak to her—you'll tell her that you aren't going to dance at all.'

‘Why would I want to do that?' Andy gave a slow shake of her head. ‘I only spoke to Catherine this morning and accepted the invitation,' she explained at Tia's narrow-eyed glare.

Andy had done a lot of soul-searching this past week, in the wake of her lovemaking with Darius, and Xander Sterne's accident.

She could imagine only too well the pain and frustration Xander had gone through this past week. And she knew with certainty that, being Darius's twin, Xander had the will power and determination to recover fully from his injuries.

Just as she had recovered, as much as she was able, from her own injuries four years ago.

Never once in their acquaintance had Darius ever treated her as less because of those injuries that had ended her ballet career. In fact he had done the opposite, and challenged her at every opportunity.

By goading her into dancing with him that first evening. By insisting that she attend the charity dinner with him—her first appearance in public in four years. By kissing each and every one of her scars as they'd made love on Sunday afternoon, telling her he considered them to be the scars from a battle she had fought and won. Which in a way they were. The two of them might not have a future together, but Andy would always be grateful to Darius for his faith in her, for giving her the courage to face her own demons, her fear of failure.

It was Darius's belief in her that had given her the newfound confidence, the courage, to dance in public again. Just a short ten-minute performance—she wasn't capable of anything more—but Andy had determined she
would
do that much.

She was still determined.

Whether Tia liked it or not.

‘I suppose I could always arrange for you to have another accident.'

Andy stilled, hardly breathing, the colour having leeched from her cheeks, her eyes wide with shock as she stared across the room at Tia Bellamy.

As Andy digested and analysed what the other woman had just said to her.

‘It really
was
you,' she finally managed to say breathily, eyes wide with horror that someone—Tia Bellamy—could actually have done something so horrific to a fellow dancer as push her off the stage.

In contrast, Tia's expression was one of boredom. ‘Of course it was me. As I said, for the second time in a matter of months you were dancing the lead and I was the understudy. A lead that should have been mine—that
became
mine and stayed mine once you were out of the way!' she added triumphantly. ‘Now I'm the prima ballerina and you're—well, you're this.' She gave a dismissive sweep of her crimson-tipped fingers at their surroundings.

‘But—but—you could have killed me! You did injure me enough that I'll never dance professionally again.' Andy felt physically sick. She might just
be
sick, if she had to be in this woman's company for too much longer. ‘I think you had better go,' she advised woodenly.

How could someone
do
that to another person, to another dancer? How could Tia have deliberately pushed Andy off a stage just so that she could take her place? It was evil!

Even the satisfaction of knowing she had been right, after all, four years ago, wasn't enough to quell the sickening churning of Andy's stomach.

‘You'll call Catherine Latimer and tell her you've decided not to dance, after all,' Tia instructed.

Would she? Would Andy allow this woman's threats to destroy her life for a second time? Wasn't she more than that? Hadn't Darius's admiration for what she had now made of her life, the desire he had shown for her last weekend, made her more than just her past?

Andy was pretty sure that it had.

‘Why would she want to do that?' Darius rasped harshly, drawing Andy's stricken gaze to him as he stood in the open doorway. ‘Would someone like to tell me what the hell is going on here?' he added coldly as he stepped into the room, his eyes glittering brightly.

CHAPTER NINE

D
ARIUS
HAD
SEEN
a car that he knew wasn't Miranda's parked outside the studio, and heard the sound of raised voices as soon as he entered the building. Well...one raised voice—which he now knew to be Tia Bellamy's—followed by Miranda's softer, more measured responses to whatever the other woman was saying to her.

He studied the two women now through narrowed lids, easily taking in the pallor of Miranda's face, her eyes appearing a huge dark green against that paleness, just as Tia Bellamy's face was flushed with anger, her eyes like chips of blue glass as she glared at Miranda.

‘Ladies?' he prompted coldly—although he used the term loosely in regard to Tia Bellamy; as far as he could tell there was little that was ladylike about her, no matter how she might try to give the opposite impression.

The ballerina seemed to gather herself together with effort as she shot Miranda one last telling glare before turning to bestow a flirtatious smile on Darius. ‘It was nothing important,' she dismissed airily. ‘And I have a rehearsal to get to now, so Andy and I will have to finish catching up some other time— What are you doing?' she said sharply, Darius having reached out and grasped the top of her arm to stop her from leaving.

His hold didn't slacken in the slightest. ‘Miranda?' he prompted softly.

Andy drew in a deep breath before giving a weary shake of her head. ‘Let her go.'

‘Are you sure?'

‘Very,' she bit out decisively.

Darius's fingers tightened briefly on Tia Bellamy's arm. ‘I seriously advise you never to come here and upset Miranda again,' he warned grimly.

Those blue eyes flashed resentfully before Tia reluctantly gave an abrupt nod of her head.

Darius released her, not even sparing her another glance as she left the room. Instead he crossed the room to Miranda's side as the outer door slammed noisily behind Tia Bellamy seconds later. ‘Are you okay?' he prompted gently as he placed a hand beneath Miranda's chin and raised her face to his and looked down at her searchingly.

Was she okay?

Tia had just confirmed what Andy had always suspected: that she had deliberately pushed her off the stage four years ago. Which, although a disturbing revelation, had at least reassured Andy that she hadn't imagined it after all.

The other woman had also just issued another veiled warning: to cause Andy further harm if she didn't withdraw from performing at the gala next month.

So was she okay?

Not in the least!

The trembling started in Andy's knees, before travelling through the rest of her body, so that within seconds, it seemed, she was on the brink of collapsing.

‘Come and sit down before you fall down.' Darius had placed a firm arm about her waist to hold her against his side as he guided her over to one of the benches against the wall, sitting down and pulling Andy down onto his thighs, resting her head against his shoulder, as his arms came around her protectively.

Which was when Andy's tears began to fall hotly down her cheeks.

Because she now knew for certain that the shattering of her dream four years ago, of becoming a world-famous ballerina, had been a deliberate and malicious act.

Because of all those years of self-doubt Andy had suffered, when she had sometimes questioned her own sanity, for having even the thought that someone could have deliberately pushed her that night.

To make matters worse, Andy could no longer deny, after seeing Darius again at his mother's house this morning, that she had fallen deeply and irrevocably in love, and with a man she knew had no intentions of ever falling in love with her!

All of which meant that she was now overwhelmed by emotions, made worse by the fact that Darius was the one now holding her so tenderly in his arms.

And it couldn't continue. Even if she liked, loved, the idea of Darius trying to slay dragons for her, she knew she was stronger than that. Much as she might like to lean on him, she was capable of slaying her own dragons.

She drew in a deep, controlling breath and wiped the tears from her cheeks before sitting up, determined not to make any more of a fool of herself than she already had. ‘Sorry about that. I think I overreacted slightly,' she attempted to dismiss—and knew she had failed utterly as Darius continued to frown with concern.

‘Like to share?' he prompted softly.

Andy chewed briefly on her bottom lip, wondering how much Darius had overheard of her conversation with Tia, and how much more she wanted to reveal to him. Not that Darius would let his questions go unanswered.

‘What are you doing here?' she asked instead.

He gave a humourless smile. ‘It was always my intention to come and see you this morning.'

She blinked. ‘Why?'

‘Stop changing the subject, Miranda,' he bit out impatiently. ‘I didn't get the impression at the dinner last Saturday evening that you and Tia were exactly friends, so what was she doing here just now? And, more to the point, why did she think she had the right to tell you not to dance at my mother's gala?' He frowned.

Andy avoided meeting his probing gaze. ‘It was nothing.'

‘It was most definitely something, to have reduced you to tears; you are the least weepy woman I know!'

Andy drew in a shuddering breath; how was she even supposed to think straight when she was sitting on Darius's muscled thighs?

When her senses were all reacting to his warmth and the sensuously earthy smell of his body that was uniquely and arousingly Darius, as well as that insidious lemon and spice aroma of his aftershave?

‘Thank you—I think.' She grimaced. ‘Look, I've just taken a class, and I'm feeling hot and sticky, so could we go upstairs before we continue with this conversation? That way I can shower and change before making us both some coffee.'

‘I would rather we stayed exactly where we are,' Darius rasped.

Andy looked up at him guardedly. ‘You would?'

He nodded. ‘I have this unrelenting fantasy of making love to you in front of all these mirrors,' he said throatily even as his arms tightened about her.

Andy's eyes widened. ‘You do?'

‘Oh, yes!' Darius breathed huskily.

Andy wasn't sure she was capable of even standing up after that comment, let alone walking up the stairs to her apartment.

Darius had
fantasised
about making love to her in this room? Since when? An
unrelenting
fantasy? He had only come into the dance studio itself once before today, when he'd invited her to the charity dinner with him, so did that mean he had been fantasising about making love to her in here since then?

The heat in his gaze as he looked down at her seemed to say that he had!

Andy was suddenly aware of how little she was actually wearing, just a white leotard and tights, all of which clung to every curve of her body.

She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. ‘That sounds...intriguing.'

‘It does?'

‘Um...yes...' What was the point of her even trying to deny her response to the suggestion, when Darius must be able to feel the sudden warmth between her thighs as she sat on the muscled hardness of his lap. And he couldn't miss that her nipples were aroused and pressed against the thin material of her leotard!

His arms tightened about her as he gave a husky laugh. ‘Does that mean you've forgiven me for not contacting you since last Sunday?'

‘It means I'm thinking about it,' she came back pertly.

‘Dependent on...?'

Andy moved back slightly so that she could look at him, her heart melting at just how devastatingly handsome he looked when he smiled in that relaxed way. ‘Dependent upon whether you didn't call me because you didn't want to, or you didn't call me because you wanted to but made yourself not do so.'

The moment of truth, Darius realised, wondering if he was ready for this. Wondering if he would
ever
be ready for this.

He had spent the past twenty years building up the emotional barriers that had protected him from allowing anyone close to him, apart from his twin, as a shield against other people, and the pain of the distance that had so suddenly sprung into existence between himself and his mother.

A distance that, this past week, while still not completely resolved, was no longer that painful mystery to him.

A distance that he had to discuss with Miranda, before he could even begin to answer any other question. Although, after overhearing part of his conversation with Xander at the hospital the previous week, perhaps some of it wouldn't come as such a shock to her?

‘Perhaps we should go upstairs to your apartment for coffee, after all.' He now set her lightly on her feet as he stood up, his expression deliberately non-committal as Miranda looked up at him searchingly.

Andy had no idea what to make of Darius's behaviour: flirtatious one moment, distant and almost businesslike the next.

Disappointed as she was that he obviously no longer intended making love to her right here and right now, she regretted even more that something she had said meant that Darius was no longer relaxed and smiling.

‘Fine.' She nodded, leading the way out of the studio, locking the front door to the building before preceding Darius up the stairs to her apartment. Still totally aware of him walking behind her. ‘Feel free to put some music on while I take a shower.' She indicated the sound system once they were in her apartment, not meeting his gaze again before turning to go up the short staircase to her bedroom and bathroom.

‘Miranda?'

She turned, her expression guarded. ‘Yes?'

‘I— We...' He gave a shake of his head. ‘You're the only woman I've ever known who has been able to render me verbally incompetent!' He ran a frustrated hand through the already tousled darkness of his hair.

Some of Andy's tension left her as she grinned. ‘I'll take that as a compliment!'

Darius gave a grimace. ‘Oh, it's so much more than that.'

Yes, it was, Andy realised; Darius wasn't a man who enjoyed admitting to having any sort of weakness, least of all when it came to a woman; no doubt a legacy of his mother's reserve towards him. But
she
had succeeded in rendering him verbally incompetent.

‘Make yourself at home while I take a shower,' she invited warmly as she ran lightly up the rest of the stairs to collect some clean clothes before disappearing into the bathroom.

Darius scrolled through her music selection, selecting a random album to play. He removed his jacket and tie and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt before commencing to pace the apartment restlessly.

Half of him wanted to go and join Miranda in the shower—if she would let him—and the more sensible half of him knew they needed to talk about several things before that was even a possibility.

Firstly, he had every intention of discovering the real reason for Tia Bellamy's visit to Miranda. And secondly, he wanted Miranda to know all of the history, not just part of it, of the reason for the estrangement between himself and his mother, and the subsequent effect that history had, and was still having, on Xander.

What happened after that was anyone's guess; Darius knew he was too involved, too
emotionally
involved, to be able to approach the subject of a possible future for himself and Miranda with any of his usual cold logic.

It was—

‘How's Xander doing now?'

Darius had been so deep in thought that he hadn't been aware that Miranda had finished in the bathroom and had now rejoined him in the main part of the apartment.

Her hair was no longer confined but soft and silky about her shoulders, her eyes bright and glowing; there was a slight blush of colour in her cheeks, and she was wearing a fitted black T-shirt and jeans.

Darius smiled slightly as he saw that her feet were once again bare. ‘You don't do shoes much, do you?'

‘Too many years of spending hours in ballet slippers,' she dismissed. ‘Shall I make coffee?'

‘Not yet.'

‘So, how is your brother?' she asked to fill the silence.

‘How do you
do
that?' He frowned.

She looked slightly bewildered. ‘Do what?'

‘Know what I'm thinking about and strike straight to the heart of it?'

‘I didn't mean to...' Andy gave Darius a searching glance, noting the shadows in his eyes, the pallor to cheeks so tightly drawn they might have been etched by a sculptor. ‘This morning, when I asked your mother about Xander, she didn't seem to think there were going to be any complications with his recovery.'

‘From the ribs or broken leg, no.' Darius sighed heavily. ‘Unfortunately, as you are already aware, Xander has emotional wounds that may take longer to heal.' He grimaced. ‘But we're jumping ahead of ourselves,' he continued briskly. ‘I still want to know what that Bellamy woman was doing here, and why she's upset you so much.'

Once again Darius displayed that dogged persistence Andy found so unnerving. A persistence she found she couldn't withstand. ‘I don't know if your mother's told you, but I've decided to dance at the gala next month, after all.'

‘She did.' His eyes glowed his approval. ‘But I thought I would wait for you to tell me before saying anything. I hope this doesn't sound in the least patronising, because it isn't meant to—' he smiled warmly ‘—but I am so proud of you.'

Andy's breath caught in her throat. ‘You are?'

‘Oh, yes.' He grinned. ‘To the point that I've already told my mother I'll be joining her and Charles in their box at the theatre that night.'

Her heart skipped a beat at the thought of Darius being part of the audience watching her perform in public for the first time in four years. ‘Tia wants me to withdraw from the performance.'