was—
Trace caught her, stopping her spin. Bringing her close against him.
“I-I thought you wanted me to dance,” she whispered as her breath blew out in a frantic gasp.
He smiled at her. “I never understood how you could spin that fast, that much, without getting dizzy.”
“It’s easy,” her voice was soft, breathless. “I just look at you.”
His pupils expanded, the darkness covering more of that amazing blue.
“You’re my center. My focus. For every spin, a ballerina needs a focus.”
But she wasn’t just talking about dancing.
They both knew it.
She glanced down at their bodies. She was covered in sweat and his suit, well, she didn’t even want to know how much it cost. Hurriedly, Skye backed away from him. “I-I need to shower real fast and get changed. Give me just a minute.”
The music had died away. The end of her routine. The spin was the end.
Her steps were soundless as she walked across the floor.
“You don’t limp.”
Her stride faltered.
“I’ve been watching you carefully for weeks now, and I never see you limp.”
“I-I hadn’t been doing much dancing during those weeks, either. After today, my muscles will feel it.” Particularly the muscles in her left calf. Her left leg would always be weaker. Her constant reminder of the life that was gone now.
But I don’t miss the bright stages or the crowds.
The stage hadn’t actually ever mattered to her. Neither had the crowds. It was the dancing that she loved.
“You left New York because you didn’t think you could dance as well again. Not after the crash.”
Skye glanced down at her leg. Her tights covered the scars there. Her leg had needed surgery—so many surgeries—to recover. She’d been in therapy for months.
The scars were still there. They always would be. And her dancing…
“I’m not dancing for the stage anymore. That’s over. I’m dancing for
me.
” She’d said good-bye to her life in New York. She’d come back to Chicago to start over.
And she’d found Trace.
Her head lifted and she glanced toward the now-repaired mirror. She could see Trace’s reflection. He stared at her and said, “I think you’re the most amazing dancer that I’ve ever seen. When I watch you, I forget everything else. You…make me forget.”
She wrapped her hands around her stomach. “I should…I’ll be just a moment.” Then she fled.
Skye stripped and hurried into the shower area. The water blasted onto her, and she glanced down at her body once more. Without the clothes, the tights, there was no hiding.
Her gaze hit her left leg. The scars weren’t an angry red any longer. Pale, white. Twisting on her skin.
Before the accident, her dancing had lit up the stage. Prima ballerina. She’d worked toward that goal for years.
After the crash…she’d had nothing. All of her money had been used to pay the medical bills, and the first time she’d tried to dance—
I fell. Again and again, I fell.
Her hand flew out, and she jerked off the water. She shivered, standing there, dripping wet, with the past around her.
Maybe Trace was right. Maybe looking at the past was wrong.
She grabbed a towel. Dried off. Dressed as quickly as she could. Jeans. A loose top. Sandals. She hurried back to Trace. “I’m done,” Skye called out. “We can—”
He wasn’t in the studio. The lights were on, but there was no sign of Trace.
She made her way to the front of the building. Skye found him, sitting in one of the new chairs that had been brought over. His gaze was directed out of the window, staring at the night.
“If I came out here,” he said, not glancing her way, “I figured I’d be less likely to jump you in the shower.”
Her lips curved at that. “I wouldn’t have minded a little jumping.”
She saw his hands tighten along the arms of the chair. “My…self-control isn’t what it needs to be tonight. Not for you.”
They’d better not be back to
Trace caught her, stopping her spin. Bringing her close against him.
“I-I thought you wanted me to dance,” she whispered as her breath blew out in a frantic gasp.
He smiled at her. “I never understood how you could spin that fast, that much, without getting dizzy.”
“It’s easy,” her voice was soft, breathless. “I just look at you.”
His pupils expanded, the darkness covering more of that amazing blue.
“You’re my center. My focus. For every spin, a ballerina needs a focus.”
But she wasn’t just talking about dancing.
They both knew it.
She glanced down at their bodies. She was covered in sweat and his suit, well, she didn’t even want to know how much it cost. Hurriedly, Skye backed away from him. “I-I need to shower real fast and get changed. Give me just a minute.”
The music had died away. The end of her routine. The spin was the end.
Her steps were soundless as she walked across the floor.
“You don’t limp.”
Her stride faltered.
“I’ve been watching you carefully for weeks now, and I never see you limp.”
“I-I hadn’t been doing much dancing during those weeks, either. After today, my muscles will feel it.” Particularly the muscles in her left calf. Her left leg would always be weaker. Her constant reminder of the life that was gone now.
But I don’t miss the bright stages or the crowds.
The stage hadn’t actually ever mattered to her. Neither had the crowds. It was the dancing that she loved.
“You left New York because you didn’t think you could dance as well again. Not after the crash.”
Skye glanced down at her leg. Her tights covered the scars there. Her leg had needed surgery—so many surgeries—to recover. She’d been in therapy for months.
The scars were still there. They always would be. And her dancing…
“I’m not dancing for the stage anymore. That’s over. I’m dancing for
me.
” She’d said good-bye to her life in New York. She’d come back to Chicago to start over.
And she’d found Trace.
Her head lifted and she glanced toward the now-repaired mirror. She could see Trace’s reflection. He stared at her and said, “I think you’re the most amazing dancer that I’ve ever seen. When I watch you, I forget everything else. You…make me forget.”
She wrapped her hands around her stomach. “I should…I’ll be just a moment.” Then she fled.
Skye stripped and hurried into the shower area. The water blasted onto her, and she glanced down at her body once more. Without the clothes, the tights, there was no hiding.
Her gaze hit her left leg. The scars weren’t an angry red any longer. Pale, white. Twisting on her skin.
Before the accident, her dancing had lit up the stage. Prima ballerina. She’d worked toward that goal for years.
After the crash…she’d had nothing. All of her money had been used to pay the medical bills, and the first time she’d tried to dance—
I fell. Again and again, I fell.
Her hand flew out, and she jerked off the water. She shivered, standing there, dripping wet, with the past around her.
Maybe Trace was right. Maybe looking at the past was wrong.
She grabbed a towel. Dried off. Dressed as quickly as she could. Jeans. A loose top. Sandals. She hurried back to Trace. “I’m done,” Skye called out. “We can—”
He wasn’t in the studio. The lights were on, but there was no sign of Trace.
She made her way to the front of the building. Skye found him, sitting in one of the new chairs that had been brought over. His gaze was directed out of the window, staring at the night.
“If I came out here,” he said, not glancing her way, “I figured I’d be less likely to jump you in the shower.”
Her lips curved at that. “I wouldn’t have minded a little jumping.”
She saw his hands tighten along the arms of the chair. “My…self-control isn’t what it needs to be tonight. Not for you.”
They’d better not be back to
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