already knew.
Only me.
***
Rehearsal was always a chaotic time. Dancers swirled around the stage. Choreographers jumped in, corrected, advised. The director was there, shouting orders in the background.
It seemed both incredibly familiar and oddly foreign as Skye stood in the shadows, watching everyone else. It was barely past seven a.m., but, of course the dancers were working. By this time, they would have been working for at least two hours.
Sweating. Flying. Dancing until their muscles trembled.
This had been her life.
Without it, she’d been lost.
“Skye?” She recognized that voice, with its faint English accent. She’d known that Robert Wolfe would be there—since he was the lead choreographer, he had to be there. And Trace had been determined to question Robert. But…
Robert isn’t doing this to me.
She didn’t want to suspect him.
She turned at his call, her shoulder brushing against Trace’s. They hadn’t spoken much that morning. She’d felt too raw, too overexposed after last night.
Just how fast did you tumble into bed with him?
The question whispered through her mind. The answer?
Fast. Very. Very fast
.
A broad smile split Robert’s handsome face as he hurried toward her. He was sweating, the shine gleaming on him, because he’d been working with the dancers. He rushed toward her and wrapped her in a tight hug, sweat and all.
“I knew you’d come back,” Robert said as he squeezed her even tighter. “You just needed time. You just—”
“I-I’m not here to dance.”
He stopped squeezing her. Robert pulled back, but didn’t release her. He stared down at her, a faint line between his perfect brows.
Robert was tall, with a strong dancer’s body. His blond hair was brushed away from the strong planes of his face, and his tanned skin gleamed under the lights.
“You can let her go now,” Trace ordered him. But then Trace didn’t wait for Robert to comply. He pulled the other man away from Skye.
“Jeez, Skye, picked a jealous lover, eh?”
She could feel the blush on her cheeks. Skye cleared her throat. “We…we need to talk. Somewhere private.”
Robert’s face hardened. “Something’s wrong.”
Something had been wrong, for a very long time.
“The dressing rooms.” He motioned toward the right. “While everyone’s rehearsing, they’re empty.”
She knew the way, so Skye started walking first. She’d only taken a few steps when she realized exactly what Robert was doing.
He was watching her walk. No, more specifically, he was watching her leg. Dammit, had she limped? She didn’t want to limp in front of him. She didn’t like to limp in front of anyone. But especially Robert. He’d trained her for so long. Told her that she was the best dancer he’d ever seen.
Oh, how the mighty had fallen.
Skye straightened her shoulders. Slowed her stride.
A few moments later, they were in her old dressing room. Memories were everywhere in that room. She’d been so excited when she came in after a performance. So—
“You look…familiar to me,” Robert said as he closed the door and let his gaze focus on Trace.
“He’s Trace Weston,” Skye said, waving her hand toward him. “You’ve probably seen his picture in the paper.”
Robert gave a little whistle. “Right. I have seen you.” The whistle was more mocking than anything else. Robert didn’t look impressed. But then, if you weren’t talking about dancing, Robert normally
wasn’t
impressed.
His golden gaze turned back to her. “I want you to dance for me again.”
Skye tensed. She’d been afraid that he’d go right back to that.
Before she could reply, Trace put his body between them. “Have you been to Chicago recently, Wolfe?”
“Chicago? No, no, of course not.” His British accent tightened the words. “I’ve been here, for the last bloody month. Trying to make those dancers out there
half
as good as Skye…” He stepped around
Only me.
***
Rehearsal was always a chaotic time. Dancers swirled around the stage. Choreographers jumped in, corrected, advised. The director was there, shouting orders in the background.
It seemed both incredibly familiar and oddly foreign as Skye stood in the shadows, watching everyone else. It was barely past seven a.m., but, of course the dancers were working. By this time, they would have been working for at least two hours.
Sweating. Flying. Dancing until their muscles trembled.
This had been her life.
Without it, she’d been lost.
“Skye?” She recognized that voice, with its faint English accent. She’d known that Robert Wolfe would be there—since he was the lead choreographer, he had to be there. And Trace had been determined to question Robert. But…
Robert isn’t doing this to me.
She didn’t want to suspect him.
She turned at his call, her shoulder brushing against Trace’s. They hadn’t spoken much that morning. She’d felt too raw, too overexposed after last night.
Just how fast did you tumble into bed with him?
The question whispered through her mind. The answer?
Fast. Very. Very fast
.
A broad smile split Robert’s handsome face as he hurried toward her. He was sweating, the shine gleaming on him, because he’d been working with the dancers. He rushed toward her and wrapped her in a tight hug, sweat and all.
“I knew you’d come back,” Robert said as he squeezed her even tighter. “You just needed time. You just—”
“I-I’m not here to dance.”
He stopped squeezing her. Robert pulled back, but didn’t release her. He stared down at her, a faint line between his perfect brows.
Robert was tall, with a strong dancer’s body. His blond hair was brushed away from the strong planes of his face, and his tanned skin gleamed under the lights.
“You can let her go now,” Trace ordered him. But then Trace didn’t wait for Robert to comply. He pulled the other man away from Skye.
“Jeez, Skye, picked a jealous lover, eh?”
She could feel the blush on her cheeks. Skye cleared her throat. “We…we need to talk. Somewhere private.”
Robert’s face hardened. “Something’s wrong.”
Something had been wrong, for a very long time.
“The dressing rooms.” He motioned toward the right. “While everyone’s rehearsing, they’re empty.”
She knew the way, so Skye started walking first. She’d only taken a few steps when she realized exactly what Robert was doing.
He was watching her walk. No, more specifically, he was watching her leg. Dammit, had she limped? She didn’t want to limp in front of him. She didn’t like to limp in front of anyone. But especially Robert. He’d trained her for so long. Told her that she was the best dancer he’d ever seen.
Oh, how the mighty had fallen.
Skye straightened her shoulders. Slowed her stride.
A few moments later, they were in her old dressing room. Memories were everywhere in that room. She’d been so excited when she came in after a performance. So—
“You look…familiar to me,” Robert said as he closed the door and let his gaze focus on Trace.
“He’s Trace Weston,” Skye said, waving her hand toward him. “You’ve probably seen his picture in the paper.”
Robert gave a little whistle. “Right. I have seen you.” The whistle was more mocking than anything else. Robert didn’t look impressed. But then, if you weren’t talking about dancing, Robert normally
wasn’t
impressed.
His golden gaze turned back to her. “I want you to dance for me again.”
Skye tensed. She’d been afraid that he’d go right back to that.
Before she could reply, Trace put his body between them. “Have you been to Chicago recently, Wolfe?”
“Chicago? No, no, of course not.” His British accent tightened the words. “I’ve been here, for the last bloody month. Trying to make those dancers out there
half
as good as Skye…” He stepped around
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