Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 72973 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72973 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Leaving the office we make our way to the auditorium where the rehearsal has just begun. I take a seat in the middle of all the rows, and soon, I’m absorbed by the graceful movements of the ballerinas.
When the performance ends two hours later, I remain seated as the auditorium clears out. Silence wraps around me as I soak in the ambience left behind by the dancers.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and pulling it out, I see a notification from the facial recognition program I have running at home. I’ve been searching for Servando Montes, a dead-man-walking at the top of Renzo’s list of enemies.
The match is only partial, and after checking the photo of a man at a gas station, I delete the notification and pocket my cell phone again.
I’ve been getting a ton of partial matches, and a few weeks ago, I almost tracked down Montes in Europe. I’m tired of the cat-and-mouse game and wish the fucker would crawl out of whatever hole he’s hiding in so we can put an end to this shit.
The lights turn off, filling the auditorium with darkness, and it has me digging my phone out of my pocket again. Checking the time, I see it’s already past nine.
I suppose I better go home and get back to work.
Letting out a sigh, I get up from the seat I’m occupying and use the flashlight on my phone as I make my way to one of the exits.
The place is empty as I walk toward the section where the studios are, but as I turn up the hallway, I hear music playing.
The corner of my mouth lifts, and when I reach the open door of the studio, the lyrics, ‘I was here,’ fill the air as the elusive dancer I was asking Mrs. Stafford about does a double twirl before leaping through the air.
My heartbeat speeds up as I watch the mistake-riddled dance unfold before me, and a sense of calm I’d pay millions for pours through my body.
The woman must be a beginner because her movements lack grace and years of training, but still, I can’t tear my eyes away from her.
Unlike most ballerinas, her skin is tanned, and her black hair isn’t tied back in a tight bun. She’s wearing a mismatched outfit, and her feet are bare.
She’s the complete opposite of the ballerinas who work themselves to the bone to achieve perfection.
My eyes rove over her tanned skin, glistening with a layer of sweat, and the sight makes lust unfurl in my chest.
The first time I saw her and we had the short interaction, I felt the attraction between us. Where I felt protective of Skylar when we met, I want to throw this woman down on the floor so I can rip the tight shorts and flimsy shirt off her body.
There’s an urge to see if she’s strong enough to handle a rough fuck.
My phone begins to vibrate, and with a frown forming on my forehead, I pull the device out.
Seeing Renzo’s name on the screen, I answer, “What’s up?”
The black-haired beauty’s eyes lock on me, and even though surprise flashes over her features, she continues to dance.
“Nothing,” he replies. “Just wanted to check in with you.”
My gaze remains glued to the woman as she runs toward me, and a couple of steps away, she suddenly stops before moving backward while her arms appear to be reaching for me.
Jesus. Fucking. Christ.
I have to suppress the urge to grab hold of her and blink like a lust-struck idiot while I mutter, “No news yet. The moment the fucker pops up, you’ll be the first to know.
“Am I interrupting something?” he asks.
“No. I’m watching one of the ballerinas.”
I hear laughter in his tone as he asks, “Watching or stalking?”
My eyes narrow on the beauty as she leaps into the air. “Both.”
Renzo chuckles before teasing me by saying, “You gonna be her mystery man?”
“Nope, that’s Franco’s title.” We give Franco endless shit about the name Samantha, his wife, gave him.
One song blends into another, and when my dancer doesn’t stop, it fills me with satisfaction.
“She knows I’m watching, and I think she loves it,” I tell my friend.
“Hmm…sounds like you have the hots for her,” Renzo continues to tease me.
If hots equate to lust and wanting to have her legs wrapped around me, then yes.
“Watching her dance calms me,” I admit in a low tone.
“You can do with some calmness in your life. I’ll talk to you later. Enjoy the show.”
“I will,” I chuckle before ending the call and focusing all my attention on the dancer.
Chapter 3
Eden
I’m playing with fire, and while self-preservation screams for me to get out of the studio and back to work, I don’t stop because the way Mr. La Rosa looks at me makes me feel hot and bothered.