Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 157273 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157273 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
“It’s been harder since I fell,” I admitted. “The culture of the Company changes from year to year as dancers come and go, but for the most part, we’re all very supportive of each other while still keeping our competitive edge.” My hands balled, and my nails bit into my palms. “But the second I fell, it was like seeing blood in the water, especially with Charlotte.” Anger flared again, rising from a simmer to a boil. “She’s been working with Isaac.” I knew Hudson had heard before the performance, but I needed to say it, let the reality, the very real danger of it, sink in. “He’s been teaching her the choreography he’d created for me. I’ve never had a role created for me. Sure, some choreography changed here and there in certain pieces, but never a full ballet. It’s one of those career moments that might never happen again, and he’s teaching her.”
“She’s a piece of work.” He turned that gaze on me, and the heat racing through my blood shifted into a very different kind of burn.
Shit. He was too close, too accessible, and way too dangerous to my peace of mind.
“I shouldn’t have told you any of that.” I walked away before I could do something entirely foolish, like jump him. Didn’t stop me from thinking about all those mouthy little promises he’d made back at the gala, though. Gathering handfuls of my dress so I didn’t trip, I headed into the kitchen.
“You can tell me anything. I’m not going to use it against you, Allie.” He followed me in, but stayed on the opposite side of the island as I opened the refrigerator.
“You hungry?” I moved around a couple containers of takeout. “I promised you dinner, then dragged you out before the first course.”
“I’m more worried about you than I am food.”
“What do you want me to say, Hudson?” I pushed aside some very questionable milk, only finding containers of yogurt and prepped snacks to take to the studio. Shit. Slamming the refrigerator door should have been my first clue that I was losing my hard-fought self-control. Letting Hudson in was a hard second.
“Whatever you’re feeling is a good start.” He crossed one ankle over the other and leaned back against the counter near the sink.
“Feeling? I’m angry. How is that for feeling?” I turned toward the freezer, whipping the door open.
“Excellent start.”
“Everything I’ve worked for is inches from being taken away. I risk losing my contract, my ballet, my mother’s . . . God, it’s not like I had her approval or pride to begin with. I’m just a stand-in for Lina because Anne couldn’t dance, and if I falter, she’ll move on to Eva. At the end of the day, I’m just another Rousseau girl, completely and utterly replaceable.” I located two pints of ice cream, a few bags of frozen vegetables, and a half dozen containers of prepped broth. “And why is there no fucking food in this house?” I slammed that door, too, then pivoted to face Hudson. He stood there all calm and controlled, watching me like I was the tornado and he was the storm chaser waiting to see which way I’d turn.
We’d flipped roles, and yet we were both . . . ourselves. There was no point bothering with my carefully constructed defenses. I didn’t have to be poised around him or present the illusion of perfection because he already knew I was neither of those things at my core.
Inside, I was imperfect, and unkempt, and chaotic, just like him.
And he alone had the power to quiet the chaos. That kiss at the beach had consumed me in a way no other kiss had, taken up too much space to feel anything but him. Even the hurt of our past was all about him. There was no ballet when I was in his arms, no company politics, no disappointed mother, no pressure to recover. I couldn’t worry about my future when he demanded every ounce of my present.
And if it was only the present, then there was no risk of getting hurt, right?
“What are you thinking over there, Allie?” He braced his hands on the edge of the counter.
“What if I want five minutes?” I walked around the side of the island.
“What are we pretending this time?” His knuckles turned white as I approached.
“That you want me.” I put myself directly in front of him.
His gaze heated. “That’s a very real fact of life. I live in a constant state of wanting you. I have since I was seventeen years old. Wanting you is all I know.”
I ignored the burst of . . . something . . . that confession made me feel. “I remember you saying something about coming twice. Was that a brag? Or bluster?” My eyes searched his, and my skin prickled with anticipation.