Dance With Me (5 page)

“That’s a shame. Another time,” Alexi said.

“For sure. Carlito’s is huge right now. You have to murder someone to get a rez there.”

“My friend is the maître d’. We’re from the same town. If you want to go, let me know. I will, what do you say? Hook you up?”

“Really? Thanks, man.” He punched his sister lightly on the arm. “This one’s a keeper. Later, Mom.” He kissed her on the cheek. “High-five, Dad.” And he was gone.

Sherry could feel her mother’s eyes boring into her. The air in the small space was charged, but the men acted as though they were oblivious to it. Randall might think Alexi was a keeper, but she knew her mother well enough to guess that she did not agree.

“Mrs. Wilson-Wong, Dr. Wilson, surely you will join us. If you like Italian food, it is the best in the city.” Alexi had finished removing his makeup. He tossed the cloth toward a hamper on the opposite side of the room, landing a perfect layup.

“Well, that sounds great,” Richard started, but his wife put a hand on his arm.

“We wouldn’t want to interrupt Sherry while she’s working.” Victoria inclined her head, glittering eyes on her daughter.

“We are finished, aren’t we?” Alexi asked Sherry. “With the interview?”

She nodded her head, arms crossed and looked at the floor. “Yep. Filed it at four.”

“Oh,” Victoria said. “I see.” Sherry could feel her mother’s stare like two sharp skewers, trying to piece her skull. She wouldn’t look up. Her hands were balled into fists.

“In the Ukraine we have a saying. After business, pleasure,” Alexi said.

“We have the same saying,” Richard said. “Except we say, business before pleasure. I can’t remember the last time we had really good Italian food, can you, Vicky?”

“Unfortunately, we have plans,” Victoria said, her eyes still boring into Sherry.

“We do?” Richard asked. “Can’t we change them?”

Victoria glared at her husband and linked her arm through his. “Let’s leave this poor boy to get dressed. Excuse us. Sherry?”

“Um,” she said. She looked up through her lashes at Alexi. He was watching her with a tiny smile on his face, his eyes glinting with challenge. He ran his hand over his torso, slowly, suggestively. Sherry bit her lip.

“I’ll see you later,” she said to her parents. “Thanks for coming.”

Victoria grabbed her daughter’s arm and pulled her to the door. “Don’t be a fool,” she hissed in Sherry’s ear before releasing her. Her eyes searched Sherry’s. “This is a mistake.”

Sherry took a step back. “Bye, Mom.” She shut the door and leaned against it.

Alexi tilted his head to the side, the smile still on his lips. “This was a surprise. A good one.”

“You didn’t think I’d come?”

“Oh, I knew you’d come. I didn’t think you’d bring your family.”

“Well, you did give me four tickets. Were you hoping I’d bring my girlfriends? Then you could have your choice.”

He arched a brow and shook his head, smiling and closed the distance between them. “Why do you say these things? You are my choice.” He touched the back of his hand to her face and ran it down her cheek. She shivered.

Her mother was probably right. It was a mistake. But right now, with Alexi’s naked torso so close she could feel its heat, she didn’t care. She hooked her fingers into his waistband and tugged him toward her, lifting her face to his.

His smile widened. “What’s this? Always in a hurry?” He looked from one eye to the other, searching. “In New York, always hurry, hurry, hurry. In the Ukraine, we like to take our time.” With the back of his hand he drew a line down her cheek and neck to her breast. He let it linger there, lightly. Her nipple hardened under it. She tightened her grip on his waistband.

“Soon, Sherry,” he whispered, his lips touching her ear, igniting all the nerves from her earlobe down to her core. “First we eat. Then we play.”

Chapter Seven

“So, Sherry.” Alexi speared his last piece of steak, its center so undercooked it was practically dripping blood. “Did I pass your little test?”

They were in Carlito’s sitting near the window at a table so small their knees almost touched. Though the jewel-box dining room was packed, spilling out into the bar where long-legged models stood sipping martinis with their minor celebrity dates, the noisy buzz didn’t seem to penetrate their little alcove.

Sherry had cut her fish into tiny pieces and was pushing them around her plate. She wasn’t hungry, and not just because of the selection of antipasti that had arrived at their table, sent by Alexi’s friend, the charming blond maître d’. She tried to think of the last time she had gone out to dinner with a man. Before Glenn, that was for sure. New York was big, but somehow you always ran into someone you knew. She and Glenn couldn’t risk that.

“Test? Do you mean my family?” she asked.

He nodded, looking at her over the rim of his wineglass. He was wearing a fitted black sweater with his cargos, and a scarf. It was a look that only Europeans could pull off without looking gay, straight out of the pages of
GQ
.

“Well, they were supposed to be more of a deterrent than a test,” she admitted.

“You’ll have to try harder than that if you want to deter me.” He had a mischievous look in his eye. Under the table, he stretched his leg out between hers, sliding his knee up the inside of her thigh, then down. Electric tingles ran straight up her thigh to the V of her panties. Sherry put down her fork.

“Your mother didn’t like me, though.” His leg retreated.

“Don’t take it personally. She doesn’t like any prospective suitor who doesn’t have a string of initials after his name and an address in the upper 80s.” She put her hand under the table, rubbing the spot where his knee had touched, as if she could erase the sensation that still lingered there.

“Ah.” Alexi leaned back in his chair and looked at the ceiling. “A dancer is not good enough.”

“Not even close. One step up from a homeless person in her eyes, although she did say if I had followed in my father’s footsteps she wouldn’t care who I dated. That’s what she really wanted. Dr. Sherry Wilson-Wong. But she’s willing to settle for wife of Doctor Whomever.”

“She’s worried about you. Wants you to be secure.”

Sherry laughed. “She’s more worried about how it looks to the relatives back in Singapore. Randall got into Columbia law school and is interning with the top firm in entertainment law. But poor Sherry, writing for a second-rate newspaper—the kind with a girl in a bikini on the second page. Salary barely covers the rent.” She shook her head. “There’s no way she can sell that. Even academia would be better.”

Alexi watched her, his expression serious.

“Don’t even get me started about when the aunts come to visit. Afternoon tea at the Waldorf, them in their little Chanel suits and pearls the size of a baby’s fist, tsking and shaking their heads. ‘But you’re so pretty, Sherry. You can find a nice husband. Your cousin, Ellen, not pretty like you, married a banker. Maybe he has a lonely friend? You want me to ask,
ha
?’ Meanwhile my mother is practically turning purple with shame.”

“She wants you to live her dream.” He leaned forward. The muscle in his jaw was twitching. “This I understand. My mother is the same. At thirty, her life was finished. Her husband is gone, but he is alcoholic, so it’s better. Men still want her, but not the right men, the men with power, with money. This kind of man doesn’t live in Darnitsa. She has no talent, but she is not stupid. She has this.” He gestured to himself. “This is her ticket.”

He leaned back, as if suddenly aware of how serious the mood has become and flashed her a careless smile. “For her, it worked out. Now she has her flat in Kiev. Her beauty salon. A new husband, maybe not the right kind, but he is a business man. He has some money. And for her, the price was small.”

“But not for you,” she said. “You sacrificed your childhood. You were dancing all day from the time you were six. And going to school. Living away from home.”

He shrugged. “And if I didn’t? Where would I be now? Working in a mine? A factory? Pickled in vodka, like my father? Not in New York City. Not sitting across from you.” He ran his knee up the inside of her leg again, a slow smile spreading over his face. Sherry felt her breath catch in her throat.

“You were incredible tonight, by the way. Very convincing. The way you held Kat and looked into her eyes like you didn’t want to live without her,” Sherry said.

Alexi’s eyes glinted. “Do I detect a hint of jealousy?”

“Why would I be jealous? We’re just having dinner.”

“Of course. Just dinner.” He bit back a smile. “But even so. You have no reason for jealousy. We are partners in dance, only. She is with Sergei. Otherwise, we would not even be that, I believe.”

“What do you mean?”

“Of course, she is a skilled dancer, but Juliet is a role for a younger ballerina.”

Sherry processed this. “So because she’s sleeping with him, she gets the roles she wants? That doesn’t seem fair. Or even legal.”

“What is the expression? ‘That’s show biz’?”

“Funny. When I was talking to her in the studio, I didn’t get the impression that she even liked Sergei.”

He gave her a wry smile. “I believe that is the way he prefers it.”

“That sounds kind of sick. Why would you want to be with someone who didn’t want you?”

“I agree. But who am I to judge? We all have our own sicknesses and our own ways of moderating the pain of the world. What I can tell you is that there are several ballerinas who would draw blood to step into Katerina’s role, both on stage and in the bedroom.”

“Huh. Interesting.” Sherry’s reporter brain filed the thought away for later. “Choreographer Trades Sex for Solos” wouldn’t be the scoop of the century, but it would sell. Anything with the word “sex” in the headline always did.

“But why are we discussing the love affairs of others?” Alexi gave her a wicked smile that made her wonder if she had said “sex” out loud. “I like this, by the way.”

“What?” she asked.

“This dress.” His hand was under the table on her knee. He slid it up under the hem of her skirt, mid-thigh, his fingers warm on her bare skin. “You have beautiful legs.”

“Oh, you mean the Wong tree trunks,” she said. “That’s what Randall calls them.”

“Slender birch trees, maybe.” His fingers moved a little higher, so close to her most private parts.

She felt the blood rush to her cheeks, suffusing them with color. “Ha,” she said. “Tell that to my brother.”

“I like this also. This pink color in your cheeks. It makes me think about all the other pink places on your body.”

His fingers were half an inch from the V between her legs. She licked her lips, her eyes locked on his. She loved his eyes, the way they shifted from serious to playful to seductive, changing in color with his moods. Now they were dark with his desire for her. Shimmying her hips toward his fingers, she said, “Yeah, I’m thinking about the pink places on your body, too.”

He smiled. His lips parted slightly as he brushed his fingertips over her panties, as if he was imagining what lay beneath. A surge of moisture flooded her nether regions. The buzz of the restaurant had dimmed to mute. All she felt was desire. She was so desperate to feel his touch, she wanted him to slide her panties to the side and slip his fingers inside her where she sat. Letting her legs fall open, she pressed her pelvis toward him. His eyes opened wider as he felt her moist heat. Using two fingers, he separated her lips and pressed down through the thin lace of her panties, finding her most sensitive spot. She shuddered, her eyes half-closed.

“I always like something sweet after a meal. Do you want dessert?” A small smile played over his lips.  His voice was low and husky. His fingers didn’t move, but she could feel their heat, their pressure.

She shook her head, not trusting herself to speak.

He rubbed her, slowly, excruciatingly slowly. Once. Twice. “Maybe at home I have something sweet I can give you. Would you like that, Sherry?”

“Oh, yes,” she breathed.

He pulled back his hand and gestured for the check.

Alexi’s apartment was a five-minute walk away, but it took them twice as long. They kept stopping to kiss in doorways, pressing their bodies against each other, hands searching for bare skin. In the lobby to Alexi’s building, he pushed the button for the elevator, but Sherry shook her head, leading him to the stairs. His eyebrows rose in question, but not for long. She raced up the stairs ahead of him, pausing on the landing to look at him over her shoulder coquettishly as she lifted her skirt, flashing him a glimpse of her panties. He took the stairs two at a time to catch up with her.

“Here,” he breathed. He put one hand on her waist and pushed the stairwell door open with the other.

“Oh, you’re on the fourth floor,” Sherry said, panting. “I didn’t notice that the last time I was here.” They were in the hallway outside his apartment. Memories of the first time she was here came flooding back, and with them, embarrassment, shame. Was she really doing this?

He pulled a tangle of keys from his pocket and gave her a crooked smile. “No, you didn’t notice much.”

“My mother would say it’s bad luck, being on the fourth floor. In Singapore none of the buildings have a fourth floor. The Chinese character for four is the same as the word for death.”

He shook his head, frowning and smiling at the same time. “Not unlucky for me. And why are we talking about your mother again?”

“Uh, I babble when I’m nervous,” she admitted. “I don’t get nervous, not usually. I mean, in my line of work, forget about it. But in my personal life? Well, let’s just say I haven’t let myself have a personal life in a while.”

He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, keys dangling. “Why?”

She let out a long breath and slumped against the wall. “It’s complicated.”

“I told you. I like complicated.” He stepped toward her and put his hands on her waist, his forehead touching hers. His hands trailed over her hips to her thighs. He pushed her skirt up, revealing her black lace panties. He still held his keys in one hand. They jangled, cold against her skin.

“I … I’m not a party girl,” she said. “You know, just like the bartender said.”

He let her skirt drop, took a step back, and put one hand under her chin, tilting it up so she had to look into his eyes. “I have no interest in party girls,” he said. 

“But the bartender…”

“Steve has a very dry sense of humor. I brought no girls to that bar. I go there to have a drink, talk to people, real people with scabs on their knuckles and dirt under their fingernails, not to seduce girls. What kind of girl would be impressed with that bar?” He smiled, running his thumb over her lips.

“I was,” she said in a small voice.

“Exactly.” His smile broadened, and he leaned in, kissing her, like their first kiss, a gentle brush of the lips that managed to light up every corner of her body with electricity.

“Put your arms around my neck,” he said. She did, and he lifted her into his arms as if she weighed no more than a child.

Somehow he managed to get the door open without dropping her and kicked it shut behind him, letting the keys fall to the floor with a clink. He carried her down the hall and through the kitchen, setting her down on the bed.

“Now, Sherry.” He took a step back and leaned against the wall as if he didn’t trust himself to be too close to her. “Are you ready to continue our game?”

She laughed, leaning back on her elbows. Her body was humming, vibrating with need. “As long as vodka isn’t involved.”

“No vodka,” he said. “New rules. I ask the questions.”

“And if I refuse to answer?” She let her legs fall open slightly.

“You won’t.” He was standing over her. She could see how much he wanted her. The hunger in his eyes. The pulse in his neck. The growing bulge under his cargos that had nothing to do with athletic supports. He pulled his sweater off, revealing his muscled torso covered with tattoos. His abs were washboard hard and distinct. His pants sat low on his hips, a sparse trail of hair pointing like an arrow to the treasures below.

“First question.” He pushed his knees between hers, lowering himself down on top of her. Lying back, she let herself drink in the beauty of his face. The sea-glass eyes, the high Slavic cheekbones, the slightly downturned lips, swollen from kissing. She wanted to devour those lips, to feel them on every part of her body. He looked into her eyes, saw her desire. Her heartbeat was pounding like the A train at rush hour. Bending toward her, he took her top lip between his teeth and flicked his tongue along it. “Top or,” he asked, moving to her lower lip and sucking on it, “bottom?”

“Oh, God,” she sighed. “Right now? Either.” She grabbed his hips and pulled them toward her moist heat.

He propped himself up on one elbow and ran his hand down the length of her body, then up under her skirt. He pushed it up to her waist. She could feel the hardness of him against her and reached down to stroke him over his cargos. He let her, smiling, as he slid his fingertips under the leg band of her panties, running it back and forth under the delicate lace at the crease of her leg. But when she reached for his fly, he pulled her hand away with a kiss.