Put the sex away.
God, she didn’t want to. She wanted his mouth on her all over again. Glancing back to where Paul lay sprawling, the covers dipping low over his hip, she tugged on her yoga clothes. He could play too. That Paul had pinged as a mere afterthought gave her a shiver.
On silent feet she emerged from the bedroom and found Dima in the dining room. He stood with his back turned, staring out the window that overlooked the street. Yoga pants. No shirt. Hair a sexy tangle. A hard clench of want shot heat out from her belly.
Mine.
Her skin turned to ice.
No.
This was a fun time. A crazy weekend. Nothing like her body’s greedy shout—that she should walk to him and drape herself along his beautiful back, kissing the hollow between his graceful shoulder blades. Even if it wouldn’t be risking their partnership, she needed more emotional sustenance than he could provide. He’d have her searching for clues for the rest of their lives.
Beyond all that, he was still…Dima. The weekend had opened her eyes to him as a man for the first time, but what new could be had from a relationship so entrenched? With so much platonic history?
“Morning,” she said, ducking into the kitchen to grab orange juice.
He met her in the kitchen doorway, a cup of cooled tea in his hand. After his customary kiss to her forehead, he said, “
Dobroe utro
. Sleep well?”
From anyone else, that would’ve had innuendo or jealousy or something written all over it. Swear to God, from Dima it was only a question.
“Fine. Nice, actually. He doesn’t snore.”
A tight nod. A tick along his jaw. “He didn’t go home?”
“You know he didn’t,” she said, walking away.
After finishing her juice, Lizzie unfurled her yoga mat and flicked a glance to Dima as he moved the coffee table. Everything the same. Yet…not. Supercharged in a way that was definitely not their usual morning routine. Her need to goad him only added another layer.
“Aren’t you going to ask?”
He grabbed his mat and unrolled it across the hardwood. “Ask what?”
“Whether Paul and I had sex without you.”
Eyes intent, he drilled into her with maddening intensity. He thought he had the right to pull that shit with her, never offering up the same information in return. Lizzie tightened her hands into fists.
“You make too much noise, little one,” he said simply. “So either you didn’t, or he didn’t make it worth your while. I can’t imagine the latter.”
With that, he began his first sun salutation. Lizzie knew doing yoga with a hardcore angry going on would only leave her sore and exhausted. Quiet breathing, calm mind, better results. As she joined him in that familiar sequence, she knew that wasn’t going to happen.
She bent into downward dog. Every muscle and tendon creaked a sleepy protest. Between dancing with Remy and Dima, their adventures with Paul, and the arduous process of reclaiming her flexibility, she was a stiff mess. She liked to think she’d be back in fighting form any week now, but sometimes her fears got the best of her. Maybe she wouldn’t ever be as good as she once was.
Where did Dima put it all? All the nerves and worries and doubts? That he practiced yoga to relieve stress was another sliver of knowledge she’d gleaned by accident. Their coach had asked, offhandedly, how the exercise was helping with his insomnia. Lizzie had been offended. Apparently sharing such a personal weakness was off the table.
Dima glanced at her as she bent low over her legs, stretching her hamstrings. “Don’t push too hard.”
“I know how hard I can push.” The words came out more sharply than she intended, but screw it. “Part of my job is to know my body’s limits. Unless you don’t think I’m capable of that anymore.”
“So fucking ambitious,” he muttered.
“What?”
“You. Always too fast. You’d storm a machine gun nest to prove me wrong.” He shrugged with his eyebrows and arched back, arms stretched. Already a gleam of sweat slicked his tummy and shone along his collarbones. “So go ahead. Pull something. Sprain something. Forget I said anything.”
“You can be so damn arrogant. I mean, where do you get off, hmm? Do you think I tore my ACL on my own?”
He froze. So did she.
Fuck.
Injuries happened. They happened even when everything else seemed to go perfectly right. Blame wasn’t fair, let alone productive. To imply that sort of mistrust…
No partnership could survive.
He lifted his chin, and his spine transformed into a steel pole. She’d craved a measure of emotion from him, but not the kind she saw in his eyes. Some hurts were too hard to bury on short notice.
“I do my best for you, Lizzie.”
He rolled up his mat, not looking at her, and stalked to the bathroom. She only drew breath when the pipes shuddered and the shower sprayed to life.
“Shit,” she whispered.
Digging the heels of her hands into her eye sockets, she was surprised to find the scratch of unshed tears.
Anger at her new lover had spilled into hurting her partner. That both were bundled up within Dima undid rational thought. She’d never been turned so inside out.
“Everything okay?”
Paul lounged against the liquor cabinet where they’d kissed, where last night had really launched. Two watery, warm screwdrivers still sat there, unfinished.
She soaked him in. All brightness and easy acceptance. Dressed in those jeans that sat low on his hips, he was shirtless too. Only, the effect was so different. None of Dima’s tightly held precision, just a loose-limbed grace that made her want to sink into a safe, welcoming shelter.
He held out a hand, beckoning. She didn’t hesitate. Being folded against bare skin and hard muscles was nearly balm enough to forget the hurt she’d put in Dima’s eyes. Nearly.
No. She couldn’t lie to herself. It wasn’t even close.
“How was he this morning?” Paul’s voice held a sleepy-soft roughness that melted into her bones.
“Pissed at me.”
“For last night?”
“No. I said something I shouldn’t have.” She pushed deeper into their embrace.
Paul cupped her face and urged her gaze to meet his. “Will you answer something for me?”
“Depends. Give it a try.”
“What in the hell are you both doing up so early?”
Lizzie giggled and tucked her face against his chest. “Yoga. The usual.”
“Freaks,” he said with a smile. His hands traced up and down her back, before gripping the underside of her ass. “But I must say that the results are mind-blowing.”
“Should be. Took long enough to get to this point.”
“So I suppose inviting you both along to breakfast this morning would be a waste of breath?”
“Why?”
He nuzzled her neck, hands kneading and stroking. Keep this up and she’d never be able to look at the liquor cabinet without thinking of Paul. “Because I had in mind something decadent.”
“You have my attention.” She ran flat palms up his ribs and gave his pecs a playful squeeze. “Spill it.”
“Steak and eggs. Down at Charlie’s off the park.”
“That dive?”
“Is that scorn I hear?”
She bit her lower lip. “Nope. Not an ounce of scorn. I could go for something not eaten raw or steamed or cooked in olive oil.”
“Good.” He wore the tiniest frown. It screamed concern on such an otherwise sunny set of features. “How to get him to come along?”
“Ha. That won’t happen. He’s mad at me and he’s the world’s biggest stickler for eating healthy.” She paused, eyeing Paul with curiosity. “You really want him along?”
The faintest blush edged across his cheekbones. He darted his gaze away.
“Oh, c’mon. Give it up, Paul.”
“Last night, had it been just me and you? Would’ve been great. Really good stuff.”
She grinned and flicked his ear. “You blushed ’cause you knew this would come off sounding like an insult.”
“Shut up, okay? But yeah. It was memorable because of the three of us. I’m not ready to give that up yet.”
“Your good time?”
The uncomplicated grin she enjoyed turned nasty. “You bet.”
“I’m not wrong though. He’s still not gonna go for it.” A sick weight settled over her chest. She’d done this. She’d put her foot in her mouth and ruined something tasty and playful.
Worse, she’d hurt him again. When had she become that sort of partner? Hell, that sort of person? Her bitterness was infecting more than her self-confidence.
“I don’t know about that. He’s a little intense, but he’s still a guy.”
Lizzie raised her brows. “Oh?”
“You willing to play along?”
“If this is a lead-and-follow question, you know I don’t know you well enough.”
He smoothed his hands up her body and cupped her face in that intimate way she loved. Craved. “Nope. Not my job. Hell, I don’t know if I’d want that responsibility. Just… Well, it’s worth a shot.”
Without waiting for an answer, he took her hand and tugged her back down the hall to her bedroom. God, she must look a wreck after their night, and she envied Dima’s shower. The expression on Paul’s face said he didn’t give a shit. He’d lit up in that delicious, priceless way.
He looked her up and down. “Clothes off, hot pants. Time to get nasty.”
Lizzie restrained her amusement to a smirk. She stripped for him. Being naked had never been a problem for her, although she knew a hell of a lot of dancers with body images so bad they could barely look in a mirror. In that respect, she’d always been lucky. She was a Latin dancer. Shape was her friend.
Paul pushed her onto the bed and covered her body with his. The rough scrape of his jeans against her inner thighs made her shiver out a long moan. He kissed and petted her breasts, and shook his head when he gazed at her stomach. “So fucking sexy, Lizzie.”
She smiled, hands in his hair, nearly losing the morning’s tension on the press of his lips to her navel.
The shower turned off. Lizzie froze. She squeezed her eyes shut, because Paul had left the door open.
She was naked under him, and no way in hell would Dima miss that when he emerged from the bathroom.
Her instinct was to push against Paul’s shoulders. Bolt. Get dressed quick. Only, he held her in place, with that nasty smile back in force. Such a contrast on sweet, optimistic Paul did crazy things to her guts.
The bathroom door opened. Lizzie couldn’t breathe.
Maybe she should’ve trusted Paul after all. He angled a look back to where Dima stood in the doorway, wearing only a towel.
“Join us, Dima?”
Chapter Fourteen
The shower had done little to ease Dima, either his muscles or his head. He’d known Lizzie’s accusation would come sooner or later. The truth could not be hidden forever. Ignoring it for so long had done them few favors. No matter what the judges or their coach had said about timing and balance, she’d fallen from his arms—the exact place where she should have been safest.
Seeing his Lizzie, naked and beautifully lush, under Paul… That was surprisingly okay to accept. They were golden perfection wound together. Paul wore jeans dipped low over his hips, showing off the twin dimples above his ass.
Dima forced a smile out of pure will. “Are you certain I’m welcome? You two are quite cozy.” The words came out entirely more revealing than he’d intended. A wry joke would have been enough.
Yet he needed to make sure Lizzie wanted him there as well.
His stomach churned with the ugly fact that he had all but withered under Lizzie’s approbation. The sharp crack of her angered words had hurt. More than that, they had flayed him open to the bone. Something raw and wounded had spilled out. He and Lizzie had always been a partnership.
He’d never told her about the opportunity he passed up just after her injury. Maybe he should have, but what would that have accomplished? Lizzie didn’t owe him, not for that. Instead, he needed to know that she didn’t still harbor such painful resentment. He mistrusted himself enough for both of them.
All he’d ever wanted to do was dance. To make his parents proud of him when they couldn’t continue their own careers. It had only seemed right after everything they’d done to get them out of Russia and settle in a strange new place. Hell, in a strange way, they had given him Lizzie. Yet nearing thirty, he was a constant half step away from blowing it all. Even if he could forget about six months ago, he couldn’t shake the certainty he would bring about disappointment again.
He needed off the circuit. For good. He needed Lizzie safe with him at Club Devant. Somehow. Before all of his limitations were revealed.
However, his high-and-mighty feelings didn’t have any sway over his cock. Beneath the towel, his body was waking and readying. How could it not, with the luscious hints of Lizzie’s skin peeking out from under Paul?
She swallowed, her slender throat working. Her hand slipped off Paul’s ribs and reached for him. “Come to me, Dima.” A tiny tremor took her fingers.
That easily, his feet were moving. If Lizzie asked, he’d always do his damnedest. That’s the way his mind had been trained—the way she’d trained him.