Page 18 of Dance of Devils

When I glance up in shock, Kir is off his phone and looking at me from where he’s still standing by the windows, his tall frame rigid and imposing as he sweeps a hand over his jaw.

“How did you know my size…?”

His silence says it all.

He undressed me.

I mean, I still have my underwear on. And it’s not like I’m shy about nudity, being a professional ballet dancer. Not to mention, you know,a stripper.

But stripping’s for strangers. And at the ballet, it’s backstage with other dancers.

Somehow, knowing thatthis mancut my clothes off and saw basically everything feels like another kind of nudity, weirdly intimate.

“These…”

“Are for you. Unless you’d prefer to go homeau naturel.”

I feel myself blushing as I glance at the clothes, then back at Kir.

…Who still doesn’t make a move to leave the room.

“Thank you,” I say quietly.

He nods.

“So I’ll just…put these on, then?”

Kir clears his throat and turns his head. I guess that’s the most privacy I’m going to get right now. But it’s not like he hasn’t already seen me almost naked.

I gingerly slip out of the bed, standing on unsteady feet before I start gently pulling the clothes over my battered body.

Wow. I’m more beaten up than I thought. Plus…my heart drops…I missed work without even calling in. Lou is going to throw a fuckingfit. And Ineededthat money.

I always need money. Derrick might not have been the world’s greatest stepdad, but he tried, and he’s the only real family I have left.

I start to think through the logistics of picking up an extra shift to make up for the missed income tonight.

Maybe I can sell these,I think morosely as I finish getting dressed in what is, by far, the most expensive clothing that has ever touched my skin.

Kir turns to face me, sensing I’m dressed.

“If you’re ready, I’ll drive you home.”

Shit.

“That’s okay,” I say weakly. “I’ll just take the subway?—”

“It’s two-forty in the morning. I’m driving you home.”

The way he says it, like it’s a royal decree, has that strange slithering sensation winding through my core again.

He leads me out of the room and through hisinsanelybeautiful home. Honestly, it’s like the guy lives in fucking Versailles. I’m not sure my jaw ever gets up off the floor the entire walk, starting from the bedroom I was in, down the hall and a sweeping staircase like something out of a Disney palace, through the ground floor and its enormous, professional-grade kitchen, and then out an unassuming back door to where a gorgeously sleek blackAston freaking Martinis parked on the white gravel driveway.

I mean, I knew Kir was rich. But holyfuck.

The engine purrs to life as I buckle in, the glow of the dash illuminating my wildly expensive new clothes as I discreetly run my fingers over the luxurious fabric. I smile with relief when I look down and see my grungy dance bag at my feet.

Kir clears his throat. “Your address?”