Page 48 of Dance of Devils

“Such as dropping that sass, for a start,” I growl. “No more swearing like a goddamn sailor. And being prepared to go into battle. If you think you can manage those, I can break you of your fear.”

The studio goes pin-drop silent, then slowly, Brooklyn starts to nod.

“I think I can manage those.”

“Good girl.”

That’s something else I’m starting to relish: that blush that creeps over her face and neck whenever I say that. Or when she calls me “sir”.

And yes, I’mveryaware how dangerous that is, especially as we move into this madness of me coaching her alone after hours.

“Let’s take the variation again from the top.”

I reach down, taking her hand and pulling her to her feet. She gasps a little when I yank her up so fast that she almost falls into me. But she catches herself, still blushing as she looks away.

I march back over to the iPad and turn to her. “Ready?”

Brooklyn nods and rolls her shoulders. “Yeah.”

“Go.”

This time, it’s even better: what I’m correcting are really the minutest details. But those details are the difference between very good and fuckingperfection.

“Again.”

When she’s finished, I have her start all over again, going through the variation a second time.

“Again.”

And a third.

“Do not let that wrist collapse!” I bark as she moves into her fourth crack at the variation.

I step away from the piano, moving right over to her and walking backward next to her, following her every step and movement with a critical eye.

“The piqué!” I shout over the music as it swells. My pulse thuds as she twirls, her face a mask of concentration, her body twisting, spinning, her muscles flexing.

“Now the pirouette! Right into it!”

Her muscles work, tendons coiling, her skin sweat-slicked, her entire body a masterpiece of anatomy and grace as she nails the pirouetteen dehors.

“Keep going!” I bark. “Full concentration!”

She twirls, dips and spins—and suddenly, her foot slips out from under her, pulling a choked cry from her lips.

I’m there instantly, my hands scooping underneath to catch her and stop her from falling…

…Right into my arms.

The music keeps playing, but suddenly, her palms are flat against my chest, our faces barely six inches apart.

Her eyes are wild and shining. Her breath is coming quickly, and I can feel the erratic staccato thud of her pulse just under her skin where my hands are clasping her back.

Time stops.

Everythingstops.

And then suddenly, so fast that I don’t see it coming, Brooklyn’s lips are crashing to mine.