Page 67 of Sweet Deception

Darren stops what he’s doing to observe me. He looks like he’s about one second away from dropping his jaw rightonto the ground. The pleasure of his reaction jump-starts my muscles.

I continue through afouettéturn, a few brushes, and one jump.

“Ballet dancers are all about control.” My heart’s bouncing with the type of joy that only dance can inspire. “Longer, leaner muscles. Most people don’t realize how much effort it takes.”

Darren’s heavy gaze crawls up my body to meet my eyes, shooting an entirely different kind of yearning through my body.

I love the way he looks at me. Wants me.

“Spend a lot of time controlling things?” His voice grows gruff. Maybe because it’s morning. Or maybe it’s something else.

That question, coupled with the intense eye contact, rattles me.

Once again, he throws me off-balance, within my own body and even my own mind.

Damn him.

I lower my foot. “It’s the only way I’ve survived.”

He lowers himself from the iron bars, grabbing a towel to wipe the sweat off his neck and chest. “I survive by destroying things.”

Part of me is jealous of that towel. “Not everything.” I shake off my daze and propel myself into another leap. “You haven’t destroyed me.”

“Yet,” he growls.

To break the intensity of our connection, I head to the railing by the flowerpots, settle my hand on the metal, and begin working through a familiar routine of positions.

Darren watches with undisguised fascination.

“See something interesting?” I can’t help but tease.

He grunts in lieu of a reply.

“Want to try aplié?” I glide toward him and demonstrate a demi.

“Only if you try a pull-up.” His grin holds both a challenge and the tiniest bit of vulnerability.

I can’t help but grin back.

“Deal.” I move to the iron bars and reach up, but Darren stops me, his hands circling my waist.

“Let me spot you, beautiful.” His voice has become rough and savage. “Wouldn’t want to break anything.”

A compliment from this man feels about as normal as a giant bear stalking out of the woods to bring me a rose. Startling and impossible to ignore. And for reasons I can’t explain, I find myself moved.

If he doesn’t cut this out, I might kiss him.

I turn in his warm grip ’til I’m facing his bare chest. “Some things are stronger than they look.”

I gently push him back with my foot, perform a single pull-up, and then hop down and put some space between us. “Your turn. Let’s see thatplié, and I want perfect form.”

If I was hoping his ridiculous attempt would help kill the burgeoning warmth in my chest, I’m gravely disappointed. He bends his knees and turns his feet out in an admirable replication of my movement, with far more grace than is fair for his big body to contain.

One of his joints cracks when he rises, and his groan fills me with more than a little sadistic satisfaction. He shoots me a rueful glance. “That was harder than it looked.”

The wink that follows threatens to lower my defenses even more, and I can’t allow that.

I edge backwards and gesture over my shoulder with my thumb. “I’m going to grab a shower and after that, I need to get back to work. Sorry I disturbed you.”