Pas De Deux: A Dance For Two Page 4

  “Damn, she’s fine,” someone else piped in.

  “She looks smaller in person.”

  “She’s foreign, not deaf, stupid.”

  “Don’t say foreign, it’s rude, stupid.”

  Alex clapped: two loud, swift raps of his palms, to silence the peanut gallery, and then turned to Mina again. “Are you up for a few autographs?”

  She smiled. “Of course.”

  Fielding fifteen minutes of questions ranging from exactly what it was French ballerinas ate in a day, to what it was like being one of only a few black ballerinas in one of the world’s most prestigious companies, Mina was pleasantly overwhelmed. There was such an array of skin tones and body types in the room, something she hardly ever saw in her world, and that profound feeling of being alive came over her again.

  She was posing for a final photo for an adoring fourteen-year-old girl’s camera phone, when an eerie whisper sent cold through her body like a brisk autumn breeze. Her skin reacted, prickling as if exposed to the invisible current, and the camera flashed at the exact moment her face froze with anticipation. It was a feeling she hadn’t experienced in… How many days had it been?

  Eight. Eight days…

  Hushed squeals and excited whispers preceded the voice she knew would come, and then it seemed to fill the space, carrying on every floating dust particle in the air.

  Alex didn’t mention he’d be here…

  “Sorry I’m late.” Zack’s grin didn’t seem apologetic at all. “But I see they’ve met our star.”

  The warmth in his tone somehow made his voice richer, and Mina had to turn around before she started to look as unhinged as she felt. Her gaze drifted to his face, and her lips parted at the sheer manliness of him. The dimly lit night outside of the Palais Garnier after her show had softened the face that seemed to be made completely of angles now. Midnight eyes sharpened to striking green, narrowing as they skimmed her face.

  He was dressed simply, in fitted jeans that hugged his hips and hinted at the strength of his thighs. His T-shirt screamed from the effort of covering his biceps, stretching over the impressive muscles of his chest that arrowed down to his narrow waist. He looked like he kicked a ball across a field for a living, but there wasn’t a soccer player alive who could contort himself the way Zachary Coen could.

  “Non, s’il vous plaît,” she protested softly. “I think time will be the judge of that.”

  “Even so.” He stepped forward to take her hand. “Welcome to New York.”

  His long fingers grazed the bare skin of her wrist beneath the sleeve of her cardigan, and she flushed, hoping he didn’t feel her pulse pick up there.

  “Well, how about an impromptu demonstration?” Alex suggested. “What better way to learn the beautiful complexity of the pas de deux than to see it done by two of the best ballet dancers in the world?”

  Excited chatter exploded around the room.

  Mina gasped. “I-I wasn’t prepared to…I’m not dressed properly…my shoes…”

  “It’s fine,” Alex said. “We’ll keep it simple. Swan Lake. The grand pas de deux from Act Three.”

  It was politely worded, cheerfully phrased, but with the firm resolve of a seasoned professor, and Mina didn’t protest further. She lifted her eyes to Zack’s, but they were guarded, giving nothing away. Turning away, she removed her cardigan and slipped off her loafers. She wore only a tank top and leggings, but the air in the room felt stifling. Her heart was in her throat now, and she swallowed to chase it back down.

  The students seemed to float back, making hardly a sound, waiting for Zack and Mina to get into position.

  “From the attitudes derrière,” Alex instructed. “And… five, six, seven, eight…”

  Mina was Odile to Zack’s Siegfried, the beautiful maiden the prince met in the forest. He looked transfixed as she encircled him in a repeating sequence of steps, beckoning him with sensual, fluid movements of her wrists and arms. She executed her pique turns as well as she could without her pointe shoes, and Siegfried gazed lovingly at her. Then, finally, she bent provocatively backward, and a pin drop could be heard as he moved close and clasped her waist.

  His touch was light but firm, and she wanted to lean into it more, to feel his fingers press harder against her body. There was no music, just Alex’s voice providing the count to music that was branded in her DNA.

  They moved again, and Zack was behind her, his hands fanning out above her hips. Her hair was up, and his warm, measured breaths tickled the hairs at her nape. Mina gave into it. After all, she was an accomplished dancer. Acting was part of the job. It was expected. Shutting her eyes, she controlled her breathing and let the room disappear.

  There was no need to think. They moved from the pirouette into the lift, his hands at her back, and the room spun upside down before he set her on her feet again. It felt like they’d done this countless times, synchronizing the next step…and the next…and the next.

  Mina held out Odile’s hand for a kiss, freezing as Zack’s eyes caught and held hers. Merde, she was supposed to withdraw it coyly at the last moment, but her stupide hand lingered. Grinning wide, he took her fingers in his and brushed a kiss against her knuckles. She winced at her mistake, but his eyes were calm. Sure.

  Trust me, they telepathed.

  She might have imagined the gentle squeeze to her fingers, but then they were moving again. Curving his arm about her waist, he tipped her, her back arching deeply over his forearm. He held onto her like she weighed nothing. A beat passed. Then two. And three. He helped her up again.

  He was so close, she could taste him, a hint of his soap and everywhere he’d been that day settling on the back of her tongue. His breath was in her ear, more labored now but steady. His hands still clung to her ribcage, his thumbs brushing the soft skin of her back. Pulling her close, her back to his chest, the short hairs of Siegfried’s chin gently scratched Odile’s cheek. A beat. Then two. And three. The whisper of their breaths together, the rapid beating of their hearts…

  The silent music built to a climax, and Odile turned away, performing a series of high arabesques travelling backwards, as Siegfried gazed in awe. Finally, she was still, and he knelt at her feet in adoration.

  Alex had stopped counting time. The studio was silent but for Zack and Mina’s breaths, still but for the remnants of energy still crackling between them. Then the students broke into raucous applause, whistles and more cheers.

  Mina’s eyes were riveted to Zack’s, which unmistakably said, Well done.

  Alex lifted both brows in silent praise for the pair, who quickly returned to upright positions…a full three feet apart. “Twin souls with one body,” he told his students. “That is what you will learn to be this summer.”

  Chapter Four

  The entire cast and crew of Lady in Red gathered in the studio the following evening for the mixer. Well, almost everyone. Zack skimmed the room.

  The Lady herself hadn’t arrived, and it occurred to him that she was probably still on Paris time when a small group of dancers huddled around a laptop started shushing everyone. They hooked it up to the TV mounted in a corner and cranked the volume up.

  The interviewer was thin and blonde, her features pinched but not cold. She spoke in French, but the subtitles were easy to read.

  “I’m here with Mina Allende, the ballerina who caused quite a stir in the ballet world this week when she announced she would no longer be dancing with the Paris Opera Ballet.”

  The camera panned out to bring Mina into the frame. She looked like a movie star with her hair styled bone straight, wearing a sleeveless dress that looked like she’d been sewn into it, and makeup that expertly played up her arresting features. Especially her eyes. Even from behind her media-ready mask, they were wide-open windows to her soul, lending a vulnerability to her sexy persona he instantly forgot when her lips parted into a smile.

  Some of the dancers nudged each other, and Zack grinned.

  “You’ve quickly spa
rked comparisons to another dynamic dancer, Sylvie Guillem, who left Paris for the Royal Ballet at just twenty-five years old,” the interviewer continued. “She found classical ballet too confining, once describing the Paris Opera boarding school as a prison she wanted to escape, even calling the teachers witches.” She eyed Mina with expert pointedness. “Is that how you feel, too?”

  If Mina was uncomfortable, she didn’t show it. Her expression remained stoic and her posture was impeccable, her hands settled primly in her lap. She took her time with her answer, wetting her lips when she was ready:

  “I admire Sylvie so much, and I felt a kind of heartbreak when I learned that she was retiring. She said something once that has stuck with me since I first heard it, that having limits to push against is how you find out what you can do…that frightening yourself is how you grow.”

  The interviewer’s thin brow rose at Mina’s attempt at evasion, but she was determined to pick her bone. “And you don’t feel that you can grow here any longer.”

  The ballerina’s high forehead creased. Suddenly, the interviewer had manipulated the tone to sound distinctly like “us versus them,” and Zack was keenly aware that he was the ring leader of “them.” He tensed in expectation of Mina’s answer, so riveted, he didn’t notice her when she walked in.

  Mina was good at going unnoticed when she wanted to. All it took was a shift in her psyche and she affected a posture that was less regal, a gait less assuming. It probably helped that her hair was swept up in its typical bun, her face unadorned except for kohl around her eyes. Her clothes were deceptively understated, a skill she’d learned from her mother. She’d showered after her pointe class and thrown on the cropped black slacks, cream silk camisole and sling-back heels in hopes of making a good impression.

  But it looked like the effort had been unnecessary. Hugging the wall, she observed everyone observing her on screen, and felt…relief. Perhaps this days-old interview could satisfy whatever curiosity anyone might have about her, and she could bypass the anxiety of talking about herself too much.

  “Even paradise can feel like a cage to a bird if you clip its wings,” she heard herself say. “I’m frightened for the first time in a long while, and there is something freeing about it.”

  Mina had done so many interviews that day that she couldn’t even remember saying those words, but they held such naked honesty that she felt completely exposed. Then, the question she’d pushed from memory hit her right in her chest.

  “Does this sudden move have anything to do with the tragic death of your long-rumored…friend, principal dancer Étienne Lemaire?”

  Mina gasped, and suddenly every eye in the studio held her in its gaze.

  Merde.

  “Shit! Turn it off!” someone said.

  A couple of people scrambled to shut down the interview, and several others migrated to where she stood to introduce themselves. It was sort of a blur. There was the assistant stage manager, musical director, costume designer and makeup artist, members of the chorus line and so many others…Mina was sure she’d get their names and faces down eventually.

  A man who looked like he’d stepped out of GQ Magazine presented himself with a bow. An actual bow. Mina stifled a snicker. It was quite good, really. He bent from his trim waist, his thumbs hooked into his suspenders into a near-perfect ninety-degree angle. He looked up at her with grinning black eyes and then stood upright again.

  For a split second, it seemed strange to her that he’d dress so formally for no apparent reason in the month of June. He even wore a bowtie, like a young Fred Astaire with deep umber skin. When he opened his mouth to speak, she instantly understood.

  “Harper Holloway at your service, Little Bird.” He made fluttering motions with his hands. “Composer extraordinaire and very happy to make your acquaintance.”

  Charisma dripped from every word, and Mina couldn’t help but smile at his clever name for her. He was obviously making light of the interview, trying to make her feel comfortable. And it was working.

  “Enchanté,” she offered her hand.

  He took it and kissed it, to her further amusement, and then the hairs rose on the back of her neck…

  “Good stuff, Harp.” Zack came to stand beside him. “I think you’ve made your point, you’re a smooth son of a bitch.”

  Mina gasped, looking at Harper for any sign of offense, but the younger man just laughed and embraced Zack enthusiastically.

  “Watch how smooth.” He winked and spun on his heel, crossing to the other side of the room where the laptop was set up.

  Mina would have kept her eyes trained on Harper (she was curious about the expensive looking equipment he was setting up) but they were distracted by the way Zack was moving toward her…The way his eyes trailed her open neckline and down her body…The way they came right back up again, pausing at her exposed throat, like he could see her pulse beating triple time. When he lifted his eyes to hers, she knew that he would kiss her.

  Merde.

  It happened so fast. His warm hand touched her naked shoulder in greeting. The breadth of his chest grew wider as he loomed over her, occupying her space. His face was so close, she could trace his tawny eyebrows with her tongue.

  A tiny gasp escaped her at the thought.

  What the hell? her subconscious snapped. Pull yourself together!

  Enfin, she would have pulled herself together just fine, except his cheek grazed hers, gently scratching, and she sucked air in through her lips again.

  It was just la bise, a friendly little peck on the sensitive skin where her ear met her cheek. But her face heated anyway, the microscopic hairs of her cheek stretching out to prolong the contact.

  When he pulled away, her eyes were glued to his bottom lip. She still felt its pressure against the tip of her ear lobe. He cleared his throat and her eyes flew up to meet his dancing gaze.

  Dieu, he heard me!

  He was so polite, greeting her in the French custom, trying to make her feel welcome, and here she was behaving like une idiote. It was kiss, not a kiss. And it was their third time meeting in-person, so some familiarity was to be expected, non?

  Of course. Back home, there’d have been two cheek kisses.

  Bon Dieu.

  The way she was hyperventilating, two kisses would have killed her.

  Don’t be ridiculous.

  She was a grown woman, not some swooning schoolgirl.

  It’s fine. He probably didn’t hear me.

  He’d heard her.

  That first little intake of breath hardly registered in his brain. She could have been overwhelmed with meeting so many people at once, and Harper wasn’t exactly subtle. But when he brought his lips to her cheek, his ear was positioned just right to hear it a second time. Uneven and sharp. It was just a whisper of sound, but it was loud and clear to his libido.

  Zack knew women. And this one wanted him.

  He wasn’t gonna to do shit about it, either…no matter how much he was enjoying the way her eyelashes did that fluttery thing before she took a deep breath and stepped two feet away from him. She really should stop staring at his mouth.

  Don’t start, his brain told the blood zinging to his extremities. Eight years to get here. Don’t fuck it up now.

  “Ladies and gents!” Harper interrupted Zack’s thoughts mercifully, snapping his fingers and motioning with his arms for people to clear the floor. “We’ve come to the entertainment portion of the program, and today’s your lucky day, because it’s your first look at Zack’s crazy choreo. —That’s right, give it up…” He waited for the applause to subside. “Accompanied by a little something I’ve been working on, me and my homeboy Chopin. Hope y’all enjoy.”

  Mina’s expression turned to sheer admiration, and Zack understood why. Two incredible bodies took their positions in the middle of the floor. They were nearly nude in flesh-colored dance briefs, the woman in a bra top to match. They looked like Olympic gymnasts…or gladiators. Their overt strength and definition
was a stunning contrast to Mina’s lithe frame. She was about to get a peek at her future here, and Zack couldn’t wait.

  The opening piano strokes were gentle, a meandering solo line that went on for fifteen seconds and always made him hold his breath. The dancers hadn’t moved; they just stood there, him behind her, their chests rising and falling, the sound of a soft heartbeat coming through Harper’s speakers.

  The cello started, deep and soulful like the tender voice of a lover, and she began to touch herself. Her arms wound in a slow filigree, and she moved her hands up over her body, caressing her face and the hair that fell softly about her shoulders. Her partner rested his hands at her waist a few seconds as the heartbeat intensified, her arms rising above her head in invitation. His hand smoothed a path over her hip and down her thigh to grip her calf, his cheek to hers. They pantomimed breathless sighs with their open mouths.

  Only twenty seconds passed, but the tension was nearly unbearable. Mina’s breathing had become audibly labored. Zack listened and watched her with rapt interest, anticipating the moment the tension would be released.

  A single keening note from a violin cut through, sharp and lingering. The woman’s leg was pushed up high by her lover’s hand, opening her up to him in a most sensual way. Ten agonizing seconds of breathing, heartbeats and longing ticked by before he slowly let her leg back down.

  The rhythmic chords exploded, and he flung her into the air by her waist, her legs flying apart into a side split. He caught her by her open thighs in the crooks of his arms, her toned derriere sitting on his chest as he spun them around. Facing forward again, his hands pressed down on her lower back to angle her body down, and her legs moved over his shoulders, his face nestled between her thighs.

  She dropped down at startling speed, swung between his legs, her head dangerously close to the floor…and back up again. Down, and back up again, gaining momentum until he threw her into a lift over his head. Suspended there, her back arched exquisitely, her legs curving until her toes nearly touched her head.