Dimitri stormed back into the house, and stopped short in the doorway. Panic flooded his body.

Natasha was crying.

“What’s wrong?” He flew to her side, nearly knocking over a standing lamp. “Are you hurt? Is it your ankle?”

Natasha pushed her glasses up on her forehead to wipe at her eyes. “No, it’s not my ankle. I’m just . . . never mind. Go away.”

“No.” Settling on the sofa beside her, he lifted a hand and rubbed at the tear tracks on her cheeks. “Kroshka, please. Tell me what’s wrong. Tell me so I can fix it.”

When she shook her head, he jerked a thumb at the door. “Was it Kev? You want me to go after him and break his legs?”

She pressed her lips together to stifle a snicker. “If you say, ‘I know a guy,’ I’m hobbling out of here. I refuse to be an accomplice to anything.”

“I won’t say it then.” He leaned in close and cupped her cheek. “Tell me why you’re crying.”

Her lip trembled, and desperation churned his gut.

She sniffled. “I guess it kinda was Kevin.”

His jaw tightened. “I knew it. That guy’s a dick.”

“No, he’s not. He’s just so fucking successful.” She spat the word out like it was a curse. “Did you hear? He has three film roles coming up. Three!”

She threw her hands in the air and let her head fall back against the couch, speaking and gesturing against the ceiling.

“Jobs just fucking fall into his lap, and all he does is smile and laugh, and everyone loves him. If he weren’t my friend, I’d hate him.”

She was talking fast, which wasn’t a problem, since Dimitri talked fast, too, but he was having trouble following the logic. “You’re crying because . . . Kevin’s going to be in movies?”

Her chin quivered, but she scowled. “Yes. I guess so.”

“Are you . . . happy for him?”

She glared at him. “Of course, I am. But I’m also pissed.”

Ah. He got it. “You’re jealous,” he said, proud that he’d figured it out.

Her eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me?”

Shit, he’d said the wrong thing. But she was off again before he could get a word in.

“I’m not jealous, I’m just . . . you know what, sure, fine, let’s say I am. I’m not, but if I were jealous, I’d have every right to be.” She ticked things off on her fingers. “Gina’s living her dream, headlining a Broadway show, and she’s got a hunky man along for the ride who worships the ground she walks on.” She ticked another finger. “Kevin is getting job offers left and right, and yet he always seems to have free time. I don’t understand it. I work my ass off, I’m tired all the time, and I never have any money.”

Dimitri had a theory about that, but figured now wasn’t the time to bring up her financial practices.

“Three, my life is falling the fuck apart.”

He swung an arm around the back of the sofa and leaned in, trying for a boyish grin. “On the plus side, you get to spend more time with me.”

Again, that glare. What did it say about him that he found it sexy when she glared at him?

But the tears gathered again on her lashes. Before he could brush them away, she shook her head angrily.

“I’m a goddamn failure, and soon, everyone will know it.”

Alarm made him sit up straight. “What do you mean?”

She gestured at her leg, then around the room. “Look at me. I’m a screw-up. The only times I’ve ever managed to take care of myself were when Gina was around. As soon as she’s gone, I lost my car, my apartment, my money, and now . . .” Her breath hitched. “If I can’t dance, it’s all over.”

Her words triggered his protective instinct, even though in this case, he was defending her from herself. “You’re not a screw up. You’ve had some bad luck, exacerbated by the fact that you’re working yourself into the ground.” He pointed at her ankle. “This happened because you’re working too hard.”

She sucked in a breath. “This happened because I was up all night with you!”

He shook his head. “That was probably the best sleep you had in weeks. For once, you turned your brain off, and let yourself be in the moment. This is your body’s way of telling you to sit your ass down.”

“I need to work,” she said through her teeth. “If I don’t work, I can’t find a place to live, and if I can’t move out of here, I lose my job at the show.”

“Like I said, there’s no rush to move out. No one needs to know—”

“Kevin and Lori know. Everyone who was in that emergency room knows. It’s only a matter of time, and there’s that stupid new rule—”

He waved it away. “I don’t care about their rules.”

“That’s all well and good for you. You’re a judge and a movie star. I’m just another dancer trying to make it in this town, and I will not go back to—” She clamped her mouth shut.

“To what?” he pressed.

She shook her head. “Nothing. I just . . . I have to be able to dance. That’s all there is to it.”

“Or what?”

That caught her off-guard. She gave herself a shake.

“What do you mean, or what?”

He leaned back and spread his hands wide. “What if you can’t dance?”

Her mouth fell open, and the expression on her face was so full of hurt, he wanted to take the words back. But it was something she had to deal with, something every dancer had to confront after an injury. He felt like an ass for saying it, but he added, “Who are you if you’re not a dancer?”

She choked on a sob. “I . . . I don’t know . . .”

He rubbed her arm. “It’s okay, it’s just something to think—”

“Nothing.” She smacked her hands down on her thighs. Her lips were set in a tight line, like her fate was decided and there was no arguing. “I’m nothing if I’m not a dancer. Just a giant idiot for thinking I could do this.”

“Hey, stop it.” He trailed his hand up to the base of her neck and tried to massage her there, but she shook him off. “You’re not an idiot. You’re not nothing.”

“Dancing is all I’ve ever tried to do.” She dashed at the tears falling from her eyes. “But I’m a complete failure.”

“You’re on one of the top ten network TV shows,” he reminded her. “How is that failing?”

“I got it because of Gina. She found the audition for Everybody Dance Now. They liked us because we were friends, and we moved to The Dance Off together for the same reason. She found our apartment, she made sure our bills were paid, she—”

“Okay, so your friend helped you out, and you’re bad at managing money. You can learn. I’ll help you.”

“No. I need to stop getting help from people. I have to do it on my own.”

“Damn it, why won’t you let people help you? Why won’t you let me help you?”

Startled, she met his gaze. Her dark eyes sparkled, and he wanted so badly to kiss her until she stopped crying and forgot all these ridiculous notions about not accepting his help.

“I don’t want your help,” she whispered.

“For god’s sake, why not?”

For a second, it seemed like she wouldn’t answer. And then she blurted out, “Because I don’t know why you’re giving it! Or I do, and it’s not a good enough reason. And I need to make it on my own. I have to prove I can do it, that I can be a success as a dancer. That’s all that matters.”

“Why the hell are you so stuck on this? It’s not about the end result, Tasha—”

“That’s really easy for someone in your position to say.” She waved her arms. “Look at this house. You’ve done it. Kevin’s done it. Now Gina’s done it, and I’m the fuck-up left behind.”

“Stop saying that about yourself.” He was done listening to her berate herself. “You’re hard-working and you have incredible talent. You were born to dance. And I’m not going to listen to you call yourself an idiot just because no one ever taught you to manage your money.”

“I am.” She let out a shaky breath and ducked her head. “I’m so stupid for thinking I could do this on my own.”

“No, you’re only stupid for pushing away the people who want to help you.”

She lifted her head and gave him an offended look. “Did you just call me stupid?”

“No.” Except he had. Chert. He rushed to explain. “I mean, you called yourself stupid first.” Damn it, that was worse. “But you’re not. You’re amazing. And you’re going to let me help you, because you’re smart. I mean, what the hell, Tash? If you were stupid, would I be in love with you?”

Her eyes grew round, the whites visible all around them. Her eyebrows shot up on her forehead, high and arched.

He blinked. Shit. Had he just said that? Yes, he really had. Well, no taking it back now.

“Yeah, I said it.” He shrugged. “Don’t make a big deal about it. We’re not changing the subject.”

She grabbed the crutches and struggled off the sofa.

“Whoa, there. Where are you going?”

“Bed. I’m tired. Goodnight.”

“Are you serious?” He snatched the crutches and tossed them out of reach. “I just said I love you and you’re running away?”

“You said not to make a big deal about it. So, I’m not. Besides, it’s not true.”

He reared back. “What the hell do you mean, it’s not true? It damn well fucking is.”

She covered her face and shook her head. “No. It’s not.”

“Why did I say it, then?”

“To be nice. You’re trying to make me feel better.”

At that, he laughed. “When have you ever known me to say anything just to be nice?”

She side-eyed him and didn’t answer.

“Natasha—”

“Stop. You don’t love me. No one does. Maybe you think you do, because the sex is great, or you like having someone here you can bang whenever you want, but that’s not love.”

He shoved a hand though his hair, exasperated. “What is love, then?”

“I don’t know. Not that.”

Quiet fell between them. Dimitri pinched the bridge of his nose. It was happening again. He’d put his heart on the line, and was being rejected. But it wasn’t happening how he’d feared. He’d imagined her laughing at him, assuring him that this was just another affair, no need to make things serious.

Tasha hadn’t done that. Instead, she doubted his feelings for her. Doubted her own worthiness of them.

How the hell did he combat that? Especially when he’d done everything in his power to maintain their no-strings relationship out of his own fear of being hurt. He’d cemented a situation where she couldn’t believe in him.

Words weren’t going to fix this. He had to prove his feelings to her.

Sliding one arm under her knees and the other around her back, he lifted her from the sofa.

“What are you doing?” Her voice was dull, and tired.

“Putting you to bed.”

“Put me in my own bed, please.”

“No.”

She sighed, but didn’t argue, like she hadn’t expected him to agree.

After he got her settled in his bed with her foot propped up, he placed her phone on the nightstand beside her.

“Call Gina,” he said.

She shook her head. “She’s busy. I don’t want to bother her.”

“She’s your best friend. She’s not too busy for you.”

Another sigh. “Tomorrow.”

He nodded. “Fine.”

He shut the bedroom door behind him and headed for his office on the other side of the house. He needed time alone to sort out what had just happened, and he suspected she did, too.

The question he’d asked her had stuck with him. It was something one of his coaches had once confronted him with, back when he was on the ballroom dance circuit.

Who are you if you aren’t a dancer?

Dimitri went to one of the shelves in the corner of the room and pulled down a large three-ring binder. Taking it to his desk, he opened it and sat to flip through the pages.

Printed pictures of costumes, set design concepts, song lists, and choreography notes packed the binder and strained the rings. Alex laughed at him, said he should “go paperless” and make everything in the binder digital. There was something called “Pinterest” that made it easier.

Dimitri didn’t care. He’d had this binder since he was a teenager. Since before Aliens Don’t Dance. Between these two peeling plastic covers lived all his ideas, no matter how big or small, organized by old-school dividers with brightly colored tabs.

Who was he if not a dancer?

A creator. And someday he’d have the wealth, the reputation, the fame, and the clout, to bring his ideas to life.

Before, he’d been young, full of more bluster and enthusiasm than common sense. He’d made his move too early, and despite critical acclaim, his show had flopped.

This time, when he tried again, he wouldn’t make a move until he was sure

it would be an unequivocal success.