An hour later, Manny stopped by to tell her the water in the building was back on. Natasha grabbed the first two piles of clothes and hustled to the laundry room on her floor.

While the washer ran, she vacuumed and dusted everything else in the house. According to the list she’d found online, she was going to have to wrap all the furniture in plastic, and either put it into storage or move it into Gina’s old bedroom.

What a fucking chore. Her eyes and throat burned from exhaustion and plaster dust. She took a break to swap out her contacts for the red-framed glasses she wore at night.

Her phone rang while she was loading the dryer. Dimitri’s handsome face flashed on the screen, cropped from a selfie they’d taken one night swimming naked in his pool. She answered out of habit, then bit back a curse. Sangana. She didn’t have time to talk to him, to be tempted by him. Holding the phone to her ear with her shoulder, she grabbed a handful of socks that had fallen to the floor.

“What is it, Dimitri?” Frazzled, she snapped the words out, then winced. She’d never spoken to him that way, but she was inches from a meltdown and too tired to care.

“Tasha?” His deep voice tickled her ear. “Is everything okay?”

“Okay?” She let out a hysterical giggle, which seemed to shatter her common sense. Everything came tumbling out, even though he was the last person she should confide in. “No, nothing is okay. My bathroom ceiling fell in, there’s a leak in my bedroom, and my building is infested with bugs. I have nowhere to live, and I’m running on three hours of sleep because I spent all night with you. So, no, I’m not okay. And I don’t have time for whatever kinky thing you have planned, so just . . . ask someone else.”

And then she hung up on him, something else she had never done before. Before she could call him back to apologize, she slapped the phone down on top of the dryer and kept shoving wet clothing inside. It was better this way. She was trying to keep her distance from him—and doing a terrible job of it, if last night was any indication—so maybe this would push him away and give her some breathing room. Their interactions didn’t extend to hysterical babbling into the phone about real-life things, things that had nothing to do with dancing or fun or sex.

No, their interactions were strictly the carnal sort. Dimitri was a judge on The Dance Off, a TV show that paired celebrities with professional dancers for a ballroom dance competition, and she was one of the pro dancers. They weren’t friends, just coworkers who sometimes banged. It was ridiculous to want to spill to him about the whole situation, and even more ridiculous to worry her snippy words would push him away. This was what she wanted. Distance. Space.

Right. And she was a fucking liar. She wanted him with her every breath, but all he would ever do was break her heart, and that was fragile enough as it was. That was exactly why she needed to stay away from him. Finishing up with the dryer, she headed back to her apartment.

Halfway through vacuuming the living room rug—again—and cursing California’s propensity toward wall-to-wall carpet, the tears burst through the flimsy emotional dam she’d constructed.

Good thing she’d taken out her lenses.

The vacuum filled the room with its obnoxious roar, and all the stress and exhaustion crashed down on her. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she shoved her fingers under her glasses to swipe at her eyes. This sucked. Everything sucked. And she had no idea what to do.

The no-strings on-and-off shit she had going with Dimitri put her through the wringer. No sleep plus a day of teaching had left her physically drained. And now, faced with the prospect of being broke and homeless, she was done. So done. She’d been in tough spots before, had made hard decisions she hoped to never make again. Life had shown her early on that you could only rely on yourself, but the past few years had seemed like smooth sailing. She’d paid down her debts with her last payout from The Dance Off, and when her white Honda had up and died, she’d had the money from her recent acting gig to buy a new one.

And then Gina found true love and moved out.

She was happy for Gina. Truly. Cynical as she was, Natasha still believed in true love, and Gina of all people deserved happiness. Gina Morales and her celebrity partner Stone Nielson had fallen in love while paired together on the previous season of The Dance Off. Their win had opened more doors for them, and they’d left Los Angeles, vowing to navigate the waves of show business together.

Natasha hated herself for feeling jealous, but she and Gina had been friends since they were fourteen. They’d done everything together—high school, starting a dance career, moving to LA—mostly thanks to Gina’s limitless ambition and organizational skills. Now she was gone.

Still, Natasha had handled it. All of it. She had skills and a bit of fame on her side, so she’d secured a slew of side gigs to keep her financial situation steady. Some cameo spots, modeling gigs, and a lot of dance and fitness classes that would get money in her pocket quickly. Once the next season started, she’d be in the clear again.

Except for this. A hole in the damn ceiling. A leak in her closet. And bugs. Bugs! There was only one kind that struck terror into the hearts of building superintendents, and it wasn’t roaches.

A shiver ran down her spine. She had to get the hell out of here. But where could she go? Gina was her ride-or-die, and she’d send money if Natasha asked, but that was exactly why she didn’t want to ask. She could call Lori Kim or Kevin Ray, her friends and coworkers on The Dance Off, but Lori’s roommates were awful, and Kevin was weird about having people in his house.

A heavy knock sounded from the front door, audible over the roar of the vacuum and her sobs.

Sucking in a deep breath, she shut off the vacuum and wiped her eyes. She didn’t care if Manny saw her crying—she had a good reason, and he knew it—so she yelled, “Entra.”

The apartment door opened. It wasn’t Manny.

Natasha stumbled backward over the vacuum cord when Dimitri Kovalenko strode into the room.

Before they’d met, she’d known his face from movies and magazines. In person, he stunned the senses. Dark hair and heavy brows, eyes the color of milk chocolate that focused on her with laser intensity, and always at least a few days of stubble darkening his cheeks and upping his masculinity even more. As if his commanding posture and broad shoulders weren’t already intimidating in a way that made her want to rub her body against his like a cat.

And she . . . god, she probably looked a mess. Sweaty, frizzy hair, glasses. No. No, he couldn’t see her like this. What the hell was he even doing here?

Dimitri froze, his gaze tracking over her tear-streaked cheeks, and his usually stern expression tipped toward concern. “Tasha? What’s going on?”

His voice, normally loud and forceful, was softer than she’d ever heard it. He advanced on her, and she trembled, both wanting his touch and fearing it. Don’t be nice to me, she wanted to beg. I’m too raw already. I can’t take it.

His hands clasped her shoulders, warm and solid, and the comforting green scent of his cologne surrounded her. She swallowed hard, wishing she could lean on him, just for a moment, just to know what it felt like to have someone there to catch her if she fell.

But that someone wasn’t Dimitri, would never be Dimitri. He wasn’t the type to stick around. Hell, he’d never done it before. Why would he start now? He was an occasional hookup. Nothing more.

Dimitri leaned in, and Natasha found the strength to press her hand to his chest to hold him back. Something flashed across his features—hurt? Probably annoyance. But she steeled her resolve. If he kissed her now, it would break her, and she had to stay strong if she was going to figure out the mess she was in.

Natasha lifted her chin, trying to appear in control. “What do you want, Dimitri? I told you, I don’t have time for you right now.” She’d meant to make the words harsh, but they came out weary.

He stepped back, his dark, intense gaze moving around the room, taking in the garbage bags stuffed with clothing, and the smaller pieces of bedroom furniture crowded in the kitchen. “You said you weren’t okay.”

She gestured toward the door to her room, which she had shut to limit the amount of dust in the rest of the apartment. “I’m not. Go look in my bedroom.”

He wiggled his eyebrows at her. “My favorite place.”

She let out an exasperated sigh. “Just go look.” She kept her gaze averted as he opened her bedroom door and went in. The man had a fantastic ass, but now was not the time to admire it. Flustered by his sudden appearance and uncharacteristic concern, she turned the vacuum back on and ran it over the carpet again, just to have something to do.

A few moments later, he walked back into the living room. At his pointed look, she shut the vacuum off so she could hear him.

“Your bathroom ceiling is gone.”

“Yes, thank you. I noticed.”

He didn’t comment on the heavy sarcasm in her tone. “What about Gina’s room? Can’t you stay in there while it’s being fixed?”

Natasha exhaled slowly through her nose and prayed for patience. “Like I said on the phone, there’s some kind of infestation in the building. I have to leave.”

He glanced around, like the chaos in the apartment suddenly made more sense. “That’s not good.”

No shit, Sherlock. She shoved the vacuum into the corner with more force than necessary. “What are you even doing here, Dimitri? I have a lot to do, and I’m exhausted.”

He quit his perusal of the room and gave her a wide grin. “I came to help.”

She stared at him. “Help with what?”

He propped his hands on his lean hips. “Whatever you need. Packing stuff, moving stuff. Just tell me where to bring it.”

Her chest tightened at the direct question, the one that had been on her mind since Manny delivered the news. “I . . . I don’t know.”

His brows creased. “What do you mean? Where are you going to go?”

“I don’t know!” She gestured wildly at the mess around her as the words came tumbling out, powered by stress and anxiety. “I’m screwed. I can’t live here, but I don’t have the time or money to stay in a hotel or search for another apartment. And if I can’t figure it out, I’ll have to quit The Dance Off and go back home to the Bronx to live with my mother. So, while I appreciate the offer, unless you can snap your fingers and conjure up a place for me to live in the next few hours, there’s nothing you can do to help.”

He laughed. The motherfucker actually had the nerve to laugh. She rolled her eyes and wound the vacuum cord in its holder.

“Tasha.”

She suppressed her annoyance. “What?”

“Is that all you need? A place to stay?”

Is that all? What an ass. “Yeah, that’s what I need.”

“You can stay with me.”

Natasha went still, her hand still on the cord. “What did you say?”

“I said, you can stay with me, at my place.”

He couldn’t be serious. Stay with Dimitri? It was a recipe for disaster. But where else could she go? She swallowed hard and shut her eyes. “Do you mean that?”

“Would I offer if I didn’t?”

He wouldn’t. He was an asshole most of the time, but he meant what he said. She straightened, biting her lip, and thought it over. On the one hand, it was an easy solution. If she let the building keep her deposit, she wouldn’t have to pay for storage for her furniture. Staying with Dimitri would be a hell of a lot cheaper than a hotel or moving into the first open apartment she could find. She could save money, and take her time finding a new place.

Not too much time, though. Dimitri was bad for her. He tempted her like no other man ever had, and her inability to say no to him sabotaged her best efforts at being a responsible adult. Just last night, she’d settled into bed early to make sure she was on time for her new job leading an early morning spin class. She was reading a book when Dimitri texted. A booty call. She knew it for what it was. And still, she got out of bed, put her contacts back in, slipped into something sexy, and drove to his apartment. The sex was great—it always was—but she’d fallen asleep in his bed and woken up too late that morning to run home to change. She’d had to teach a spin class in lace panties, which she would not recommend anyone do, ever.

And he would never give her more than that. He was up front about his womanizing and douchebaggery. He’d once told her to call first before coming over, to make sure he was alone. So, while she didn’t expect more from him, damn it, sometimes she wanted more. She didn’t know what that might be, exactly, but something that hinted at a greater depth of feeling, something she could hold close when she was alone at night, to remind herself that she mattered to someone.

Too bad she was an idiot who had the bad habit of wanting more from the people least likely to give it.

She couldn’t tell him any of that. Every time she’d tried to wiggle out of his propositions, he turned on the charm, wooing her with that deep, deliciously accented voice, that hot, lush mouth, and those hands that knew her body inside and out.

She licked her lips and voiced the one concern that might make him reconsider. “It’s a conflict of interest. You’re one of The Dance Off judges. I’m one of the dancers.”

He waved away her objection. “No one cares about that. Besides, we’re not even filming right now. Who’s going to know?”

Natasha didn’t have his confidence. Being on a reality TV show was a lot like high school. No secrets, and everyone was messing around with each other. Dimitri wasn’t the only person on the cast she’d slept with, and he wouldn’t be the last, but there was a difference between hooking up and living together.

She tossed out another question, mostly to see what he’d say. “What about all the other women you bring home?”

He snorted out a laugh. “I’m sure they won’t mind sharing my bed with you.”

“I didn’t say I would be sharing your bed, either.” God, that would be too much like moving in with him, as opposed to using his house as a temporary living space while she got her shit sorted out.

“Why not?” At her withering glare, he held up his hands. “All right, all right. You can take the guest room.”

Not the answer she was looking for. He hadn’t said, Of course I won’t bring any other women home while you’re staying there. Still, she wasn’t likely to receive any other offers tonight, and desperate times called for desperate measures. Besides, it was only temporary.

“Okay.” She ignored his beaming smile and held up a finger. “On one condition.”

He shrugged, his arrogant confidence both infuriating and sexy. “Whatever you want.”

Her pulse beat faster in her throat. She couldn’t believe she was going to say this to him, but it was necessary, both for her career and her emotional well-being. If she were going to live with him, she needed boundaries.

“No sex.”

His expressive brows shot up. “What?”

“No sex. Not while I’m living with you. I mean, staying with you. Temporarily.”

His jaw worked as he considered her words, then he shrugged. “Sure.”

His agreement came too quickly, and it wasn’t like him not to argue, but she had no other options.

True to his word, he helped her finish packing up the apartment. Even though he made a show of digging through her lingerie drawer and waving her lacy underthings in the air, the task was faster and less stressful with him around. Dimitri ran to the hardware store for supplies, they sealed the furniture in plastic, and finally, there was nothing left to do but drive to his place in Beverly Hills.

This was a setback, but she would get through it. All she had to do was make it to the end of the summer, save money, and then find a new apartment before the next season of The Dance Off started filming.

She’d prove she could do this on her own. And try her damnedest to protect her heart in the process.