“You were really good with the kids,” Natasha said in a quiet voice.

Dimitri cut her a quick look as he drove. After they left Little Lilac, she said she had to make a quick stop on the way home, to hand something off to someone who was covering one of her classes.

“This isn’t my first rodeo, Kroshka. My mother owned a dance studio, and I used to help her teach ballet.”

She twisted in the seat to face him. “What does that word mean? Kroshka.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You’re just now asking this? I’ve been calling you that for years.”

Her chin dipped. Half her face was covered by big, dark sunglasses. He wanted to slip them off her face so he could see her eyes, but kept his attention on the road.

“I . . . didn’t want to ask, I guess.”

“Why not?”

She shrugged. “Just tell me what it means.”

“It’s the equivalent of ‘baby.’ It’s a very sweet name, like sugar, or sweetie.”

“Huh.” She turned her head to gaze out the window.

“Why do you call me Macho?”

She smirked. “That should be obvious.”

“So, it means what I think it means?”

“Exacamente.”

The urge to touch her was killing him. He gave in, dropping a hand to her bare knee and squeezing. “You should learn Russian.”

She snorted. “Dude, I had a hard enough time learning English.”

“Me, too. And I bet I was older than you were.”

She shifted in the seat, and his hand slid further up her thigh. “How old were you when you moved here from Ukraine?”

“Ten.”

“Wow. Yeah, you were older.”

“You were born here.” It wasn’t a question. He already knew she’d been born in New York.

“Yes, but we only spoke Spanish at home. I learned English from TV and other kids, and it wasn’t until nursery school that I heard English from an adult. After that, my great-grandfather started speaking English to me at home.” She fiddled with her glasses. “And books. Somehow, the Spanish-English divide didn’t seem so strong when it was written down. I learned a lot about how English was supposed to sound from reading, but since I was a terrible writer, I still got bad grades in school. It drove me crazy. I loved books so much, but I couldn’t express my thoughts about them in a way the teachers could understand.”

He gave her leg another light squeeze. “I get it.”

“I bet.” She rested her head against the back of the seat and turned her face toward him. “Tell me about little Dima.”

“Mitya,” he corrected. “That’s what my family calls me.”

“Right, I’ve heard Nik say it. So why do Roman and Mila call you Dima?”

Roman Shvernik and Mila Ivanova were two Russian dancers on The Dance Off. “Dima is another nickname for Dimitri.”

“Ah.”

He chewed his lower lip as he sorted through the feelings raging through him. Gratitude and love threatened to overwhelm him. The easy conversation, her willingness to tell him about herself, and her interest in him—they had to be signs they were growing closer. Right?

But she wanted to know about his childhood, and it was something he didn’t talk about much.

“You don’t have to tell me.” She leaned back in the seat. “It’s okay.”

“No, I want to.” In his rush to answer, his voice came out loud and gruff. He tried again. “I want you to know. I just . . . I don’t think about it a lot. I try to forget it, you know?”

“Dimitri, you don’t have to—”

“I do.” He took a deep breath and thumped the wheel with both hands. “You know how adults talk about politics in front of kids, thinking they won’t understand? As the government was collapsing, my parents and aunts and uncles did their best to keep us from worrying, but I was older, and I knew something was up. And I can’t lie, it freaked me out.”

She nodded, and now she reached out and placed a hand on his knee, warm and comforting.

“When we moved here from Odessa, we had a slightly easier time of it, because my aunt and uncle and cousins were already here. They helped us get set up, but for a while we all lived in the same house.” He flicked her a glance. “That’s why my cousin Alex and I are so close. We grew up together, and we’re close in age. Nik was still a toddler when all this was going on. He doesn’t remember any of it.”

“Do you think it affects him?” she asked softly.

He shifted in his seat. “I guess it does. Our experiences with the move were different. He can’t stay in one place for long, and me, all I want is for everything to stay settled.”

Her fingers rubbed his leg, and despite the serious conversation, he wanted her bad. He gripped the wheel hard.

“You’re very close to your parents,” she said.

“They were my rock. Stable, even though everything else was in upheaval. I never doubted them.”

Her lips twisted. “Must be nice.”

He dropped one hand to capture hers, bringing it to his lips. The words welled up in him, the need to tell her he could be that for her, that he loved her and would stand by her. But his mother was right. Right now, Tasha didn’t think she deserved love. He had to show her she did.

Her slim fingers moved against his mouth, their soft tips smoothing over his lips. He slipped his tongue out and licked her, rewarded by her surprised giggle. Languid warmth spread through him, and his cock throbbed and grew heavy. He let go of her and stuck his hand in his lap to adjust himself.

Her giggle turned into a full on laugh. “I taste that good, huh?”

“You’re a tease,” he grumbled, secretly pleased they could flirt this way, with no sense of embarrassment. They’d done too much together to be embarrassed about each other’s bodies, and there was no denying the desire that flared between them.

“Just don’t crash.” She turned to look out the window, lips curved in a smile.

It had been days since they’d had sex. Dimitri hadn’t initiated anything, out of concern for her ankle. But she was almost better now, and they were closer than ever. Tonight, he was going to make his move. She was a goddess. A queen. She deserved to be treated as such, and he’d been remiss in his duties. Tonight, he was going to show her how much he loved her, and how much she deserved to be loved.