The burlesque show had been the worst kind of tease. Not because of any of the action happening on stage—though Renee and the other women had shaken and shimmied and stripteased like champs.

No, as titillating and fun as the show had been, Dimitri’s current source of discomfort came from Natasha’s reaction.

Who knew choosing not to fight a guy would make him a hero in her eyes?

And who knew she’d enjoy watching other women strip? He would have thought she’d be immune to it.

Halfway through, he’d slipped a hand under her dress, feeling the warmth between her thighs. She’d moaned and wriggled on his lap, her ass rubbing against his erection.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Touch me.”

“You like this,” he’d said, surprised. On stage, two women made out and ran their hands over each other’s bodies. “The show.”

She’d twisted to kiss him, her tongue delving deep into his mouth, her breasts rubbing against his chest. Her dark eyes seemed luminous, reflecting the stage lights. “I like watching this with you.”

He was so stocking up on porn after this.

Once the show was over, he helped Natasha to her feet. “Dinner?”

“We have to go backstage first,” she told him, sounding almost apologetic. “I can’t leave without saying hello to Renee and Jeff.”

Dimitri raised his eyebrows. “You think I’m going to complain about going backstage at a gentlemen’s club?”

She pinched his arm.

The backstage area was well lit, and filled with the warm, sweet smells of women—hair spray, perfume, makeup, and whatever else they used before going out to perform. It reminded him of the way his bathroom smelled after Natasha finished using a blow dryer on her hair. Rows of vanity tables lined both walls, each mirror surrounded by bright round bulbs. Another wall held framed black and white photos of classic movie stars, visible over a rack full of costumes.

Renee bustled over to them, wearing a short robe of ice-blue silk. She kissed Natasha’s cheek and shot Dimitri a teasing grin. “Glad you both could make it. What did you think?”

While Natasha launched into a discussion of the dance quality of the routines, punctuated by effusive praise, Dimitri put a hand on her shoulder and tried to keep his gaze at eye level.

He had years of backstage experience with dancers and actors. Seeing people in various stages of undress was normal for him. But this was different. Despite the joke he’d made to Natasha, he was aware of being a man in a women’s space, and he’d be damned if he made them feel ogled in their safe zone.

Then another man walked in, medium height and build with sandy brown hair, holding a clipboard. “Alicia and Damaris, you’re up next,” he called out.

Two women touching up their makeup slipped off their robes and headed out. One of them, a slim brunette, spotted Natasha and let out a gasp of surprise.

“Tash? Is that you?”

Natasha turned, and squealed. “Damaris! I didn’t know you were still here.”

Damaris gave Natasha a squeeze. “The money’s too good. I came back to do one night a week, just to build my savings.”

The man with the clipboard stepped closer. “Damaris, you’re due on the stage.” Then he nodded at Natasha. “Hey, Natasha, good to see you. Renee told me you might come by.”

With a wave, Damaris headed out, and Natasha made introductions.

“Dimitri, this is Jeff, the manager here. Jeff, Dimitri is a . . . a friend of mine.”

Jeff grinned and shook Dimitri’s hand. “Good to meet you. How’d you like the show?”

Renee patted Dimitri’s arm. “You don’t have to answer that. He wants your opinion because he knows you judge dancers.”

Some of the other women were watching, so he gave a thumbs-up and said, “I give it one hundred percent.”

To his side, Natasha snickered. “You’re so corny,” she muttered. But then she slipped her hand around his arm, like she was staking a claim, and he loved that.

“Damaris is the one who got me the interview,” Natasha explained. “And Jeff hired me. Even though I didn’t have boobs.”

Jeff tapped the clipboard against his thigh. “I would have been stupid not to hire you. Your dance audition blew us away, and you picked up the pole technique faster than most. I only wish you’d stayed longer.”

Natasha turned a grateful smile on Jeff and Renee. “I always said it would be temporary.”

Dimitri stiffened. There was that word again. Temporary. Just like living with him.

Jeff nodded and sounded wistful. “I know. And I get that this place isn’t anyone’s dream job. But you were such a pro.”

Renee leaned in. “We always vote for you on The Dance Off. Any hints as to who you’re paired with next season?”

Natasha pressed a finger to her lips. “You know I can’t tell. Besides, I haven’t met him yet. We’re still a few weeks away from filming.”

Renee heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Fine.” Then she sent Dimitri a wink. “Nice meeting you, Mr. Judge.”

They said their goodbyes and left, getting in the car to head to Krasavitsa.

The word temporary still rattled around in Dimitri’s thoughts as he drove. Was that how she felt about his place in her life? Something here now, gone tomorrow?

Chert, that had been the nature of their relationship all these years. But he didn’t think of her that way. Even when he’d kept his distance, she’d been a constant—in his thoughts, in his heart. An eventuality. What if he’d waited too long?

“Have you ever been to Krasavitsa?” he asked, just to break the silence.

She shook her head. “What does it mean?”

“Beauty. My mother named it.”

This restaurant was where he spent most of his time. How was it possible she’d never been here?

Because until a few weeks ago, he’d never been close enough to a woman to show her this place. Maybe Babe Planet was the same for Natasha. A secret she kept close, because she didn’t trust other people with it.

Now that he’d been there, he couldn’t remember why it had been so important that she tell him. He’d wanted to know everything about her, sure, but why?

When he dug deep, the answer was rooted in security, not trust. If he knew everything there was to know, if he could shine a light in all the dark recesses, maybe then he’d feel comfortable enough to take the next step with her. To risk putting his heart on the line.

But this secret hadn’t done that. Yes, he was grateful she’d trusted him with it, especially since she hadn’t told anyone else, not even her best friend. She’d trusted him not to judge her, or make her feel ashamed. He valued that trust and didn’t take it for granted.

But it hadn’t made him feel any more or less secure. She’d lived a life before she met him. She’d made decisions, and while he was curious about her motives so he could learn more about what made her tick, knowing every piece of her past didn’t change how he felt about her. He loved her for who she was now, and all those decisions had led her to this point. He wouldn’t judge her for them, although he did want to be part of her decisions going forward.

He thought of the contract burning a hole in his desk drawer. Of the Idea Book. Of Alex’s voicemails. He had his own things he was holding close.

Still, she’d shared part of her life with him, and it was only right he do the same.

Besides, he loved her. Whether she accepted it, returned it, or . . . some other outcome, he wanted to show her the restaurant. And he wanted the restaurant to see her. She was everything he’d ever wanted in a woman, in a partner. Everything he ever would want. The restaurant was like family. They should meet her.

Although he still wasn’t ready for his mother to get involved yet.

Besides, it was ridiculous to be nervous. He’d dated tons of women. Well, not tons. Lots. Dozens? Anyway, he’d gone on dates. Taken women to dinner, movie premieres, live shows, and fancy parties. It was part of the lifestyle. You got a plus one, and there was no shortage of women desperate to fill that role.

Not because of him. He wasn’t quite that egotistical. But for the fame. The chance to brush elbows and maybe get a leg up. He knew people and, thanks to the diversification of his interests, he got invited to a lot of places.

But he’d never taken Natasha to any of those events, and he’d never brought any women to Krasavitsa. It was the equivalent of introducing her to his family. He’d never hear the end of it.

He cleared his throat. “Remember that time I ran into you at the perfume launch party?”

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “Yeah . . .”

“Were you dating that guy? What was his name again?”

She sighed and looked out the window as he drove. “Rocky Lim.”

“He’s in those car race action movies, right? Martial artist?”

“Yes.”

“Where is he now?”

“London.” She let out an exasperated sigh and glared at him from the passenger seat. “Why are you asking about Rocky?”

“I’m curious about people you’ve dated.”

She snorted and turned away. “Rocky and I weren’t dating, no more than Jackson and I were dating.”

“And like how we weren’t dating.”

She didn’t answer.

“This is a date, Tasha.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Does that mean we’re dating?”

“Are you asking me to be your boyfriend?”

She snorted again. “No. Besides, it’s against the rules.”

“We’re way past your rule, Kroshka.”

“Not my rule. The Dance Off’s. No backstage fraternizing. We can’t date. It’s the only defense I have for living with you—and why we can’t . . . we just can’t.”

He drove in silence. He’d forgotten about that stupid rule. He was a judge, so it didn’t quite apply to him, but only because he was more famous than any of the pro dancers. He wouldn’t be the one to be penalized. She’d take all the blame and the consequences. Their relationship had the potential to ruin her career.

He wanted to give her everything. But he couldn’t give her a career, especially when his own felt so unsteady.

He had to find a way around everything, because he had every intention of breaking both rules—dating and fraternizing.

He had to make this the perfect date, to show her what they could have if she allowed it.

In the parking lot, Raul’s eyes nearly fell out of his head when Natasha climbed out of the car. Even in the boot, she was a stunning woman. She’d complained about the dress, lamenting the loss of her wardrobe and inability to shop for something new, but the tight black fabric showed of her long, lean curves, and honestly, the woman would make a garbage bag look like high fashion. She’d done her hair in sexy, tousled waves. Her eyes looked dark and mysterious, and her lips were a bright, slick red.

She was just as beautiful in pajamas, smiling sleepily at him over a cup of café con leche.

Krasavitsa stayed open late on the weekends, and was a celebrity favorite. When Dimitri walked in the door with his arm slung around Natasha’s waist, every eye turned their way.

Well, not every eye. The eyes belonging to the staff. He caught the bartenders exchanging grins, and one of the waitresses actually stopped in her tracks and bounced on her toes.

Lord. Why had he hired a bunch of sentimental fools?

Carlito, his manager, bustled over to them. He took Natasha’s hand and beamed at her. “Señorita, encantado.”

Dimitri bit back a sigh. “Natasha, this is Carlito, the manager. He keeps this place in order and knows all the gossip.”

“Es mi placer, Carlito,” she replied, smiling back at him.

Carlito led them to the table that was always kept empty in case Dimitri dropped by, chattering with Natasha in Spanish the whole time.

When Natasha drew back a step and raised her eyebrows, Dimitri tuned in.

“¿Verdad?” She sounded surprised. “¿Nadie?”

“Sí. Lo juro. Nadie.”

Once they were seated and Dimitri had placed an order, he pinned Natasha with a look. “What did he tell you?”

She flashed him a toothy smile. “You’ll never know.”

“I can make him tell me. I pay him.”

“He’ll lie through his teeth. His grandmother was Puerto Rican. We have a bond.”

Dimitri shook his head and sat back as Mariska, one of the waitresses, poured their wine. “I knew I was going to regret bringing you here.”

At Mariska’s gasp, Dimitri threw his hands in the air. “I didn’t—come on, you know I didn’t mean it like that. I mean because you’re all going to switch your loyalties over to her instead of me.”

Mariska turned up her nose at him. “And now you know why,” she replied in Russian, and patted Natasha on the shoulder.

He shook his head. “You know I didn’t mean it like that, right?”

Natasha shrugged and popped an olive in her mouth. “You’ve said worse.”

He propped his elbows on the table and pressed his face into his hands. “I have, haven’t I?”

“You might be right about one thing, though.”

“Finally.” He lifted his head. “What’s that?”

Her fingers toyed with the stem of the wine glass. “I should call Gina. And probably tell her about . . . what I did before she moved here.”

“Only if you want to. It’s yours to tell. Nobody needs to know everything you’ve ever done.”

Not even him.

“I thought I could leave it behind. It was something I’d done. I wasn’t proud of it, but I wasn’t really ashamed, either. You saw the show. There’s some serious talent on that stage. Jeff is careful about that, and he treated us well.”

“I’ll admit, I was surprised by how good it was. And Renee? That woman can move.”

“I know, right? She’s like a snake. Everything I can do on a pole, I owe to her.”

“I’m definitely getting one installed. And then I’m sending her a thank you present.”

Her smile dimmed. “Dimitri, I can’t stay. They’ll fire me.”

“Who said the pole was for you? It looked like a good workout.” She laughed, so he kept the conversation light, even though he worried she was right. “Those ladies had incredible core strength. I didn’t even know you could do all that on a pole.”

“Renee’s great at putting together unique pole routines. She has quite a fan following.”

“Seems like you did, too.” Just the thought of that guy touching her against her wishes made his blood boil.

She rolled her eyes. “Honestly, I think that was because Jeff babied me a bit. He knew I didn’t want to be there—not that anyone really does—but I auditioned with ballet and salsa. He made sure I learned the pole and did that, but he didn’t make me do too much more than that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like . . . lap dances and stuff. Private dances. The men loved me. Maybe too much. So, Jeff kept me on the stage where they couldn’t get to me.”

“Did anything . . .”

“No. Never.”

Thank god. “How do you feel?” At her look, he jumped to explain. “After being there again. After that asshole jumped on you. I am sorry for that. We should have just come here.”

She shook her head. “No, I’m glad we went. It’s . . . it’s something in my past, but it’s part of me, part of my journey as a dancer. I can’t forget about it or lock it away.”

“It would be okay if you did. You’re entitled to your secrets.”

“Says the guy who was practically drooling with curiosity after meeting Renee.” She snorted. “You’re a big ol’ gossip, Macho.”

He shrugged. “You should meet the rest of my family.”

Shit.

He was saved from having to elaborate on that when the appetizers arrived. He knew what Natasha liked from the nights he’d brought food home from the restaurant. Beet salad, sweet cheese pierogies, and of course, fries.

Natasha dug right into the fries. “I meant to tell you this before. The fries here are fucking fantastic, even when you bring them home and we have to reheat them.” She shoved a few in her mouth and moaned, eyes rolling back as she chewed. “And fresh? Heavenly.”

“They’re my mom’s favorite, too,” he said. Damn it. Again. Why was he still talking about his family? “I had to make sure we had fries on the menu, just the way she likes them.”

Natasha dipped one in ketchup and used it to point. “Your mom has good taste.”

And she wants to meet you. The words were on the tip of his tongue, but Dimitri held them back. It was enough that the staff were meeting her tonight. He’d hold off on subjecting her to his pushy, loud, opinionated family.

He reached across the table and took her hand—the one that wasn’t holding more fries. She smiled at him as she chewed and the moment was sweeter than any others he could remember.

And ruined by Carlito, who chose that moment to zip over to them.

“¿Está todo bien?” he asked.

Even though the words were directed at Natasha, Dimitri answered, shooing away his nosy manager. “Everything’s fine. Go away.”

Natasha shook her head, but her fingers tightened on his. “Are you always so mean to your staff?”

“You should hear how they talk to me. No respect.”

She took a sip of wine. “You know, I used to think you were scary.”

“Wait, you don’t still think I’m scary? I need to try harder.”

She snorted into her wine glass, then glared at him as she wiped her mouth with a napkin. “You know you have a reputation. And I was a fan. I loved Aliens Don’t Dance. When I met you, it was like a fantasy come to life.”

Uneasiness filtered through him. Their first meeting had been an accident. He realized it later, but when she walked into the rehearsal room, he’d been going through choreography in his head, and suddenly there was someone to test it out with. He’d grabbed her, pulling her into the dance, and she’d gone willingly every step of the way. He just hadn’t expected it to be so perfect.

Her responsiveness to his lead had floored him, as if they were telepathically linked and she could anticipate each move as he thought it.

When it was over, he’d asked her name. After she gave it, he asked, “You know who I am?” When she admitted she did, he told her, “Come over tonight.”

It was fast, even for him, and kicked off everything between them. But he hadn’t known she was a fan then. Had it contributed to her interest in him? A month ago, he wouldn’t have asked. Now, they were too close for him not to, even as he dreaded the answer.

“Is that why you went home with me that first night?”

“Oh, no.” She shook her head and waved a hand like that was silly. “I mean, it helped that I already knew who you were. It didn’t feel like you were a stranger, so I wasn’t worried you were going to murder me and bury my body in your backyard. But you were all intense and sexy and commanding, and dancing with you was like foreplay. I wanted to go.”

He shook his head. “I don’t even know how to respond to all that.” He paused. “Wait, bury you in my backyard?”

She shrugged. “A girl can’t be too careful.”

The entrees arrived, and Natasha beamed at Mariska as she set the salmon plate in front of her.

“That’s your favorite, right?” Dimitri tucked into his pork chop. “You’ve asked for it a couple times.”

Her expression softened. “Yeah, it is.”

“Good. Well, enjoy.”

As he chewed, he wanted to say more. He wanted to tell her he loved her again, but having her here, in the restaurant, was already too much, and there was no telling how she’d respond. In any case, he was supposed to be showing her, not telling her. Instead, he turned the conversation to her.

“There’s one thing I’m curious about,” he said.

She sent him a wary look. “Shoot.”

“Why did you work there?”

Her brow creased. “You know why. I was out of money.”

Like now. He narrowed his eyes, wondering at the parallels. “That’s not what I meant. You said that woman—Damaris?—got you the interview. How did you meet her?”

“I was interviewing for a waitressing job, but they basically told me my tits were too small.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m sure you can guess which restaurant. Damaris was working there, too, and after we chatted a bit, she told me about the Planet. I went in, met Jeff and Renee, and the rest is history.”

He finished chewing and set down his fork. “It doesn’t change anything,” he said in a low voice. “For me, I mean. It doesn’t change what I think about you.”

She sighed. “I appreciate that. But I have the same question for you.” She gestured with her fork. “Why do you work here? You’re a movie star.”

He took another bite and thought about her question. “There’s the easy answer.”

“Which is?”

“It’s smart to diversify your interests and have multiple streams of income.”

“Especially for dancers.” She poked at the beet salad left on the table. “Our careers won’t last forever.”

“Right. But that’s still the easy answer.”

She turned her full attention on him, her dark eyes serious. “So, what’s the real reason?”

He could tell her that it was a low-risk venture. That Alex had done most of the legwork. That it turned out he liked owning a restaurant. But he went with the deepest reason. “My uncle owned a bakery in Brooklyn. I spent a lot of time there, and the employees and customers were like family. I wanted to recreate that out here on the West Coast, since all my real family—my grandmothers, aunts, uncles, cousins, parents—are all back on the East Coast.”

“But on a more extravagant scale,” she said, glancing over her shoulders at the other diners.

“Of course.” He grinned. “You know I don’t do things by halves. We have a lot of regular customers, and the employees stick around.”

“I don’t know what that’s like.” She picked at her napkin. “The family part, I mean. I barely know my extended family. Every so often I think about hopping a plane to Puerto Rico to try to form a connection with my grandparents, maybe even try to find my father, but what’s the point? They’d be strangers. I’m not even close with the relatives I have in New York.”

“Have you ever been to Puerto Rico?”

She shook her head. “Can you believe that? Sometimes I can’t. I was almost born there, and I’ve never even visited.”

“I haven’t been back. To Ukraine.” He shrugged. “Everyone left and never looked back. There’s nothing there for me.”

She squeezed his hand. “That’s how I feel, too. I don’t even go to New York, except for work. My great-grandmother died, and Gina moved to LA with me. My mother is the only one left there, and we . . . well, we don’t get along.”

And now Gina was gone, leaving Natasha alone. He cupped her hand in both of his and rubbed. They’d both lost the two people closest to them in this city when Gina and Nik’s careers took them away from Los Angeles.

But they’d found each other. And finally, after all this time, they were getting out their own way and coming together.

He’d make it work. He didn’t know how yet, but he was determined. For now, he just had to show her she deserved love. Once she accepted that he loved her, they could take the next step, whatever that might be.