The first thing Dimitri did when he woke up was check on Natasha. He knocked softly on the closed door. When he didn’t hear a reply, an intense surge of anticipation pushed him to grasp the knob and ease it open, despite feeling like the worst kind of host.

Anticipation deflated. In the light streaming in through the open curtains, it was clear the room was empty.

The bed was neatly made—something Nik had never done while living here—but empty. He took a deep breath and smiled. It was already starting to smell like her perfume, something sweet with a hint of ginger.

In the kitchen, he breathed in the aroma of freshly ground espresso beans and found a cup in the drying rack. Huh. She hadn’t made him any.

When he checked the garage, her car was still parked inside.

He walked back inside with a scowl on his face and his hands on his hips. Where the hell was she?

From the other side of the house, he caught the strains of music, and grinned. Just as he’d suspected, she hadn’t been able to withstand the lure of the studio. Once a fourth bedroom, it was his favorite room in the house, though he hardly used it these days.

He pushed open the studio door slowly and quietly. He’d have to thank Trina for keeping the hinges oiled. Not that Natasha would have heard over the music. She was fully absorbed, her eyes half-closed as she pirouetted across the floor in a pair of worn pointe shoes. Her long dark curls were tamed in a high bun, accentuating her high cheekbones and the elegant column of her neck.

As the music soared, so did she in a series of grande jetes. Her limbs cut through the air with grace and strength, and her arabesque was a thing of beauty.

It had been a long time, but he remembered the moves, learned at his mother’s knee in her own ballet studio in Brooklyn. He’d learned to walk, then run, then plié. Ballet had been first for him. The other styles had come later.

In between the classical ballet moves, Natasha incorporated some hip hop and steps from Latin dances, like salsa and tango. Their fusion was seamless, and executed with mastery and emotion.

He leaned against the doorjamb, overwhelmed by the sight of her. Natasha was always beautiful. Not just her body or her face, but the way she smiled, flirted, and sassed drove him wild. But when she danced? She awoke something in him he wasn’t ready to name. Something deep and encompassing, making him feel settled and terrified all at the same time. More than anything, though, it made him want to be with her. He couldn’t resist her when she danced.

The song came to an end and started again. Her chest rose as she took a deep breath and launched back into the routine.

When the song began a third time, Dimitri joined her.

He came up behind her on bare feet and took her in his arms. She jolted and her eyes flew open wide, but she didn’t say anything. It was just like the first time they’d danced, and every other time since. He let the music flow through him, communicating to him in a way he couldn’t explain and didn’t question. And he led her in a dance.

It wasn’t perfect. He hadn’t watched her long enough to learn the full choreography. But he followed her example, blending ballet with moves from other dance styles. Like always, it was magic.

The brush of their bodies, his hands on her skin, her weight in his arms. His body, still tired from a late night and waking earlier than he was used to, thrummed with the restless energy she brought out in him. Passion—for her, for the dance—lit in his veins.

Dancing with her made him long for something more. He wanted this woman, this way and in all ways. Cool and aloof as she was off the dance floor, when they came together like this, she couldn’t hide herself. The glimpses were enough to make him crave more—more of her body, sure, but also a peek behind her sexy smirk and bedroom eyes. He wanted to know her, the secret Natasha she hid from the world, the Natasha who came out when she danced.

That Natasha touched his heart, bringing him to his knees in a way no one ever had, or, he feared, ever would again. If he had to use their incredible sexual chemistry to get past her walls, he would. And if he had to use dance to ignite the fire between them, he’d do that, too. Even as it threatened to consume him.

When the song ended and started over, they didn’t stop moving. This time, though, they danced closer. Touches lingered. His hands gripped tighter, and her body arched more sinuously. They abandoned the choreography in favor of twining around each other’s bodies to the beat of the music. The singer’s rich, smoky voice wrapped them in a spell of harmony and desire.

Dimitri brought Natasha in from a spin, holding her back against his chest. Her throat was right there, left exposed by the teeny tank top and her high-bun hairstyle. Not so far, really. She was en pointe, and he was barefoot.

Heart pounding, he pressed his mouth to her skin and dragged kisses up her neck, savoring her open-mouthed gasp as he tasted and teased the sensitive spot below her ear.

Drunk on the biting ginger scent of her, he spun her in his arms until she was facing him. Her eyes flew to his, heavy-lidded and filled with hunger. His gaze latched on to her lips, parted and wet from where her tongue had run across them. As he lowered his head to hers, the awareness in her expression turned to anticipation. Triumph sang through him as her mouth trembled and pursed to meet his. With his body heavy and throbbing, urging him to go fast, he took it slow and touched the tip of his tongue to her lower lip.

“Privet!”

Dimitri jerked at the sound of his brother’s voice, the surprise and shock yanking his attention toward the door. In the confusion, he loosened his grip on Natasha, who wasn’t holding on to him. But when he shot out a hand to grab her, he hadn’t counted on her own balance kicking in, and his attempt to catch her turned into a shove. She stumbled backward, eyes wide in shock.

Oh shit. She thought he’d pushed her. “Natasha, I’m—”

“Mitya, you home?” Nik’s shout interrupted his apology, and Natasha nearly tripped over her pointe shoes as she scrambled to gather her computer equipment.

Dimitri ground his teeth and ran his hands through his hair. His brother had the worst fucking timing. “It’s just Nikolai,” he said, following her out. “I didn’t mean—”

“Yeah. Okay.” Natasha’s voice was breathy as she darted through the center of the house that held the main living space, running away from him before he could explain.

From the front door, Nikolai gave them a puzzled look, and Dimitri could guess how it seemed. Him in nothing but sweatpants, Natasha in shorts and a leotard, arms full of tech, her point shoes slapping the floor as she hurried back to her room—fuck, to Nik’s room. Where he probably expected to stay.

A grin split Nik’s face. “Oh, hey, Natasha. Nice to see you.”

“Hey, Nik.” She ducked her head and sent him a wave.

Dimitri stuck his hands on his hips to keep from throwing something. Nik and Natasha knew each other from the times Nik had filled in as an extra on The Dance Off—and from a few mornings where they’d crossed paths in this very house. While it was nice not to have to make awkward introductions, something about their easy greeting set him on edge. “We were dancing.”

Nik raised his eyebrows and pressed his lips together to hide a grin. “Oh yeah?”

“Gotta get ready for work.” With a polite nod, Natasha locked herself in the bedroom.

Nik shouldered his duffel bag. “I’m going to resist making a Goldilocks joke,” he said in a stage whisper. “But just barely.”

“Zatknis.” Scowling, Dimitri padded barefoot into the kitchen. He needed coffee if he was going to get himself under control and deal with his baby brother. He switched to Russian for the conversation, in case Natasha could hear them. “What are you doing here?”

“Unexpected break in the schedule. Figured I’d come back for a few days rather than stick around in Kansas. Didn’t realize you’d given away my room.” Nik dumped his bags next to the bar stools at the kitchen counter, then hopped onto one of them. “You know what? I can’t resist.” In a high, singsong voice, he said in English, “Someone’s been sleeping in my bed!”

Dimitri threw a dishtowel at his face. “Durak.”

Nik caught it and switched back to Russian and his real voice. “The real question is, why isn’t she in your bed? Hey, make me some, too.”

Dimitri grumbled, but got down the cups and ground the beans.

Silence stretched between them, making Dimitri’s shoulder blades itch. He could feel his brother watching, judging, just waiting for the moment to make another joke.

He wasn’t in the mood for Nik’s teasing. He was tired, horny, and—thanks to Nik’s timing—no closer to deciphering Natasha’s mysteries or convincing her to abandon her “no sex” rule.

In the quiet, the sound of the bedroom door opening was loud, and they both looked up. A second later, Natasha paused in the arched kitchen doorway. She had changed into yoga pants, sneakers, and a loose off-the-shoulder top in bright green. Her face was bare of makeup, but her cheeks were flushed. She looked amazing.

“You’re making espresso?” she asked, sniffing the air.

“Yeah, I was making you some.” Dimitri ignored his brother’s dirty look. It was worth it to see the small smile curving Natasha’s lips.

“Actually, I was hoping to make café con leche,” she said. “Gina doesn’t like it, so I got out of the habit of drinking it, but you have such a great espresso machine . . .”

“Make me some?” Nik pleaded.

She winked at him. “I got you.”

Dimitri moved out of the way, watching her work at the counter. Her movements were precise and economical, yet everything was done with grace. She made the espresso shots and poured them into tiny cups, then steamed the milk with the wand he never used, adding sugar as it heated. The whirring sound of the wand filled the room.

Nik pitched his voice over it. “Where are you off to, Tash?”

She kept her eyes on the task at hand as she answered. “I have a few Pilates classes to teach, and two auditions.”

Nik’s eyebrows popped up, and Dimitri realized his had done the same. “Auditions for what?” Nik asked.

“A couple TV spots,” she said, shrugging. “Nothing big. Just trying to fill up my summer with work, you know?”

“Have you ever done a national tour? I’m touring with Seize the Night right now.”

She shook her head and shut off the wand, wiping it down before she poured the milk. “I don’t think I’d want to move around that much. I like having a home base.” Her gaze flicked to Dimitri and away.

He could understand that. He liked having a home base, too. It was hard enough being in Los Angeles, away from his parents. Nik had made it easier, but now he was gone, too.

Well, except for right this moment, when he was sitting in the kitchen.

Maybe it had been hard for Natasha, too, being away from New York, Gina leaving, and now, losing access to her apartment.

The way she poured the milk distracted him. “Hey, are you—” He stopped and laughed. “Where’d you learn to do that?”

Natasha pulled back the pitcher and admired the little white heart formed in the foam on top of the espresso. A pleased smile played on her lips. “It never gets old,” she said. “I used to work at a restaurant with an espresso machine at the bar. We practiced latte art when business was slow.”

He pointed to the heart. “Is that for—”

She snatched the cup away and carried it over to Nik.

“Aww, look, I got a heart!” Nik’s phone was already in his hand, so he snapped a picture. “Tash, you’re a woman of many talents.”

When she came back to the counter, Dimitri crossed his arms over his chest. “What, I can’t have a heart?”

She stared at him from the corner of her eye. “So, you’re admitting you don’t already have one?”

“Very funny.”

Across the kitchen, Nik moaned as he sipped, then gave Natasha a thumbs-up. “Excellent brew, sestra.”

When Natasha picked up an espresso cup in one hand and the milk pitcher in the other, Dimitri shot his brother a glare. What the hell was he doing, calling Natasha sister?

Her moves with the milk caught his attention. She tilted the cup as she poured, carefully turning it as she shook the pitcher lightly, pouring from farther away, then closer as the image began to appear. Even lines formed on top of the coffee, curving and becoming a beautifully detailed leaf, or feather.

“There,” she said, setting it on a saucer and nudging it toward him. “That’s for you.”

It was so pretty, so perfect. “I don’t want to drink it,” he said.

At her soft gasp, he hurried to finish his thought. “It’s too nice looking, I mean. I don’t want to ruin it.” Damn, he was always saying the wrong thing around her.

Nik came around and took a picture of Dimitri’s cup, then filmed a video while Natasha poured her own. She made a design that looked like a heart coming out of a flower, as if it were the easiest thing in the world.

“Cheers,” she said, smiling into the camera as she raised the cup to her lips.

Dimitri sipped his own as he watched. If he kissed her now, she’d taste darkly sweet, like espresso and sugar.

“I didn’t know you could do that,” he said as she drained her cup.

She raised an eyebrow at him. “You never asked.” She set her empty cup in the sink. “You’ll clean up? I don’t want to be late for work.”

Nik answered for him. “Of course he will. Don’t be late because of us.”

“Thanks, Nik.” She tilted her head, and accepted his kiss on the cheek. Then her gaze shot to Dimitri’s, and her dark eyes turned wary.

She wasn’t going to kiss him goodbye. It shouldn’t piss him off, but it did. She’d kissed his brother like it was nothing, but after all they’d done together, last night and for the past three years, a simple goodbye kiss was too awkward.

What . . . the fuck . . . was wrong with them.

“Um, I have to get going,” she said, not really looking at either of them. “See you later, D. Bye, Nik.” And then she was gone.

Dimitri sipped his café con leche and waited. It wasn’t long before Nik leaped to fill the silence, slipping back into English now that they were alone.

“Dude.” Nik gestured toward the doorway, as if Natasha were still there. “What are you doing?”

Tamping down on the urge to yell, Dimitri kept his gaze on his cup and his voice level. “She had a housing emergency and needed a place to stay. I offered.”

Nik blinked. “You offered?” Then he burst into laughter and nearly fell out of his chair. “Wait a second. You offered to let a woman you’re—”

“Watch it.” Dimitri growled.

“Listen, this isn’t the first time you’ve kicked me out of here so Natasha could come over. It’s just the first time she’s staying in my bedroom. What’s the deal? Are you guys roommates now instead of . . . whatever you were?”

Dimitri drained the rest of his cup and stuck it in the sink. “No.”

“So, you guys are still . . .”

“Chert.” Dimitri threw up his hands. “No, we’re not that either.”

Nik leaned his elbows back on the counter, making himself comfortable. “Is she living here?”

“For a few weeks.” Maybe more, if he had any say in the matter. “Until her apartment ceiling is fixed.”

“And she’s sleeping in my room?”

Dimitri glowered at him. “It’s the spare bedroom. You moved out.”

Nik waved that away. “And you’re not . . . you know.”

Rolling his eyes, Dimitri stomped over to the fridge and started pulling out stuff to make a protein shake. He didn’t particularly want one, but he needed to move, to burn off the excess energy incited by his dance with Natasha and his brother’s penetrating line of questioning. He slammed the carton of almond milk on the counter and muttered, “No, damn it, we’re not.”

For now.

The asshole had the nerve to snicker behind his back. “You’re basically roommates then.”

“We are not—” He cut himself off and shot Nikolai a glare.

His brother held his hands up in mock surrender. “Calm down. I’m just trying to get a handle on the situation. I’ve never known you to hang around with a woman you weren’t . . . you know.”

That was because he didn’t. Still, it rankled to have it pointed out so matter-of-factly. “I don’t need to explain myself to you. She’s a guest, and you’ll be nice to her.”

Nik squinted at him. “I’m always nice to her. You, on the other hand . . . you’re kind of a dick.”

Dimitri didn’t answer. Yeah, he’d said some shitty things to her. Usually because he didn’t think about how they’d sound until they were already out of his mouth, and being around her twisted him up, made him impulsive and foolish.

But he’d never claimed to be nice. As a choreographer, he was demanding and expected perfection, with a reputation for having a short temper. That didn’t mean he didn’t feel . . . No, he wouldn’t go there, not now. Nik was too perceptive. Maybe if he pretended to hear his phone ringing in the other room, he could run away.

Instead, Dimitri grabbed a bag of mixed berries from the freezer and dumped them in the blender. The loud whirr of the motor filled the kitchen, prohibiting conversation. But the second the shake was done, Nik spoke again, his tone thoughtful.

“You once said you wouldn’t live with a woman unless you planned to marry her.”

Shit, he had said that, hadn’t he? After Juliette Jacobs laughed in his face fifteen years ago, he’d vowed never to live with a woman unless he was sure it was the real deal.

Dimitri shrugged, trying to act nonchalant. “What’s your point?”

Nik stared at him, his brown eyes—a shade lighter than Dimitri’s own—wide and filled with disbelief. “You’re planning to marry her?”

“No.” Not that he was averse to the idea, but right now, he wasn’t sure.

“So, you didn’t mean it when you said that?”

“I did.” He intended to use this time alone with Natasha in his house to become sure about her, to see if they had more of a connection beyond sex and dancing. For that, he had to get Nik to leave. “Get a hotel.”

Nik huffed. “Yeah, I already figured that out. I’m just waiting for you to make me breakfast.”

Two hours later, Nik left to check into a hotel, and Dimitri was at his desk. His conversation—if it could be called that—with his brother had shed light on the strangeness of this situation. He and Natasha had been locked in this stagnant dynamic for three years. Enough was enough. He picked up his phone, intending to text her and ask if she’d be home for dinner, when strains of Tchaikovsky rang out. His mother.

He picked up. “Privet, Mama.”

She cut right to the chase, speaking a mile a minute in Russian. “Your brother just called. Mitya, you’re getting married?”

Dimitri shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Mama, call the police.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I’m going to murder Nik.”