The next morning, Natasha pulled into the parking lot behind The Dance Off’s rehearsal space. She was scheduled for a quick promo shoot, which would hopefully bring in money from the show sooner than expected. Proximity to the building pushed her financial concerns from her mind and pushed a different worry to the number-one position: she had to keep Donna and the other staff from finding out she was staying with Dimitri.

Not “living with.” It was temporary. And they weren’t sleeping together—literally or figuratively. It should be totally fine.

Somehow she didn’t think the showrunners would see it that way.

The memory of dancing with Dimitri in his private studio, watching the passion flare between them on video, flashed through her mind. She sucked in a breath and knocked the heel of her hand against the steering wheel. God, he was hot. When he put his hands on her, she melted. All good sense flew out the window. Even her fingernails buzzed with need. It was killing her to stay away from him.

But after what Kevin had told her, it was more important than ever that she stick to her rule.

She grabbed her car keys and purse and headed into the building. This line of thinking was only working her up, and she needed to stay cool around Donna. The woman was like a shark, scenting gossip in the water.

Donna Alvarez was in her tiny, cramped office with the door open halfway. Natasha knocked lightly on the jamb. “Hi, Donna. You have something for me to sign?” Better to get to the point.

Donna looked up from her laptop and smiled. “Oh, hey, Tash. Come on in.”

There was a spare chair on the other side of Donna’s desk. Natasha perched on the edge. God willing, this would be a short visit. Then she could get to hair and makeup, get the shoot over with, and go on with her day. She still had classes to teach in the evening.

“Let me just find it.” Donna opened and closed her desk drawers, shuffled a pile of folders. “How’s your summer going? I noticed you haven’t been posting on Twitter much.”

Mira ese comemierda. Kevin was right. Donna was stalking her social media.

“Busy. I took on a bunch of gigs.”

Donna flipped open a folder, shook her head, and set it aside. “Oh, really? What kind?”

The producer’s tone was mild, politely interested, but it would be stupid to let her guard down around Donna. The woman had a mind like a steel trap and never forgot anything she was told—especially if she could use it against someone later.

“Teaching, mostly. Yoga, spin class, ballet—that sort of thing. A few modeling spots.” She could have been booking higher-paying jobs if her agent weren’t on vacation at the moment, hiking in Canada and largely off the grid.

Donna smirked. “You’ll be in great condition when the next season starts. Just don’t hurt yourself. I need you in fighting shape. Hoping to go two for two.”

Ah. She was hoping Natasha would win. Donna had also been line producer for Gina, who’d just won The Dance Off’s trophy. If Natasha won the next season, Donna’s dancers would win twice in a row. And if there was one thing that could be counted on, it was Donna’s ambition.

It was a bad idea to joke around with her, but curiosity won out. “Does that mean you have a clue about who my next partner will be?”

Donna huffed out a laugh. “You know I can’t tell you that stuff, but I’m working on securing someone for you who will strike the right . . . note.”

Note, huh? Maybe he was a musician or some kind of singer. The singers who joined The Dance Off were usually up-and-comers hoping for an increased fanbase, or aging crooners aiming for a comeback and a leg up with the younger generation. Usually they had pretty good rhythm.

“Aha!” Donna held up a folder in triumph. “Here it is.”

Natasha took the papers and scanned them quickly. She and her agent had already viewed the PDF, but she needed to sign the hard copies. “No other clues?” she asked as she signed, using a pen from the “I (Ballet Slipper) Dance” mug on Donna’s desk.

“If I can get him, he’ll be a better fit than Dwayne Alonzo was. You two will burn up the dance floor.” Donna’s expression turned serious as she accepted the papers Natasha handed back. “But I have to warn you, Tash. After Gina and Stone, there’s a crackdown on fraternizing with the celebs. Sexual chemistry is one thing, but nothing obvious.” She raised her eyebrows and sent a meaningful look across the desk. “I’m just saying.”

Heart pounding, it took all Natasha had to nod calmly. “Understood.”

She didn’t point out that Donna had been instrumental in outing Gina and Stone’s relationship. Didn’t mention that Donna’s own machinations and manipulations had resulted in secret footage of them kissing, when they weren’t mic’d and Gina hadn’t even known they were being filmed.

Gina’s response had drawn sympathy from fans, who’d taken to social media to lambaste the producers and editing team.

But Natasha didn’t mention any of that. Because really, how much worse would it be if she were caught fucking one of the judges?

After she left, she sat through hair and makeup, idly scrolling through apartments in neighborhoods like Sherman Oaks and Glendale on her phone. Nothing jumped out at her, and the activity stressed her out, so she was glad when it was time to enter the largest rehearsal room, where the segment would be filmed.

A camera crew swarmed around a makeshift set with a full lighting setup and backdrop. Donna chatted with a woman Natasha recognized as Vita Schwartz, a host from a Los Angeles morning news show. Natasha greeted the camera crew, stepped around a cluster of PAs, and froze.

Motherfucker!

Of course. She should have fucking known. This day had been going too well.

Dimitri looked up from the small craft services table set up on one side of the room. His face lit with a grin when he saw her. He ambled over to her, his outturned dancer’s walk sexy as hell, his sequined suspenders looking anything but silly on him. They only served to highlight the strong lines of his body, bulkier and taller than most male dancers.

She gave him a warning glance. Donna was right there. “Hi, Dimitri. Nice to see you.”

“Tasha.” His gaze heated, and he leaned in to kiss her cheek. She was wearing heels, which brought her closer to his height but for a couple inches.

She caught a whiff of his cologne, the spicy green scent giving her flashbacks to the almost-kiss Nik had interrupted. She sucked on her lower lip, and his eyes widened.

“Tease,” he whispered.

Damn it, he was going to get them in trouble, and so was she if she couldn’t get her hormones under control. Natasha took a step back and aimed for a light, impersonal tone. “What are you doing here, Dimitri?”

He shrugged. “Same as you, I suppose. Pop culture piece for some morning show.”

“Weird that they’re doing this in the off-season,” Natasha remarked, turning as a PA came over to hook up their lavalier mics.

Dimitri dropped his voice. “It’s because Gina and Stone have refused to do a lot of promo. People want to book interviews with the winners, but since they can’t, they asked for the next best thing.”

Natasha frowned. “Kevin and Lauren? They came in second place.”

Dimitri laughed and flashed a cocky grin. “Nah. Better than that.” He leaned in and tapped his chest. “Me.”

She rolled her eyes and scoffed, but his nearness and that blasted cologne did things to her. Arousing things. “You’re so full of yourself.”

At that, he only raised a suggestive eyebrow.

Her pulse pounded in her throat. Fuck. Now she was thinking of being filled by him. Her lips parted, but before she could say a word, Donna approached with Vita and—shit, it was Muriel, one of the execs. Bitter Muriel, who was on the lookout for anything resembling fraternization between cast members.

Natasha smiled, taking a step away from Dimitri as she turned to face them. Muriel made introductions and explained the scenario. Dimitri would explain a few basic ballroom dance steps, demonstrate them with Natasha, then teach them to Vita. It sounded simple enough, and Natasha wasn’t expected to speak, just dance.

It would have made more sense for her to teach the woman’s part to Vita, but Dimitri was the draw here, not her.

They began filming, and Natasha filled her role, standing off to the side with a big smile on her face while Dimitri chatted with Vita about the differences between the Argentine tango and Viennese waltz.

“The tango is a very sexy dance,” he drawled, oozing sex appeal for the camera. Even knowing it was an act, Natasha fought the urge to fan herself. Then Dimitri turned to her, fire in his gaze, and held out a hand. “Let’s show how it’s done, Tasha.”

She stepped forward, suppressing a shiver at the thick way he said her name. She was a fucking mess. Lucky for her, these dances were ingrained in her muscle memory, and she could trust Dimitri to lead. She’d be fine.

Except Dimitri seemed to be doing all in his power to make her not fine. Yes, Argentine tango was a sexy dance to begin with, but coño. The press of his fingertips was just a little more forceful than the dance called for, his touches lingering a fraction of a second too long. He dipped her, his breath on her neck and his palm on her bare thigh, sliding, teasing, tantalizing . . .

Then she was upright, but she couldn’t catch her breath. Her heartbeat pounded heavily in her veins, and her whole body throbbed.

And then Dimitri turned to Vita and pulled her into the dance like it was nothing.

Natasha struggled to get herself under control while she watched. Dimitri was perfectly respectful with Vita. All the sexiness was in his voice. His touch and posture were impersonal, teacher to student. Vita didn’t seem to notice the difference. She was giggling and blushing by the time Dimitri released her.

And then they had the waltz. Most wouldn’t consider it a sensuous dance, but the way Dimitri did it, it was foreplay.

After it was over, Natasha rushed to the cooler to grab a bottle of cold water. Hot and bothered didn’t even begin to describe the sensations racing through her body. She gulped down water like she was dying of thirst, and when she lowered the bottle, Donna was there.

Natasha jumped, splashing water on her chest. “Jeez, Donna, you scared me.”

Donna’s smile was razor sharp. She raised an eyebrow, then deliberately turned to look at Dimitri, who chatted charmingly with Vita.

Nothing like abject fear to douse the flames of desire. Natasha swallowed hard and wiped at the water on her sequin-covered boobs.

Donna turned back with both eyebrows raised. She searched Natasha’s face for a moment before she spoke, every word deliberate. “Don’t ruin your life, Tash. He’s not worth it.”

“What?” The word came out more like a gasp, and Natasha tried to cover it with a nervous giggle and a shrug. “I mean, he’s hot, yeah. But come on.”

Donna only nodded, then walked over to Muriel. Natasha drank more water, then slipped out to change before Dimitri could get her fired on the spot.