The premiere snuck up on Stone. One day they were rehearsing, and the next, they were hours away from the live broadcast. People kept asking if he was nervous, and then he felt weird for not being nervous.

He wandered around backstage while Gina was in wardrobe for a last-minute costume adjustment. That wasn’t something he needed to be present for, not unless he wanted to watch Gina being sewn into the slinky purple sequined dress. The one that dipped down low between her breasts and hugged all her curves.

Nope, didn’t need to be around for that.

He found Jackson backstage in the area where the cast gathered during the show. They called it the “Sparkle Parlor.” It looked like a drunk unicorn had projectile-vomited glitter all over the walls.

Jackson paced in front of a large flatscreen TV with The Dance Off logo floating around on it like a screensaver. He worked his mouth and jaw, stretching his lips wide and uttering strange humming sounds.

Stone approached slowly. “You all right there?” After growing up with Wolf, weird behavior didn’t faze him.

Jackson spun, then hunched his shoulders when he saw Stone. “You caught me. I’m doing vocal exercises.”

“Why? Planning to sing instead of dance?”

Jackson barked out a laugh. “You wish.” He rubbed his neck. “I do these before I go on stage, even if I’m not singing. They calm me down.”

“I’ll leave you to it.”

Stone headed back into the hallway, passing countless PAs and stage managers dashing around with walkies and other random electronics.

Smelling smoke, he followed another corridor out to a loading dock, where he found Twyla Rhodes smoking a cigarette behind a giant metal dumpster. She wore her costume for the night, a glittery black off-the-shoulder gown.

Twyla spared him a glance. “Oh, hey there, hot stuff. You want one?” She offered him the pack.

“No, thanks.”

“Good choice. It’s a nasty habit.” She took a long drag, let it out in a thin stream. “You’re the one that lives in the forest, right?”

He bit back a sigh. “Yes, that’s me.”

“Don’t suppose you know who I am?”

“Oh, I know. Even in the forest, we had a VCR and all the Elf Chronicles movies on VHS tape.”

She paused with the cigarette an inch from her lips and sent him a big smile. “Always nice to meet a fan, even after all these years. That part never gets old.”

“I hear they’re making another sequel.”

“You hear a lot in the forest.”

“I hear a lot surrounded by a production crew full of nerds,” he returned smoothly.

“I would imagine so.” She chuckled. “And . . . maybe there will be a sequel. But you didn’t hear that from me.” She winked.

Another Elf Chronicles movie all but confirmed by Twyla Rhodes herself. His brothers and sisters were going to flip.

Twyla finished her cigarette and used it to light another one.

“Don’t judge me,” she said in a level tone. “It’s the only vice I have left, and there was a time when I did everything, and I do mean everything.”

“No judgment.”

He’d heard the rumors. Years of drugs and alcohol had taken a toll on her, making her look older than her years. Hitting rock bottom and clawing her way back up had settled a brittle sharpness about her that came out in the form of dark humor and the proclivity to speak her mind as an activist.

As a boy, he’d thought her the most beautiful woman in the world. Her character, Queen Seraphina of the Elves, wore robes of silver and gold that left her arms bare and offered tantalizing glimpses of her legs. She must have been so young then, her alabaster skin smooth and unlined, her eyes bright and determined, her voice clear and sweet. She’d been unknown before the first movie, and then suddenly, she was a star.

“My brothers and I carved our own wooden swords. I can’t tell you how many times we re-enacted the final battle from Queen’s End. My sisters fought over who got to play your character.”

She giggled. “Oh, go on.”

“My older brother swore he was going to marry you.”

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “If he looks anything like you, tell him I’ll take him up on the offer. He’d make a great husband number three.”

“I will. It’d be an honor to have you as a sister-in-law.”

Twyla puffed on her cigarette and gave him a long look, squinting at him through the smoke. “You’re a sweet kid, so I’ll give you some advice: Get the hell out of this business while you can, before it chews you up and spits you out like a piece of gum that’s lost its flavor.”

It was silly, but her words sent a chill through him. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I’m sorry, kid.” She waved him away. “The prospect of dancing in front of a live audience tonight has got me in a maudlin mood. Go find your pretty little partner. That girl’s got enough good cheer for all of us.”

“You’re going to be great,” he said, sensing that she needed to hear it. “People are going to love seeing you perform again. You’ll see.”

Patting his arm with one hand, she lit another cig with the other. “Like I said, you’re sweet. Now go. Leave an old lady to her thoughts.”

He left her there, heading back into the main network of hallways. He passed Farrah Zane by craft services, filming a video for her fans about how nervous she was and how much she needed their votes. He heard heavy kissing from a door left ajar, and spotted Beto Velasquez and one of the makeup artists out of the corner of his eye as he hurried past. By the empty judges’ table, the show’s hosts, Juan Carlos Perez and Reggie Kong, told dirty jokes, while football star Dwayne Alonzo did runner’s stretches nearby. It seemed like everyone was looking for ways to burn off nervous energy.

Stone just wanted to get it over with. It was just dancing, after all.

He saw Gina speaking earnestly with one of the lighting guys, and had the sense to keep his thoughts to himself, lest she accuse him again of not taking this seriously.

Catching her eye, he pointed up into the wings, which would be filled with audience members soon. She nodded, and he went to find the stairs that would take him upward. He wanted a bird’s eye view of the “ballroom.” In reality, it was more like a theater, with a stage at one end, a circular dance floor in the center, and the judges’ table positioned opposite the stage. VIP seating crowded the edges of the dance floor, resembling a dinner club with plush chairs and small round tables. Rigging and lights hid in the shadows of the high ceiling, and regular audience members were confined to overhanging balconies.

When Gina arrived, he was lounging in a padded folding chair, overlooking the scene below as if he were in the audience. He patted the seat next to him and she settled in, letting out a soft sigh as her shoulders drooped. They watched Jackson and Lori work out the camera blocking down below, while the stage ninjas threw together a sparkly, lit-up platform in under two minutes.

“That’s impressive,” he said. “I wouldn’t have thought it was possible to build something so quickly.”

“It only has to hold up for thirty seconds,” she pointed out. “And they do this stuff every week—build sets, design lighting routines, and synch it all up to live music. Not to mention the magic done by wardrobe and makeup.”

“Wow.” He watched Jackson backflip off the stage. “To be fair, my producers often want us to spend a long time on building so they can draw out the story. And we always have to pretend something goes wrong.”

She smothered a grin. “Color me shocked.”

“Heaven forbid we should build something properly the first time.” He sighed.

“We’re the eighth couple to perform. Fourth from the end,” she told him, turning the subject back to the premiere. “It’s a pretty good spot. People usually vote at the end of the show, so going on later is best.”

“Who’s after us?”

“Farrah Zane, Rick Carruthers, and Lauren D’Angelo.”

Stone jerked his chin at the dance floor. “Jackson is really good.”

“He’s an actor. There’s a high likelihood he has dance training.”

“Isn’t that cheating? I thought the whole point was to cast celebrities who aren’t dancers.”

“No, The Dance Off solicits celebs with all levels of experience, and there’s usually a ringer. But it’s not Jackson.”

“What about Farrah? That movie she did had dance numbers in it.”

“Nope. Not her.”

“So, if it’s not Farrah or Jackson—who are great dancers, as far as I can tell—then who is it? Certainly not me.”

She clapped her hands over her mouth, something she did to hold back a snort. He liked it. “Sorry, dude, it’s definitely not you, although you’re doing very well.” She gave him a patronizing smile and patted his knee. “In this case, it’s Lauren D’Angelo.”

Stone followed Gina’s gaze to the loud blonde standing in one corner of the ballroom with Kevin.

Gina ticked off on her fingers. “She’s an Olympic athlete, which means she’s in control of every inch of her body and accustomed to the grueling hours. And she’s a figure skater, which means she’s flexible, strong, and basically dances on ice skates.”

They watched Lauren and Kevin execute a perfect spin. Gina was right. Lauren was fantastic.

“And that’s not all.”

“Shit, there’s more?”

“Ha. You bet there is. Unlike Alan, she’s never won an Olympic medal, so she’s driven to prove she can win something. She’s already entering this competition with the deck stacked in her favor, and to top it all off, she’s got Kevin Ray. People vote for Kevin no matter who he’s paired with. So, yeah, Lauren is the one to beat.”

Stone let out of breath, thinking of his interactions with Lauren. If the skater was taking this as seriously as she took the Olympics, he needed to step up his game. “I guess we better beat her, then.”

Gina smiled at him, a small, sweet smile that set him on fire. “I guess we’d better.”

“What do we have to do?”

“You listen to me and do what I say. Focus on the footwork, hold, and technique. Let the audience see your personality and vulnerability.” She opened her mouth like she was going to say more, then shut it. “You have a chance, Stone. If you charm the viewers and turn out good dances, we can do this.”

“You really want to win, don’t you?” It was a stupid question. He knew she wanted to win.

“I really, really do.” She bit her lip. “There’s another factor, too. I didn’t want to tell you, though.”

“Now you have to tell me.”

She slouched in the chair like the air had been ripped from her lungs. “I don’t want this to affect your performance or put any pressure on you. This is all on me.”

“Not true. We’re partners, remember?”

“Yeah, we are.” She released the words in a rush. “If I don’t make it to the finals, I’m out of a job.”

His jaw clenched. “Don’t you mean, if we don’t make it to the finals?”

She closed her eyes. “I guess I do. You won’t be out of a job, though.”

He clasped her hands in his. Somewhere along the way, this sort of casual touch had become natural for him. At least, it was natural with her. “All right, Gina. Let’s win this thing.”

The way her eyes lit up, the wide, toothy smile on her face—all of this would be worth it if he could see that look on her face again at the end. She squeezed his hands and leaned in, enveloping him in her signature tropical-sweet scent.

“Team Stone Cold, for the win.”

It would have been the perfect moment to kiss her. But then she stood, tugging on his hands, and the moment was gone.

“Come on, partner. Let’s work on our blocking. Tonight’s the big night.”

He followed her downstairs. No more thinking about kissing Gina. He was here to dance, and then head back to Alaska. Focus on the money.

The next few hours sped by. He waited backstage while the judges and extra dancers completed the opening number, joining Gina to mug for the camera before everyone lined up to be announced by Juan Carlos. He watched the other couples dance from backstage, cheering them on and joking with Alan and Jackson, who both danced well when it was their turns. As time wore on and no one fell on their faces, Stone worried he’d be the one to do it.

When it was his turn to take the stage, a stage manager appeared to usher him to his spot on the dance floor. He stood with Gina in the dark, waiting for the behind-the-scenes package to quit playing on the giant screen hanging over their heads. He closed his eyes, mortification setting in as he listened to their awkward first meeting.

“Don’t listen,” Gina said in a low voice.

“How can I not? It’s fucking embarrassing.”

She chuckled and gave his hand a squeeze. “You’ve already lived it. Breathe now. Be present. All you have to do is dance for thirty seconds.”

He took a deep breath as she instructed, and let it out slowly. “It feels like longer.” On screen, Gina freaked out about the “bear.”

“It’s forever and an instant, all at the same time.” She smiled up at him. “There’s nothing like it.”

He shook his shoulders, stretching his neck muscles as the package switched to him stumbling through the steps of the foxtrot. Around them, the stage ninjas darted back and forth, setting up their props for the dance. “I’m . . . nervous.”

“That’s okay.”

“I don’t want to let you down.”

“Oh, Stone.” She squeezed his hand again. “You won’t. Just do your best, okay? Don’t worry about me.”

Before he could reply—not that he knew what to say—they got the cue and took their places—Gina lounging on top of a piano, Stone sitting at a small table with two other male dancers. He picked up a hand of playing cards and stared at them intently. The music lead-in indicated they were back from commercial.

Juan Carlos’ voice rang out. “Dancing the foxtrot, Stone Nielson and Gina Morales.”

The lights went up. The music started. Three weeks of intense training took over.

No time to think. No time to worry. Stone exploded out of his seat as Gina approached, playing his role as the love—or lust—struck gangster, captivated by the sexy lounge singer. Following her across the dance floor, he played up his character for the camera. What felt silly in rehearsal was done without a second thought on the dance floor.

He mimed whistling, tossed his fedora aside, then took Gina in his arms to lead her around the floor.

One step after the other. Left, right, left again. Lean, step back, spin. Gina counted out the moves but he went through the dance without missing a step. The music guided their feet. The lyrics connected them, wrapping around them and anchoring them in the moment.

Gina had been right, of course. There was nothing to do but dance.

It was over before he knew it. Breathing hard, he held Gina in his arms as the music came to an end. Adrenaline pulsed through him, his body on fire with it and the feel of Gina against him. Half a second later, the studio audience burst into applause and cheers.

“You did it.” Her smile lit up her face and she broke the hold to throw her arms around his neck, surrounding him with her scent. “You did it!”

He straightened, pulling her into a hug that lifted her dance shoes clear off the floor. “We did it.” It had been a rush, more than he’d expected, on par with hunting and cliff diving. To his surprise, he wanted to do it again.

When her feet were back on the floor, Gina pressed her lips together, emotion shining in her big, liquid-dark eyes. “You’re right.” She nodded. “We did.”

Juan Carlos popped up behind them out of nowhere, blurting a cheerful, “Let’s get your scores!”