As the mothers enter the studio to fetch their daughters, I hang back in the corner near the sound system. Some of them know Blitz and stop to talk with him and indulge their curiosity. His star power is striking. Almost all of them get flirty, tucking their hair behind their ears and giggling like girls half their age.
I have to turn away, although I do glance surreptitiously in the mirror to see if Gwen is like that. She’s actually single, unlike the others. It’s been well over a year since the accident, and she hasn’t dated anyone, at least not as far as I can see from stalking her Facebook page. She’s still deeply mourning her husband.
But she is the most straightforward of the mothers, thanking Blitz for spending time with her daughter and following a glowing Gabriella out of the room.
Janel sets up for the next class, and Danika heads to the foyer to greet the parents, as is her custom during the transition. Blitz stands at the door, watching the girls wheel out.
I linger in the corner, not feeling brave enough to pass by him. I’m done for today, and Blitz has already been too observant, asking if Gabriella is my sister. Hopefully seeing her with Gwen will end those questions. I have the poker face of a dandelion, and there is no doubt in my mind that he’ll guess all my secrets in five minutes if he asks me anything directly.
A few dancers file in, part of Janel’s beginner ballet for preschool-aged girls. They are adorable and look up at Blitz with giggles and smiles. Even if they don’t recognize him as a famous person, his charisma tugs on their young hearts.
Janel motions them inside. “Warm up at the barre, girls.” She notices Blitz is still there. “Are you working with this class too?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t think so. Danika only gave me one per day.” His eyes meet mine and I quickly look away, tugging self-consciously at my skirt. It’s sheer and has a tiny mend in it that I always try to hide.
“We meet again,” he says, his voice as silky as melted chocolate.
I risk a tiny glance and regret it, as his earnest attention is like a powerful potion. I want more of it, all of it. “Yes,” I say, my own voice soft and nervous.
He holds out his elbow in another old-fashioned gesture, as if I would ever have the courage to take it. “Can I interest you in a tour? I need to know my way around.”
When I don’t move, he lowers his arm. “Unless you’re assisting in this class too.”
I shake my head no.
Janel looks between us. “That shark will definitely bite, Livia,” she says. “I don’t blame you for staying out of the water.”
Blitz places both hands over his heart. His fingers are long, and I’m shocked at the places I imagine them going. My face flames red. But I’m not an innocent girl, not like everyone here thinks. I’ve felt what fingers can do.
“I’m injured,” he says to Janel. “My intentions are strictly honorable.”
Janel snorts, sending the ballerina girls to giggling. “Livia, can you at least get him out of here?”
I nod and head toward the door. It’s easier to follow the command of an instructor than to say yes to Blitz. There’s no guilt involved, no worry.
Blitz holds the door open for me. I slip through it and move past another mother-daughter pair about to go inside. This woman recognizes Blitz instantly, and despite the oversized diamond on her finger, she sidles up ridiculously close. “Blitz Craven? From Dance Blitz? Oh, my lucky stars!”
Her drawl is never that thick on ordinary days. She’s so close to him that her rather impressive chest brushes against his dance tank.
“We were just heading out,” Blitz says, although he’s grinning as if making every female forget her husband is the stuff his good days are made of.
Despite the fact that I’m just as smitten as the rest of them, I manage to keep my chin high and flounce to the other side of the wide hallway.
Dance Mom doesn’t really want to let Blitz go, and her fingers trail along his muscled arm as he follows me. But her daughter is mortified, five years old and already sick of how her mother acts. She pulls her away and into the dance studio.
There’s a rush of girls and moms as the transition goes into full swing. “Probably not the best time for a tour,” I say. “You might get mobbed.”
“Where does that go?” he asks, pointing to the double doors at the end of the hall.
“Just storage,” I say.
“Sounds perfect,” he says, just as another mother recognizes him and looks ready to pounce. He jerks open the door and grabs my hand to pull me through.
I’m startled to the core to feel his fingers on mine. It feels so forbidden, so daring, like the love I once felt and lost. Like Gabriella.
My chest goes totally tight, making it hard to breathe. As we pass through the door and Blitz closes it behind us, I jerk away from his hand. I can’t let him think he’s affected me, even though he has. Just not for the reasons he might believe.
My breath comes in wheezes. The dust doesn’t help. Soon I’m sneezing and coughing. Blitz hammers my back.
“You okay, Princess?” he asks.
Princess? Where did that come from? I force my breath to slow until I can take in air easily.
The light is dim, just the shafts beaming in from the high windows along the back wall. “The switch is over there,” I tell him.
He looks around. “I sort of like it this way.”
He wanders among the ghostly shadows of the equipment. Small trampolines, stacks of mats, props, and racks of costumes fill the space. He picks up a top hat from a shelf and tilts it rakishly on his head.
“It suits you,” I say.
Of course it does. Everything does.
He rummages through costumes in clear plastic bags, then triumphantly holds up a scarlet corset. “This has you written all over it.”
My face flushes. I’m glad for the low light, as my cheeks probably match the color of the fabric.
“I don’t think so,” I say.
“Oh, but I insist.” He heads toward me, expertly unhooking the ornate fasteners down the front.
Everything about this sets me on fire. His expression. The hat. His bare arms, the shadows of his cut muscles in the half dark. He circles behind me to fit the corset around my middle, and I’m burning up from the heat of his nearness.
The boning fits snugly against my ribs. When he latches the first hook, his knuckles brush the undersides of my breasts.
I’m completely on fire. I want to back away, but my feet refuse to move. My breathing is shallow, and he has to know how I’m feeling. He’s so experienced. There is no telling how many of the women on his show he’s been with.
He grins at me as he works his way down. He’s so close, I can study his face, the shadowed jaw, firm lips, dark brows. His hair has a little curl to it, just enough to make the short cut fall in a wave. He concentrates on the hooks, his eyes down. He’s touching me. Blitz Craven has his hands all over me.
The corset tightens around my middle as he works, sending another rush of heat on a path to my belly. When he’s finally done, he goes around to the back to tighten the strings.
I want to ask him where he learned to fit a corset, but my throat is too tight for words. I’d sound like a strangled mouse. So I just stand there, listening to the whisper of the cords sliding through the metal grommets. It’s sexy, him dressing me, as if we’re a couple and he’s preparing me to go out onstage to perform.
Or maybe to wear something just for him.
He pats my shoulder. “All set, Princess.”
I inhale a deep breath and realize he hasn’t cinched it too tight. I can take in air.
“I need something more formal,” he says. He rummages through the rack again and comes up with a jacket with tails in the back. When he slips it on, my heart speeds up. He’s really something in the formal getup, even with the jazz pants. Or maybe because of the jazz pants, tight around his waist and thighs, loose around the ankles. Black as night, a complement to the jacket.
But he knows it. He whirls in a circle, his shoulders a blur, the tails flying, then halts, arm out, hand reaching for me.
“I only do ballet,” I say. I don’t know steps for contemporary dance, or jazz, or anything else. I’ve never danced with a partner.
“And you’re amazing,” he says. He runs forward, arm still outstretched, and takes my hand.
The world spins as he turns me around, then suddenly I’m in his arms, leaning on my back. He holds me inside the crook of his elbow.
I look up, and that’s it. I get it. His star power, why he has his own show. It’s that look. That grin. God, he’s sexy. You can forget everything when somebody holds your gaze like that. As if you’re the only woman in the world. The most beautiful. And he has eyes for no one but you.
Except I did that before. I fell just like this. And it was more forbidden than this. The most forbidden thing that exists. It destroyed my family, wrecked my carefree life.
I swallow hard, my grip on Blitz’s arm like a vise.
He recognizes the change in me and lets me up. “The corset really suits you,” he says. His eyes drop to my cleavage.
I look down. I do actually have cleavage. That’s not usual. I’m sort of slight, but the boning pushes out what little is there so that it seems to be overflowing. The sight of it sends another zing through me. Blitz is admiring me. Blitz Craven. Me.
Now that I’m vertical again, I unfasten the hooks on the corset as fast as my fingers will let me. My family expects me home to check in before doing a volunteer shift in the church office. I can get away with a small delay, but I’ve used it up.
“I can’t really do a tour right now,” I say. I fold the corset nervously. “I’m expected somewhere.”
Blitz removes the top hat. “Can I take a rain check on that?” He holds his arm out for the corset and I pass it to him. But his eyes never leave mine, keeping me in their gravitational pull.
I have to look away before I can force my feet to move me toward the door. “I — I won’t be here again until Friday afternoon,” I say. It’s only Tuesday. “You’ll know your way around by then.”
He carefully sets the costumes back on the rack and shrugs out of the jacket. “I’ll save myself for you.”
“O—okay.” He can’t mean that. And he can’t be interested in me, of all people. There are tons of beautiful dancers here. Suze is single. And Betsy. He can have flings with them. I can’t afford to lose the little freedom I’ve gained by being caught with him. Even the storage closet was a bad idea.
So I don’t even say good-bye. I just turn and jerk open the door to fly home.