"Busted. I'm not judging or anything. Please don't think that. I know Rennie is fine and all. I just like to be around in case I'm needed."

He took her hand like it was the most normal thing in the world, instead of something that sent threads of pleasure through her each time his thumb slid over the sensitive skin at her wrist.

"I didn't think you were. First, it seems to me you're the kind of mom who wouldn't just let her kid go off with anyone she didn't trust. But also because it seems to me you take care of people. Mrs. Cardini is lonely; she gets just as much out of time spent with Rennie as Rennie does being with her."

It turned her stomach upside down to hear such praise from him.

"That's not good mothering, that's just basic parenting."

He bent his head, pressing a kiss to her wrist, and she drew in breath. Which didn't help because it was breath filled with the scent of him. He was so big, took up so much s.p.a.ce. She should pull her hand away, should stand and break this contact before he dug into her life any deeper, before this need of him got out of control and she did something stupid.

Instead, she drew her fingertip along the sh.e.l.l of his ear and he shivered.

"I wish it wasn't full daylight. I wish we were alone," he murmured as he continued to hold her hand, slowly rocking the swing back and forth as he kept an eye on the street.

She wished it too, but knew wishes were something entirely apart from reality. He was more than she could handle. Even if she wanted, very badly, to handle him. Out of her league.

"School starts soon," he said, not commenting further on the previous statement.

"Yep. Hard to believe she's going to be in first grade." Like every mother, Elise felt as if the years had just flown by. One day she'd brought home a pink bundle from the hospital, and now that baby was outgrowing her shoes every few months and was going to be a first-grader.

She'd have time alone, more than she'd ever had before, even if it would be filled, more often than not, with work. Maybe even some time to sneak in a man here and there. Have some connection to someone that wasn't about parenting or work.

Admittedly, part of what attracted her so deeply to Brody was being seen as a woman, as a s.e.xual being, by a man to whom she was attracted right back.

"I haven't stopped thinking about kissing you. One taste and I'm jonesing." He grinned, and it did all sorts of crazy to her belly. And other parts. G.o.d, this was dangerous, and so hot it made her want to throw caution to the wind and invite him inside.

"I haven't stopped thinking about it either." She shrugged. No point in lying about it.

"So, what are we going to do about that?"

Before she could answer, Rennie looked over and saw them. "Momma! Brody! Come over and see the flower bed."

Well now, that brought the fantasy in her head to a screeching halt. The man would probably run the other way now. She stood, waving back at Rennie. "On my way."

"I'll come as well." Brody stood and they began to walk toward Mrs. Cardini's.

"Sorry about that." She laughed.

"Never apologize for being a connected mom. It's your job. I knew we weren't going to go at it on your porch in broad daylight." He winked.

6.

Elise bent and stretched, placing her palms flat on the floor. Stretching felt like meditation sometimes. Her body knew it so well, knew the movements, the positions, the limits of her range, she simply fell into the routine, like breathing. As she stretched, warmed up, she pushed away all the things on her to-do list-the new toe shoes she needed to order, the people she needed to call, the squeaky door on one of the lockers she needed to grease. It all fell away.

She put Goldfrapp's Black Cherry Black Cherry alb.u.m on and began to move, letting the music take over as she spotted her first pirouette, and round again. Stepping back, she noted the lack of pull in her calves and noted it gladly. alb.u.m on and began to move, letting the music take over as she spotted her first pirouette, and round again. Stepping back, she noted the lack of pull in her calves and noted it gladly.

It wasn't until she'd moved to fouette en tournant fouette en tournant that she noticed him standing in the doorway, watching. that she noticed him standing in the doorway, watching.

Smiling and pleasantly surprised, she stopped and turned the music off. "Hi, I didn't expect to see you here. Is everything all right?" They'd left a lot unsaid the last few times they'd seen each other.

Brody c.o.c.ked his head at her. "Wow. You're totally amazing. I've never seen anything like those twirly things you were doing just now."

Pride warmed her. She'd worked hard to get where she'd been before the whole thing with Ken. Most of her life had been spent in ballet cla.s.s; she never regretted that time and dedication like some others had. She loved dancing and missed it a great deal, but this new stage wasn't all that bad. The feedback was nice, she had to admit.

"Thank you. That's called fouette en tournant. fouette en tournant. Ballet moves are French so they sound awesome and graceful. Ballet moves are French so they sound awesome and graceful. Fouette Fouette means 'whipped,' by the way." She laughed. "It's the whipping motion of the leg that propels the body into the turn." means 'whipped,' by the way." She laughed. "It's the whipping motion of the leg that propels the body into the turn."

"Ah, makes sense then. It sounds-and looks-pretty complicated. Speaking of looking pretty complicated, I looked around when I first got here. When you said you'd danced for the National Ballet Theatre, I hadn't guessed what that meant. Not really. You weren't a dancer there, you were the the dancer there. I'm incredibly impressed." dancer there. I'm incredibly impressed."

A hated blush heated her cheeks. "Not the the dancer. I was a princ.i.p.al dancer. There were two other female princ.i.p.als when I was with the NBT. I worked my way up over the years." dancer. I was a princ.i.p.al dancer. There were two other female princ.i.p.als when I was with the NBT. I worked my way up over the years."

"Do you miss it?"

She paused. "Sometimes more than I want to. Brody, not that I'm unhappy to see you. I mean, look at yourself. Any woman with eyes would be happy to look up and get a load of Brody Brown standing in her doorway. But, why are you here?"

Brody looked down at her, this small woman with more muscle and balance than he'd ever imagined, a hand on her hip, staring down a man nearly a foot taller than she. She was surprisingly blunt, a quality he very much enjoyed. Still, he wasn't quite ready to say he couldn't stop thinking of her and had sought her out.

"I was at my bank. It's just a few blocks away. I go to this little Indian place for lunch afterward. Like a little ritual, I suppose. Anyway, I was there, eating way too much naan, when I looked up and saw your name on the door across the street. I wandered in, came up the stairs, looked at the photographs of you in all that ballet tutu stuff, realized you were like some ballet superstar. When I walked through and saw you, I just watched for a bit. I hope you don't mind."

She had all that glorious, pale blonde hair twisted into a high bun. Her graceful neck was exposed, set off by the straps of the leotard she wore. His hands twitched with the need to brush fingertips over the edge of her collarbone. She wasn't wearing a tutu or a skirt. He'd sort of been expecting that. Instead she wore a leotard with longer shorts over it and the prettiest shoes-toe shoes he figured, with the way they laced around her ankles. All that strength in such an elegant package. He found himself impressed and yet put off by it. She was culture and cla.s.sical music, and he . . . was not.

"No, of course I don't mind. I had a morning cla.s.s. It's a small one, but serious. These students are very good. I'm lucky to have them. I came to Seattle at the right time. A school closed and two of the preeminent teachers here have retired. My old dance partner at NBT, his mother was one of those teachers. I inherited many of her students."

"I imagine your history helps too. Can't be too many princ.i.p.al dancers offering cla.s.ses."

She laughed. "Well, we dancers don't like to just walk away if we don't have to. I don't want to stop dancing. I just can't do it at the level I had before. So this is a wonderful opportunity for me. And yes, it helps that I was at the level I was when I . . . retired."

The weight of all they left unsaid hung between them. "Will you dance for me? I've only seen The Nutcracker The Nutcracker. My mom, she took us every year. I didn't see much of you when I came in."

"I'm not . . . not what I was in those pictures. My right leg was broken in two places. I'm older now. I'm not her anymore."

He stepped closer, so close she scented the soap he'd used that morning. "You're you. Please. I'd very much like to see you dance."

She paused, taking his measure. "All right. You can sit over there if you like. How about something a little nontraditional? Before I left, one of the ch.o.r.eographers did something for me. It's one of my favorite pieces."

"I'd like that."

She moved away and he settled into a nearby chair. She bent in half, and he had a brief but very vivid image of bending her over just that way and sliding his c.o.c.k into her from behind. Christ, the woman did things to his mind.

But when she hit the remote and moved into position, and a few moments later t.i.to Puente came through the speakers, he was a goner.

Shoulders rolling, she moved slowly, sensuously, across the hardwood floors. She opened herself up to the music, to the movements, until it was all one thing. Like breathing. She was the dance. The beat was cha-cha, so the ch.o.r.eography was all about sensuality, grace, balance and movements from the toes up. So many times every day she failed to find the words, but when she moved she didn't need words, she spoke with her body.

His eyes on her were a brand. The tension between them was taut, exciting. She felt him watch her, his gaze a heated caress of her neck, her arms. In his eyes, she felt beautiful and s.e.xy. Elise was, right then, a siren, a seductress with her body and her grace. It was rare to feel that anymore, and the confidence of it roared through her. She knew her leaps were beautiful, her grand jetes precise and her pirouettes spot-on. Part of her wanted him to see how good she was, wanted him to realize she was more than a broken dancer who'd run from the spotlight, but a dancer who'd held it for good reason for many years.

It burned within her, that recognition, that beauty, until she stepped back on her left foot, rolling her shoulders to set her head when the music died.

Time slid by as she stood tall and met his gaze. Silence, thick, charged, hung between them. Everything unsaid, everything said and done, it was all there in his gaze, in the one she returned. Oh, how she wanted this man. He simply continued to watch her without speaking. He stared for so long, she wondered if she'd misinterpreted those looks from him as she danced.

"I've never seen anything like you before." He moved to her slowly, not gracefully; he was too big for that. But enough to let her step back or run. The heat in his eyes, the memory of his lips on her wrist, of his taste on her tongue, held her there, rooted to the spot.

"Is that a good thing, or a bad thing?"

"To be honest with you, Elise, I don't know. Here's what I do know. I can't stop thinking about you. Thinking about those kisses we shared, about the way your pulse at your wrist beat against my lips. The hollow of your throat." He drew a fingertip over that very sensitive skin and she drew in a shaky breath. "The way you smell. Christ, so feminine. Not flowery, not vanilla, but so female. Drives me crazy." He leaned in and took a deep breath, his lips hovering just above her shoulder.

"I probably smell like female sweat just now." She tried to joke, but his nearness put her on edge. Not with fear but with desire, with wanting things she'd never imagined she'd want. Of wanting him to give her exactly what he said he wanted to deliver. Of wanting him to take take.

"You smell so f.u.c.king good, I want to take a big bite. I want to lick you from the tips of your toes to the tops of your ears."

His words left her gaping like a goldfish in a bowl. She gave in to the feelings, let go and let her fingers thread through that thick hair of his. It was softer than she'd imagined. The strength of him under her hands, as he bent to her, sent a tremor through her. Oh, she wanted this, wanted the power of his body against hers, sliding skin to skin.

"I want you, Elise, and I think you want me too. No. I know you do. I can see it there in your eyes. I tasted it on your skin."

She nodded as he stood back, straightening. His hands remained at her waist, the heat of him, the weight a reminder of what they could have.

"We're friends now, right?"

"Yes."

"You're busy, I'm busy, but I want you so much it drives me to distraction." So much he'd found himself at the bank on a nonbanking day. Made himself go to the little restaurant so he could look at the door to her studio. Finally let go of what he should do and let himself go to her.

What a surprise Elise Sorenson was. Not just any ballerina but a princ.i.p.al dancer. The pictures and news clippings he'd seen on her walls as he'd climbed the stairs, the prestige of what she'd been and accomplished, hadn't really come as that much of a shock. Despite her size, he was quite convinced she was a strong and driven person. But when she danced she was magic.

He was nearly forty; he'd seen a lot in his life, had done a lot. Until he'd met Elise, he'd been quite sure nothing could surprise him anymore. Until she kissed him back on her porch that night after dinner. Until she'd moaned, just a whisper of sound as he'd done it.

Until he'd seen her dance for him just moments before. He'd never paid much attention to ballet. He didn't hate it or think it was too froufrou; he realized it was incredibly difficult. He'd just never taken much interest. But the strength she emanated, the grace and fluidity, it was achingly beautiful and keenly athletic all at once. And it made his want for her simply unbearable. That one person could move with such utter confidence of grace and timing simply shook him. He didn't quite know why it touched him so deeply, moved him so, but as he'd watched her, the need had crawled over his skin.

"And?"

"We have chemistry, Elise. We fit. Given the way I nearly came just from kissing you for five minutes, I think we should expand our friendship to friends who have s.e.x."

She was silent, chewing her bottom lip until he began to think he probably shouldn't have said a d.a.m.ned thing.

She met his gaze without blinking. Nodding. "I agree."

Oh. Well, he . . . All right then. He raised his hand to touch her, but she caught it, halting his movement, but keeping her hand on his.

"I have some ground rules."

He grinned. "I promise to make you come every time."

She laughed, her blue eyes dancing with a light he hadn't seen before. It was then he knew for certain they'd be dynamite in bed.

"That should go without saying. My rules are that you can't sleep over. I'm sorry but I really need stability in Rennie's life. I won't be dating for a while yet and I don't want to have men overnight to confuse her. And if we do this, I'm the only one you sleep with. I realize you're not offering me your frat pin or anything, but I want to be careful, and frankly, I think I deserve that one nod to fidelity."

He'd never let on that he found her so f.u.c.king cute when she got demanding, or that he hadn't wanted another woman since he'd felt the touch of her fingers on his cheek that day he'd been hit. He'd been with a lot of women, but he couldn't seem to recall a time when he'd wanted a woman more than he did Elise. Plus, it certainly wouldn't be a ch.o.r.e to f.u.c.k her and only her as long as they had this little arrangement.

"I agree to both conditions. I respect your putting your kid first and I respect you too."

"I don't have another cla.s.s for two hours. What I do have is a very large couch in my office and a door downstairs that locks."

And yet more surprises from her. Boldly s.e.xual too. "I'll be back in a sec." He dashed downstairs, flipped the sign to closed and locked the door.

She called after him, "Don't break anything! Those stairs are steep and I'm not going anywhere."

He stalked to her, burning for her now that he'd been freed to touch. "Neither is my need for you. Come here. I've been wanting to kiss you since about thirty seconds after the last time."

She went to her toes on those glorious satin shoes and took the kiss he offered. Her mouth was sweet, just as he'd remembered, but the need there was a stronger flavor. It met his own, challenged his own, tested the limits on his control.

Her arms around his neck were strong and sure and held him in place against her lithe body as she squirmed to get closer. This artlessness, the sort of innocent need she showed as she clung to him, surprised him as much as her total confidence of movement when she danced. What a package of contradictions and layers she was. How utterly delightful.

"I want to lay you out and reveal you inch by inch," he gasped, pulling his mouth from hers.

She took his hand and led him down a side hallway and through a door at the end. Her office held a large desk, a big, cushy couch and lots of windows high up on the walls so the room was filled with light but held privacy.

"I want to see you," he murmured as he slid a strap of her leotard from one shoulder, kissing the spot he'd exposed.

"I'm . . . I've been dancing. I'm sweaty . . . Oh G.o.d that's . . ." Her head dropped back as he swirled his tongue across her shoulder and to the spot where it became her neck. Her breast, small, pert, fit perfectly in his hand, her nipple pressing against his palm like he'd pictured a thousand times since he'd met her.

"Stop it. I'm licking you right now and you taste salty-sweet. That's my favorite flavor combo. Chocolate-covered pretzels, popcorn and M&M's. Elise Sorenson. I love it and I can't wait to lick more."

She exhaled, shaky and with a tense groan behind it. He simply looked at her upper body when he pulled the top of the leotard down around her waist, exposing all that pale, creamy skin, the acres of toned muscle, the shape of each beautiful breast capped with a pale pink nipple.

Unable to resist, he leaned down and licked over one and then the other. He picked her up, placing her cute a.s.s down on her desk. "That's better. How flexible are you, Elise?"

Giddiness flushed Elise's system. Her actions this entire morning had been totally unlike her. How wonderful to be a woman she'd never imagined being! In a positive way, for a change In a positive way, for a change. In reply to his question, she swung her leg up, the tip of her shoe near his shoulder.

"Very."

"You're going to kill me, but it'll be worth it." He groaned and took her ankle in his hand, wrapping strong fingers around it. "These shoes are very s.e.xy, but they need to be off so I can finish getting you naked." He paused, looking. "Where's the tie?"

She laughed and moved so her leg was bent, foot in her lap. "A dancer's bane is the way the ribbons on toe shoes come undone all the time. If I were performing I'd go as far as to sew the knot in place, but today I just used a clear Band-Aid." He bent and watched while she quickly peeled the bandage off, untucked the knot and loosened it to take off one and then the other toe shoe. She hoped he was impressed with the rest of her because a dancer's feet were anything but pretty.

He was there again, standing between her thighs as he pulled her shorts down and off and the leotard followed, until all she had left were her tights. The air of the room was cool, but heat rolled from him, blanketing her as she leaned forward to press her face against his chest.

The muscles in his sides jumped as she slid her hands under the edge of his shirt. He was warm and hard, and suddenly she needed to see him so badly it hurt.

"You're too tall this way. I can't reach you."

He simply picked her up, and she knelt on the top of the desk, peeling his shirt off, exposing his upper body. She studied him for long moments, taking in the hard muscle, the twist and curl of ink, the silver barbell in his left nipple.

"You're making me nervous," he said, sounding a bit agitated, so she smiled at him.