I pore through the scenarios in a nanosecond, then pretend to pat the hand touching my arm. My fingers wrap around her wrist, and I recall what I learned in those lessons, twisting her arm until it’s behind her.
Reaching up, I wrap her hair around my fist and pull her head back, then drive it forward into the mirror. But once isn’t enough. Glass spiders under the force as she cries out. Blood runs down her forehead, mixing with her snot and tears, granting me a modicum of satisfaction.
The disdain wraps around me, tightening my grip on her long strands as I tug her head toward me. My voice is sweet and kind as I whisper, “If you ever think about him or anyone else who isn’t capable of giving you full consent again, I will slit your throat and enjoy watching the life leave your eyes.”
Pathetic whimpers fill the air when I shove her away, finish washing my hands, surprised I didn’t get her blood and snot on me, then step over her cowering form.
When I’m out of the restroom, I start shaking.
Because, believe it or not, I’m not especially violent. I’ve never attacked anyone who didn’t come at me first.
The second she confirmed it, my spirit left my body…and a demon took its place. And even as I stand here, my body shuddering with adrenaline and a hint of fear, it doesn’t feel like enough.
I understand, now, what happens when a man realizes the woman he cares about has been hurt.
Crap.
My head falls back, realizing that I don’t justcareabout Jagger. I think I like him.
I really, really like him.
Stop it, Poppy. You know you can’t keep him.
But what if you could?
***
Snow is falling when I exit the theater. It trickles from the sky in delicate sheets, blanketing the square in shimmering white. Even I have to admit how spectacular it appears under the soft glow of the Christmas lights. Magical is really the only way to describe it.
As the other performers file out of the building, I stand here, taking a rare moment to enjoy the beauty and enchantment. A smile plays on my lips, and a giddy excitement ripples over my skin.
He didn’t just drop me off and go do his thing. He came back. I have someone waiting for me. Someone came to watch me. It shouldn’t make me feel like this. A man, one that won’t be anything more than a weekend fling, should not be tied to my happiness, even for a night, but there’s no other way to describe how I feel.
And he wore a suit. Kind of. Dress pants and a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow work for me, though.
For the first time in years, I lost myself entirely to the dance; the music pulling my limbs and emotion, not memory, controlling my movements. It seems like a lifetime since I performed and loved everything I did, but knowing he was here watching me did that.
It’s more than that, though. It isn’t just about tonight or having someone waiting for me after the ballet.
I should be cold. Should be tired. But all I feel is full. Like I just danced for something—someone—that matters.
Ugh.
Stop smiling, Poppy.
But the permanent grin won’t leave, and when two hands grip my hips from behind, it grows as his heady, intoxicating scent cocoons me, warming me to my marrow despite the icy flurries dancing around us.
“You make Tchaikovsky sexy as fuck,” he growls, cupping my face between his gloved palms as he brings his lips to mine.
“There’s Poppy,” Casey’s voice rings from behind me. “Ooohhh, that must be her boyfriend! You know, the one she told us about.”
I don’t tense, but I try to pull away, ready to explain…What? What will I say? I had something in my eye? I tripped, and he caught me with his mouth?
But he doesn’t let me go, holding me tighter, deepening our kiss.
“I wanted to say hello and meet her boyfriend,” I hear Casey say, this time in front of me.
“You just left her,” Graham’s deep voice rumbles with a hint of annoyance. “And she looks a little busy. You’ll have to wait for introductions.”
