Page 20 of Life

I scan his tats, his rough exterior, his supremely fit body, and shake my head. “No, en absoluto.”

“Not at all, eh? Fair enough. Turns out I wasn’t cut out for traditional law and order either.” He teeters his head to the side, and his mouth tightens into a fine line.

Before he can continue, I butt in. “Why weren’t you cut out for it?”

He swallows and, once again, avoids eye contact. “Just wasn’t. Let’s leave it at that. But during that time, Thomas and I had a…uh…disagreement over a situation between us. He didn’t agree with the way I handled it. I didn’t agree with his response. So we fought. I left the force and went off on my own. We exchanged only a few e-mails over the past few years. Last e-mail I got from him was a few months ago, and he didn’t mention you. Sorry, Spicy.”

He didn’t mention me? What does that mean? Did he say he loved me and not mean it, or was his relationship with his brother such that he didn’t want to give him any information? All questions I’ll never get answers to. Not that they matter anyway.

“Your turn. Spill,” he demands.

“My story isn’t pretty.”

His lips twitch with a hint of mirth. “They rarely are.”

I clutch my knees tighter against my chest. The phantom ache at my thighs increases with the hold, but I don’t lessen my grip.

“When I was eighteen, I was accepted into a prestigious dance company. I’d worked my ass off to audition, and I was chosen. Antonio was as well. They brought in young dancers from around the world, and he came from Brazil. It was the opportunity of a lifetime and set my career up.”

“Ah, so you’re that kind of dancer. The kind on the big stage, not the kind that swings around a pole.”

I frown. “Did you think I was a stripper?”

“Think? No. Hope? Maybe.” He gives one of those Cheshire Cat grins.

“Cerdo repugnante,” I mumble under my breath.

He chuckles. “A disgusting pig? I guess if the boot fits, I might as well put it on. Continue your story. None of this answers why this fucker is after you. Everything you’ve said sounds dandy to me.”

I smile around the memory. “For the first year, our relationship was everything I’d ever dreamed of. I didn’t have a lot growing up. Nothing, if I’m being honest. Anyway, Antonio took a liking to me and I to him. We became a couple pretty quickly. I was in heaven. I had the dream job, flying around the world from place to place with the handsome foreign boyfriend who whispered sweet things to me in Portuguese when we made love.”

Eli rolls his eyes. “And?” He makes a speed-it-up gesture with his hand.

I glare at him. “Do you think this is easy for me? To relive my past? It’s not.”

He turns more fully on the couch and places a hand over my knee. “I’m sorry. I was being rude. Continue. Please.”

“What I was going to say was that after a year is when it all turned to shit. It was only little things at first. He’d look at me with a nasty gleam in his eye. That quickly morphed into verbal yelling matches where he’d shove me a little. When pushing wasn’t enough, he started smacking me, only swollen cheeks were easy to see. Normal fights between regular couples would include slamming doors and storming out of a room. Not for me.” My voice sounds warbled and shaky as I respond. I tighten my grip on my shins and close myself up even more.

“It’s okay. I’m right here. No one is going to hurt you.” Eli moves closer, tunnels his big hand through my hair, and wraps his warm hand around my nape. “Go ahead.”

I stiffen my upper lip and look right into his eyes. “Then he started hitting me. I thought punching me in the gut was the worst thing that could ever happen to me. Not so. He had a whole slew of ways to hurt me physically and mentally.”

“Like how?”

A flash of a memory rushes to the surface.

“Tony, no. No, I swear. He didn’t touch me inappropriately during that lift! The dance required he palm my thigh.”

Antonio’s ebony eyes glinted with rage, and his voice shook.“¿Você amou cada segundo. Sim?”he sneered in Portuguese, his native language. I’d picked up enough of his words in order to communicate with him fluidly to know what he’d said.

I shook my head and backed up and away, heading toward the flat tile wall of the bathroom. I stood in only a towel. Rehearsals that day had been brutal, and all I wanted to do was take a soak in the old claw-foot tub that came stock in the British condos the dance company rented out during this portion of our tour.

Antonio and I had our own condo since we were a couple. Usually, it was four to a place, but since Tony was one of the lead dancers, and I wasn’t half bad myself, we scored one alone. In that moment, I wished more than anything else we had roommates.

“Tony, I did not like him touching me. I promise. I swear on all that’s holy. Work. He had to lift me.”

He ground his teeth, spat in my face, and pushed me up against the wall. “His hand strayed,mi reina.” He called me his queen in Spanish. I loved how he’d made an effort to learn Spanish on top of English. Only, right then, he spewed the endearment like an accusation. “Thatgarototouched a part of you which should only be mine. Yes?”

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