Page 17 of Bound By Dance and Desire

“Yousaythat, and I understand the point, but I'm not as naturally svelte as even most of the human ballerinas. I have to take care with my macros. Carbs go straight to my boobs and ass and hips. A partner has to be able to lift and fling me around.”

The detached, professional gaze morphed instantly into something far more hot, and far more intimate. “Your body is perfect as it is.”

We'd been talking about training and nutrition almost like two long time company members, so I'd forgotten for a momentwhathe was and that I didn't actually know him. That look reminded me what was at stake if we became involved. More than my body—my dance career.

I pursed my lips, deciding not to argue when I saw the look on his face. “Well, if you insist. I don't want to be a poor host. The sponge cake?”

“An excellent choice.”

His approval befuddled me. There was no teasing in it, just the fuzzy affection of a man with a woman he adored, but who sometimes drove him crazy.

It made absolutely no sense. We'd literally met two hours ago.

“Andrei?” I asked as we emerged from the market, hesitant to break his relaxed mood. “What are we doing?”

He walked us towards a coach, and the Legolas template from before jumped down from the bench in the front and opened the door, giving Andrei an inscrutable sidelong look as he began loading groceries into the back storage. When Andrei finished, he turned to me.

“I told you we would discuss it after dinner, Hasannah.”

The quiet authority that had been present all evening rose to the surface, demanding I back down. I looked at him, looked at the blond. I wasn't stupid.

“It's just that—” I stopped, regrouped, chose my words carefully in the face of the restrained power lurking beneath that gaze. The warning. “In orientation, they told us not to court the attention of a Lord. I listened. I'd planned to heed the advice.”

The men watched me, the blond with something close to pity, Andrei's expression neutral.

“I said I wouldn't hurt you,” he said.

He would, even if he didn’t intend to.

A bit of the easy camaraderie of before was gone, replaced with implacable hardness. It wasn't an outright admission, but he hadn't denied it either.

I stared up at the evening sky, weighing my options, the possible cost of each course of action. We'd been told, more than once, that there was nothing anyone could do in a situation like this. That it was best to submit, make the most of the. . .opportunity. . .until the Lord either tired of you, or granted you enough status that the status itself was protection.

Fighting him would be like throwing myself repeatedly off the edge of a ten-foot-high stage. I'd survive as long as I didn't break my neck, but I'd eventually break everything else and in the end, the stage would still be there, staring at me. Wondering why I kept jumping off when it had already warned me it wouldn't move.

When I looked back down, I blinked frustrated tears out of my eyes, and took a deep breath, clasping my hands in front of me. So close, I was so close to achieving the start of what I wanted.

Endure the pain that didn't kill or maim you. Sacrifice any considerations that would take you away from the stage.

Andrei wanted me. So far he'd behaved as if he wanted mewilling. It gave me room to negotiate. . .a little.

I focused on him. A gentle evening breeze stirred some of his hair into his face, but he didn’t move to brush it aside. The weight of his gaze slid around my body with the same restrained possessiveness as his touch earlier.

My mouth curved in a slightly bitter smile. He didn’t have to speak, to touch, to mark me as his. He could simply stand there andlookat me and there was no doubt.

“You'll let me dance? You won't interfere with my training and rehearsal schedule?”

The last thing I wanted was another external barrier. It had been difficult enough talking my Vietnamese mother out of engineering as a career, and my Native Hawaiian father had wanted me to follow in his footsteps and teach grade school—though he'd been fine with dancing, he'd just preferred something less. . .European. Neither had seen ballet as anything but an exercise hobby, like Zumba—my mother's words.

Ballet. Zumba. To her they were the same thing.

That had been an unproductive conversation. I circumvented strong-willed people by utilizing vague, placid agreement, waiting until they waddled off to do their own thing confident we had a deal, then discreetly going about my business.

Andrei’s sharp, nearly hard regard softened again. He approached and slid a hand around the back of my neck, bending his head to kiss my forehead.

“No, I won't interfere. Your life is still your own, darling. It will simply include me from now on.”

“I spend a lot of my time and focus training, Andrei. I won't always have time for you.”

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