Page 8 of Watch Me

Desire pulses and flares with every mental image he draws with his words. I can see myself naked, flushed, writhing underhis hands and body as he impales me. I feel myself dissolving at the thought of orgasming for him—and a roomful of aroused men.

No matter how much my body craves everything he says, I can’t. It’s bad for my image. Dangerous to my ambitions. No, no, no.

“I said that’s enough.” My voice shakes as hard as the rest of me.

He keeps on, as if I never protested. “I am co-owner of a club where you can express yourself in any way you like. In every way that gets you off. Sneak Peek was made for women like you.”

The club where Kristoff’s soon-to-be-infamous threesome video was filmed?

“I know what goes on there.”

A smile toys with those sensual lips of his. “Good. If we weren’t waltzing now, I would reach between those pretty thighs of yours, and I bet I would find out you’re even wetter now than the last time I touched you.”

I want to lie, but I don’t trust him not to dance me into a corner and test his theory.

“I need to use the ladies’ room.”

He hesitates, then releases me. “By all means.”

I turn away, resisting the urge to run to the sanctuary of my dressing room. No, I will walk. Calmly. Breathe in, breathe out.

I’ve done my part for charity tonight. Alejandro paid his money for a good cause. I gave him his dance and his cheap feel, too. He can pat himself on the back, knowing that he's dug up my most shameful secret and rubbed it in my face. I’m not coming back. If I ever see him at one of these charity events again, I’ll run in the other direction. Fast.

Before I can take the first step, he grabs my wrist and whirls me around. Suddenly off balance, I collide against him. My head snaps back, my mouth right under his.

“Come to Sneak Peek,” he whispers. “I will fulfill your every fantasy.”

He’s capable. Of that, I have no doubt. But I don’t dare give him that chance.

5

“So I've got two choices, both really lousy.” I sigh as I stir my hot tea at the outdoor café's wrought iron table this morning. “Either I stick it out and hope this threat is just a sick joke or I part ways with Kristoff, try to find a new partner, and hope I'm still able to compete at this level for another season or two. You know that's as soon as I'd mesh well enough with a new partner to win anything.”

Jonathan sighs. “Don't you think it's time you stop dropping partners, love? Your reputation in that area isn't exactly sparkling.”

“Ending our partnership was a mutual decision.”

The handsome Aussie reaches for my hand across the table. “It was. The handwriting was on the wall. We weren't going to make it. I didn't want to win as badly as you. And sleeping together was a mistake.”

I want to deny his assertion, but he's right. Jonathan simply didn't possess my drive to win. We both knew it. Our one night of impulsive sex merely brought our problems to the fore. We should never have crossed the friends-to-lovers line. But a late-night practice, Jonathan suffering a recent break-up withhis fiancée, me fearing our days of competing together were numbered, hours upon hours of nothing but sexually charged dances, with the tension between us so thick... The dam holding back our restraint eventually burst.

Afterward, our partnership went from strained to doomed. My ambition on the dance floor didn't mesh well with his need to check out to deal with his recent turmoil. Belatedly, I realized he needed more emotional support from a partner than I gave him. Our fights became hellacious. We said terrible things to each other, and he walked out. We ended the partnership the next morning.

In retrospect, it was best for both of us. Not long after, Jonathan's fiancée returned, and he retired to modeling and married life. After a few months of silence, he reached out to me. Over the last eighteen months, we've repaired our friendship. During that time, I've been happily paired with Kristoff...until I saw his blackmail video.

“But let's not rehash ancient history,” Jonathan says in that jaunty Aussie accent of his. “You came to me with a problem. Are you sleeping with Kristoff?”

“Of course not. Until the blackmailer showed me his extracurricular activities, I thought he was firmly in the gay column.”

“At least that's one less complication.”

The early-morning breeze whips through my hair. I look down into my steaming mug. “I have to decide what to do. I don’t want to lose Kristoff. Training a new partner would take so much time. But if the judges get their hands on that footage…”

“It would be devastating. The old crones would crucify you. The men...they'd either try to bury or debauch you.”

Exactly. “Every time the realization that Kristoff has jeopardized everything hits me, I want to strangle him.”

“In the dance department, you two are well-matched. He's a fabulous athlete who wants to win every bit as badly as you. Admit that much.”

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