Page 205 of Scent to the Feral Cowboys
It always amazed me how my muscles remembered this, even after everything.
The injury hadn't taken it from me.
Imperial hadn’t taken it.
And neither had Eros.
My ability to rise, to extend, to feel the pull of gravity and defy it anyway.
My ability to fly across a stage, even if that stage was inside a rundown barn in the middle of Wyoming.
I began to move, flowing like water from position to position, not bothering to devise choreography. The air in the barn had cooled more, and dancing pressed it against my body with more force. It caressed my bare skin, raising goosebumps along my arms and legs. Through the freshly cleaned windows, the sun dipped lower, and lower, until the top curve of it threatened to sink below the horizon.
I danced for the sunset. I danced for my Alphas. My future. Myself.
My breath came faster, my heart pounding against my ribs. A new layer of sweat added itself to the already dried salt on my skin. I hadn't danced like this since before my injury.
With each movement, memories flowed.
Grueling rehearsals.
My first solo.
Geoff.
Chess.
Ceramic birds.
A coffin, lowering into the Earth.
Being forgotten by Grandmother.
Waking up on a plane.
The recollections spun away as I began to pirouette. Arms above my head, lowering, lowering, body tightening together, the twirling reaching a fever pitch.
As the last of the light faded, leaving only deep blue in its wake, I brought my sequence to a close with a series of chaînés turns that carried me across the floor, ending in a perfectly held croisé position.
My chest rose and fell rapidly, lungs burning with exertion, heart hammering against my ribs.
I stood there, suspended between movement and stillness, head still swimming, until I felt warm arms circle my waist from behind. I didn't startle, his smell colliding into me the minute we touched. He was mountains, open fields, wildflowers in winter.
Boone.
"You don't even realize how stunning you are, Nelly," he whispered, breath warm against my ear. His large hands spanned my waist, his fingers splayed across my abdomen. I remained in my ballet position for a moment longer, then I relaxed, melting back against his hard, smooth chest.
"I thought you were all still asleep," I said, my voice barely audible.
"I woke up," he replied simply.
I turned within the orbit of his arms, looking up at him. In the dim light, his eyes were endless wells. His midnight hair cascaded around him. I reached up, satisfying the earlier urge I’d had to run my fingers through his hair.
Behind him, I could make out the shapes of the others still tangled together in sleep.
The soundtrack of this moment with Boone was their breathing, along with the music of chirping crickets and distant hoot of an owl filtering in through the Swiss Cheese roof above.
Standing there, naked in his arms, I felt no shame. His eyes held unveiled admiration, and a warmth that had nothing to do with the sexual heat of earlier and everything to do with simply seeing me.
