Page 17 of Stripped

Chapter 10

The blinds in Pim's flat came down automatically with the push of a button, shutting out the night sky. Wraith hung his garment bag in the hall closet and checked the rooms.

"I'm sorry. I don't have a guest bedroom," she said.

"No worries. The couch is fine."

"Would you like a glass of wine?" They had stopped and picked up dinner from a fish shop.

"Sure."

She kicked her high heels off and pulled down two glasses from the cabinet, pouring them each some as Wraith set the containers with their meals on the coffee table. Pim sat down next to him on the couch, tucking her feet up under her, and clicked the TV on with the remote.

The exaggerated lilt of the newscaster's voice filled the room. "Suspicion into business tycoon Angus McNeil's death continues to mount as reports of a masked interloper surface. A man wearing an owl disguise was seen running through the theater the night of the fatality. Was this a poorly timed stunt by the Scottish National Ballet or truly signs of foul play?" The reporter laughed at his own joke, leaving the audience with a vocal cliffhanger. "Coming up on the eight o'clock news."

Wraith turned it off, looking over at her.

She clenched her jaw and swallowed, tamping down the tears that threatened. "You didn't need to turn it off. I would rather know what people are saying."

"Facts are one thing. That's just sensationalism."

She picked at her fish, setting it down in exchange for her wine.

"Tell me about ballet?" he asked.

"What's there to tell?"

"I don't know. How did you get started?" He set his own empty container down, wiping his fingers on a napkin.

Her eyes narrowed. "You don't need to make small talk with me. We're not friends, and as far as I'm concerned, this is just business. You're no different than someone coming in to fix the electricity."

Wraith laughed. "Do you usually offer the electricity man a glass of wine?"

"Shut up," she said.

"Actually, the more I know about your life and your grandfather's, the better I'm able to connect the dots and hopefully, the sooner I'll figure this out." He leaned back comfortably, crossing his legs in a figure four. "Trust me, princess, I know we're not friends."

"Fuck off," she said, getting up to retrieve the wine bottle from the counter. She filled both their glasses back up before sitting down.

"Did you always know you wanted to dance?" His thumb stroked his glass casually, but Pim could see the control behind the subtle movement.

She took a deep drink of her wine. "I can't remember not dancing," she said, resigned, giving him a slight shrug. "My father wanted me to take ballet. I just happened to be good at it so when I was accepted into the Royal Ballet School, there was no discussion. I was sent away at age ten to London."

"But you do like it, or you still wouldn't be doing it."

She gave him a tight smile. "It's a love-hate relationship."

He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, steepling his fingers. "You said your father was mugged?"

"Jesus Christ, this isn't a fucking therapy session." She picked up the food containers and empty wine bottle, taking them into the kitchen. Her heart hammered in her chest. She didn't know this man, yet he was stirring up something in her that had lain dormant, something she had forced deep into the shadows.

"I'm just trying to understand," he said, following her in and placing the wine glasses in the sink.

She turned and faced him, crossing her arms. "I don't talk about my father."

"Please, Primrose. I can't do this without you." His finger brushed her cheek, sending a shiver up her spine. Perhaps it was a warning. "I assume your father worked with your grandfather. There could be a connection."

She grabbed his arm, hard and rigid like steel, and looked him in the eyes. "Don't touch me," she snarled. She turned and opened a cupboard, and reaching up on tiptoes, she grabbed a bottle of scotch and two glasses.

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