Take Me (Take a Chance #4)(22)
Author: Diane Alberts

“I help out at a ballerina studio. It’s not ideal, but it pays the bills.”

He pictured her helping little girls in pink tutus spin around in circles and smiled. “Why didn’t you ever want to get married?”

“It’s not some sad, dark tale of abuse or loneliness. I don’t even hate marriage, as a whole.” She sat down on the bed and clutched her knees. “But my mother got married young. Before my dad came along, she was a dancer. One of the best ballerinas in the world—until she met him. They fell in love and she hung up her pointe shoes to get married and have me. Then all of those dreams she had just kind of…went away.”

Okay. He got that. But that didn’t mean it would happen to her. Or them. Oh, Christ. What was he thinking? Since when did he want to be a part of a them? Hell, he’d spent so long avoiding anything to do with being part of a couple that actively seeking one out felt wrong. Illegal, even.

But still…

“Was she happy with her decisions?”

“That’s not the point.” She fidgeted on the bed. “I’m twenty-five. Did you know that a dancer’s stage career is over by the age of thirty-six? If we’re lucky to last that long, that is. Which means people in my profession have to cram a lifetime’s worth of performance career into a fifteen or twenty year window.”

How could that be possible? He could easily picture Morgan dancing well into her sixties. “I can’t imagine—”

“Well, imagine it. Because it’s true.” She stood up and paced in front of him, nibbling on her thumbnail. “In ten years my stage career will be as good as over and I’ll be reduced to teaching kids how to dance in a studio I can hardly afford, dealing with stage moms and all the drama that comes with them.”

He couldn’t picture her doing that. It was obvious to him she needed to dance to feel alive. She’d told him that. “So, no kids of your own?”

“Not unless I’m still fertile after my career is over.” She shrugged. “I’m not ruining my body for nine months, in the prime of my career. It would ruin any professional momentum I’ve gained. And even if I get pregnant, it’s not like it’s over after you pop the kid out. I’d have to take care of a child every day for the rest of my life. There would be the Mommy guilt if I left for too long, the diapers, the breastfeeding.” She sank back down on the bed. “I’d probably be too tired to even want to dance.” Meeting his eyes, she said, “Look, I don’t mean to sound cold. I don’t fault other women for their choices or for having families. But for me, dancing has always been my salvation—where I feel most at home, where I feel most alive. I saw the dreams my mom gave up to have me. She claims she doesn’t regret it, but…I’m not my mother. I want dancing more than I want kids. More than I want marriage and love, too.”

More than she wanted him, obviously. Point well taken.

But he couldn’t hate her for feeling the way she felt. Couldn’t deny how much her face lit up when she spoke of her passion for dance. If only everyone had something in their lives to make them that happy.

“I see. Well, I guess that makes sense.” He held up a finger. “Except for one thing. Why can’t you have the marriage without the children?”

“Husbands are just as needy as children.” She smirked and darted a quick glance at him. “No offense to my current hubby, of course.”

“None taken.” He trailed a finger down her arm, watching the goose bumps rise over her flesh. “I’m pretty f**king needy.”

She grinned, seeming to be pleased with his answer. “Then you see why I can’t be married. It’s not fair to you—especially if a real wife is what you really want. This is only fun for a couple of days or so and then I have to go back to reality at the end of the week. Back to my life.”

He swallowed his protestations. He didn’t see why they couldn’t be together, but he didn’t even know if he wanted to be with her yet. So arguing seemed futile.

Especially when her arguments sounded so damn logical.

She yanked her shirt over her head and all she had on underneath was one of those half-shirt, half-bra things women wore when working out. And, damn, he liked it on her. He could get used to seeing her do that every single day, thank you very much.

She threw her shirt over his head and across the room toward her luggage. “I’m going to go shower. Feel free to join me, if you want.”

She trotted off toward the bathroom, her steps light and airy. As if she bounced on air. She obviously liked hearing he wouldn’t argue with her at the end of the week. Obviously wanted to have some fun and leave. It’s what he wanted. What he’d always wanted.

And yet now…it felt bittersweet, almost.

He followed her into the shower, trying to ignore his annoying feelings. What the hell were feelings for, anyway? He didn’t need them in his life f**king everything up. What he and Morgan had going was perfect. No love or hearts. Just two grown-ups, playing honeymoon.

And when their week was over, so were they.

He undressed silently, put on a condom, and then climbed into the shower with her. Within moments, his mouth was on hers. He backed her against the cool tile, letting the hot water wash over them both. She moaned into his mouth and kissed him back, not fighting or arguing or telling him why she didn’t want to be with him.

She just took what he had to give and didn’t fight it.

He put everything into that kiss that he couldn’t say out loud. Kissed her in ways he didn’t fully understand, but she seemed to. She broke free, her blue eyes studying him from underneath wet, spiked lashes. “You okay?”

“I will be in a second.” He tightened his grip on her hips and lifted her up. Insinuating himself between her legs, he slid inside of her without foreplay. “Now I’m f**king perfect.”

A tender expression crossed her face. “So am I.”

She gripped him tightly, her stare not leaving his until he moved deeper and her lashes drifted shut. But before her eyes closed, he thought he saw something he recognized. Something he had been feeling a lot of lately.

Fear and longing…wrapped up in one stressful package.

The next night, Mike went straight to the hotel from work and found the table set for dinner. He blinked at the intimate arrangement, unable to believe his little hellion of a bride had gone through the trouble of surprising him with dinner. A flickering candle shone from the center of the table and two place settings were set out—complete with bubbling champagne flutes filled to the rim.