His to Take (Wicked Lovers #9)(142)
Author: Shayla Black

Then a tall man with a boyish face and a killer physique stepped onto the dark, spongy surface, wearing nothing but a pair of icy blue tights and a smile before he swallowed down a bottle of water.

“Come on.” He waved at someone who stood frustratingly out of sight behind a built-in barbeque. “I think you’ve got it.”

But Joaquin could only think of one reason Blane would be at his mother’s house. Bailey must be here, too.

He waited, impatience biting at him, and hoped that he was right. But if that was the case, why hadn’t Caleb or his mother told him she was here?

Well, dumbass, let’s review. Abducting her, forcing her to remember a violent past, and almost getting her killed probably hadn’t made her list of top first dates. Most likely, she didn’t want to see him again.

He’d have to do whatever it took to change that. He refused to spend his life alone if he could have her in his arms.

A second later, she stepped down from the outdoor kitchen area, onto the rubbery mat—the most graceful creature he’d ever seen. She wore a pale pink leotard thing that covered her from slight breast to delicate toe shoes. Her hair was arranged in a haphazard bun on top of her head. She looked tired and so incredibly beautiful. At the sight of her, his heart threatened to cave in.

Bailey.

Blane held out his hand with a flourish, then set himself in a pose. She took his hand and settled into a stance of her own.

A moment later, Mamá appeared, lifting a portable music player up on a half wall between the barbeque and the step-down patio. She pressed a button on top of the unit. The strains of the music began again.

Bailey fluttered away from Blane, her face coquettish but teasing as hell as she held an arm out to him, then curled it back to her chest and lifted her leg behind her in a strong, spectacular line, back arched. Blane pursued, reaching for her, but Bailey put herself just out of his reach by executing a magnificent leap.

Blane gave chase again, in some sort of manly ballet walk-step that looked commanding, but his face reflected an anxious longing. He feared Bailey would reject him.

Joaquin understood that worry.

Bailey allowed Blane to catch her for a moment. He wrapped a hand around her wrist and pulled her against his chest, then caged her to him by encircling her delicate waist with his arm. Her expression was vulnerable, yearning. She wanted to surrender herself and to love him, but she was afraid.

That could very well be another instance of art imitating life.

Blane stroked her arm, nestled his face against hers.

Bailey turned, meeting the other dancer’s stare, and Joaquin saw every trembling vulnerability in her blue eyes. Every moment of desire and uncertainty, her ache to trust. He’d seen that on her face before when he’d taken her beneath him and made love to her.

This dance looked every bit as elegant as the one she’d done in her living room in Houston, but this version . . . Joaquin remembered Bailey’s words about the importance of expressing emotion during dance. At the time, he’d pretty much dismissed it. If she could technically do the steps, he’d failed to see how the rest of it mattered. But witnessing the difference for himself? In that moment, Bailey swept him up in her character’s plight. He held his breath, worrying for her happiness. He rooted for her. He stood mesmerized by everything about her.

Suddenly, a large hand fell on his shoulder. “That’s as far as you go.”

Caleb. Shit. Busted.

“Why didn’t you tell me she was here?”

“Neither Carlotta nor I think you deserve to talk to her until you get your shit together. Do you know what you’re going to say to her?”

He didn’t have every word planned, but he wanted to tell her that he loved her. Did it need to be more complicated? “I think so. I want to see her.”

“She’s practicing now. She needs this before her audition on Tuesday. She wants this part. Right now, dance is her life. It’s helping her heal.”

The audition meant a lot to her. Joaquin knew that. He could see how much she’d laid her soul open now, how hard she’d worked to open herself up. He couldn’t stand in her way. He’d stupidly, selfishly left her in Iowa. If she was important to him and this was important to her, he had to respect her dreams.

“I know. She’s staying with you?”

“Yes. After the doctor released her from the hospital, she answered the feds’ questions, then declined a press conference. She doesn’t want the world to know her as Tatiana Aslanov, the Russian scientist’s daughter. She wants them to know her as Bailey Benson the ballerina.”

Fierce pride flowed through Joaquin. She hadn’t let anything—not him, not remembering her past, not near death—break her. She’d put pain and fear behind her to embrace the future she wanted.