Billionaire Erotic Romance Boxed Set: 7 Steamy Full-Length Novels (137 page)

Nicole and Jorge, of course, were both scowling as if Sophie had had the poor taste to strip in the middle of the cocktail party. She slid her gaze back to Henry’s face, her fingers squeezed his shoulder. His lashes swept down, that muscle in his jaw jumping again. His voice was slightly strangled.

“Sophie, what you said the other day—”

She pressed her fingers to his lips. “No. Not here. I just... I wanted to ask you to dance for once, to give to you what you gave back to me.”

His lips parted beneath her fingers. She resisted the urge to stroke them just barely. She shook her head. “I want to talk. You know where to find me.”

Sophie lifted her hand, touched his jaw briefly, and strode away. She smiled, dipping her head in acknowledgement of the applause, making her way toward the door. Carl caught her eye and winked. He gave her a thumbs up.

She hoped his optimism wasn’t unfounded. She’d taken the first step. Now she had to wait and see how Henry reacted.

Chapter Twenty-two

The classroom called to her. Sophie had been planning to wait and see if Henry followed, to be calm and cool and collected when he arrived, sitting at her small desk and smiling.

But there was too much energy pumping through her body. She rummaged through the office, glad to find a spare pair of the soft, stretchy black pants she wore to teach class and a worn yellow T-shirt from the last Tango World Cup she’d gone to. Sophie struggled out of the gorgeous red dress and laid it reverently aside to return to Carl.

She wasn’t entirely sure how the comic had gotten his hands on a designer dress on such short notice, but clearly Carl Barrett was a good man to know.

“Let’s just hope he knows what he’s talking about when it comes to his best friend.” Her voice was loud in the quiet studio, despite her murmur. Henry’s reaction was... puzzling, to say the least. She’d expected anger—she had said some hurtful things the last time they spoke, and falsely accused him of betraying her confidences—or maybe happiness to see her again. What had he meant when he said “You don’t know how much those words hurt me” over the phone? Did that have anything to do with it?

Aside from his initial surprise at seeing her, and the silent communication of his body that Sophie was unwilling to trust just yet, he’d been remarkably quiet. That wasn’t like Henry. He’d been reserved in the past, but never to the point of near silence.

Sophie wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or a bad one, and she was too anxious to sit quietly and wait. Her body was still warm and thrumming from their dance, her mind whirling with possibilities.

Feet bare, she padded into the large from classroom and flipped on some of the lights. Not all of them, but just enough to shed a dim glow in the center of the long, rectangular room. Though laid out differently, it was not all that unlike the big classroom at Miss Clara’s, Sophie realized.

Echoes of her past, even here.

Just like she’d done in the abandoned building, Sophie began to dance. This time she moved to the rhythm of the tango with a shadow partner, the darkness swirling around her bending and swaying form. She recalled every turn and step of her dance with Henry vividly.

Even if he didn’t come... even if she’d burned that bridge too badly with her harsh indictments and refusal to listen... she would never forget that dance. That feeling had been why she’d fallen in love with dance to begin with, and she vowed never to let it get away from her again.

Whatever else Henry had or hadn’t done, he’d given that back to her. She would be forever grateful. She smiled at her invisible dance partner, picturing Henry’s strong jawed face, so handsome and stern with the daring glimmer in his dark eyes.

A sharp pain seized her heart. It had been more than half an hour since she’d left Carl and Henry at the gallery, and he still wasn’t here. Perhaps her violent rejection of his words on the phone had driven him into Nicole’s arms after all. Maybe he wasn’t willing to take another chance. Could she really blame him?

It had been little more than a day since she’d told him to leave her alone, and then she showed up at one of his fancy functions, danced with him as if he were the only man on Earth, and left. The plan had seemed like a good one in her head.

Words were one thing, but actions were another. She’d wanted to show Henry—and Nicole, too—that she wasn’t just going to go away. She wasn’t just going to react anymore. She’d been doing that for too long. Now, Sophie was acting. She couldn’t control Nicole’s actions, or Henry’s. Only hers.

Still, he couldn’t read her mind. Perhaps he hadn’t understood what she’d been trying to  say.

Well, if he wanted to know, he would have come. She’d done what she’d come back to the city to do. That, at least, would be one less regret for her to carry around.

From the bench of the piano, her cell phone rang. She’d been surprised to see the small upright. Darren must have wheeled it out for one of the classes while she was away. Sophie couldn’t play, but he did.

“Hello?” She swiped a trickle of sweat from her neck, surprised by how hard she’d been pushing.

“You’re answering the phone, so things didn’t go as well as you’d hoped.” Darren’s tone was droll. She could hear the curved brow in it.

Sophie sat on the piano bench with a sigh and touched soft fingers to the keys. “Too little, too late, I’m afraid. I don’t know what I expected.” She heard Wayne murmuring in the background but couldn’t catch his words. Darren’s response was soft and sympathetic.

“Did he say anything?”

“I didn’t give him much of a chance. Maybe this was all a terrible idea. I just thought—”

The soft thunk of the door closing cut off Sophie’s words. She looked up from the piano keys and directly into Henry’s shadowed face. He wasn’t smiling. But he was here. He stood in the doorway, his tuxedo coat open, his bow tie loose at his throat, his hands in his pockets. The dark wave of his hair looked black as ink above his broad forehead.

“I have to go, Dar.” She hung up without hearing if he responded and set the phone on top of the piano.

Sophie got slowly to her feet, her gaze intent on Henry’s face. His eyes didn’t waver from her either, though he was too far away for her to read the expression in them.

“I wasn’t sure you would come.” She took a few steps toward him. Henry’s lips twitched slightly. A smile? A grimace? Sophie couldn’t say.

“I wasn’t sure I was coming either, to be honest. Things are... complicated, Sophie.”

A cold finger touched her heart, but Sophie squared her shoulders. “Then why did you? Why are you here, if you’re not sure you want to be?”

Now his lips did curve upward, though this close Sophie could see that the smile didn’t quite touch his eyes. He inclined his head.

“I saw you through the window, and I felt compelled.”

The first time he’d come into her studio, he’d said much the same thing. Sophie’s breath caught. Hope flared in her chest. Did this mean he was willing to start over? That’s what she wanted, the chance to begin again, without the scandal looming over their heads, forcing their hands. She wanted to get to know Henry, see if what they had was as potent with potential as she’d felt that day before Nicole’s words had torn down all her carefully built sandcastles of hope.

Sophie took the final step to close the distance between them, lifting her hands to his lapels. “Henry —”

“Sophie, wait.” His hands came up to cover hers, gentle and warm. He cleared his throat, a pained expression tightening the skin around his eyes. “I need to say... I need to say I’m sorry.”

“No, you don’t! I know it wasn’t you who told Nicole about my accident. And that stuff in the tabloids... It’s just nonsense. Isn’t it?” She bit her lip. She believed Carl, and yet she wanted to hear it from Henry’s own lips.

His head dipped in a short nod. “Of course it is. Even if I was inclined to get back together with Nicole, which I am not, I would never do it that way. I...” He swallowed audibly, dropping her hands and turned to stalk the length of the classroom. He shoved on hand through his thick hair. “I care about you, Sophie.”

“Henry,” Sophie began, a smile warming her lips. But the flat, taut expression on his face as he lifted his gaze to hers stopped it from spreading.

“Let me finish, Sophie. I,” he cleared his throat. “I care about you too much to keep seeing you. This... thing between us, all it does it bring you pain. I can’t seem to help but hurt people... hurt you. And I can’t keep doing it. It would be best for everyone, I think, if this is the last time we speak.”

His lips were turned down into a rictus, dark eyes flat and bleak. Sophie shook her head. Ice flowed through Sophie’s veins at his words. She’d known, deep down, that there was a possibility she wouldn’t be seeing Henry again after this night. So much had happened between them in such a short time, there was always the chance that whatever they had was beyond salvage.

But hearing the words from his lips cut deep into her, like a poisoned blade. Cold spread over her skin, originating from her heart.

This couldn’t be it. She’d had other plans. Even if tonight hadn’t worked, if he hadn’t come, she already had ideas for how to get him to talk to her. The determination that had seen her through those first several years of dance before she started winning competitions, had been blazing through her.

Henry’s words were a chilly rain.

Sophie stared at his face, every line more familiar to her than any other man’s had ever been, even though it had been only weeks since she’d first laid eyes on him. The silence of the studio around them was icy and unquiet. It reminded her of Henry saying that all the buildings he oversaw felt like tombs.

Memories of that day in the abandoned building dropped into the pit of her stomach like blocks of wood. Just what her fire needed.

“No.” The word exploded from her just as the blaze rekindled in her gut. Henry’s dark brows snapped down over his straight nose.

“Sophie—”

“
No
. That’s wrong, Henry.
You’re
wrong.” She stamped her bare foot, the slapping sound not as authoritative as she was hoping. “This... you... have brought me so much more than pain. Don’t you see?” She swept her arm at the studio. “Before you, this place was just my job. Ever since my accident, dance was something that I had lost. I did this because... after so long, what else was I supposed to do? But I had no joy in it. It... it was like I had not only lost my love, but I was being forced to teach the endless parade of lovers after me how to love him. It was
torture!
”

Tears stung her eyes, slipping down her cheeks. Sophie had never admitted how deeply she’d been hurting, even to herself. Her throat was clogged with anger. Henry flinched as if her words were arrows.

“I’m sorry,” He said, dropping his eyes. “I had no idea it was like that for you.”

“Well, it was. And then you walk through that door and ask me to dance, and... Henry.” She crossed the distance between them in three quick strides and gripped his face, forcing him to meet her eyes. She felt as if hers must be glowing, so fierce was the fire inside her. “When I got injured, I swore to myself I would dance again. But when Christian... when my partner, the man I loved and danced with, left me, I gave up. I thought that thrill that I’d always felt in front of the crowds was lost to me forever. Until you took me in your arms.”

He drew away from her, lashes dipping over his eyes. “I—”

“I’m not willing to give it up again, Henry. Not again. Not because of Nicole’s jealousies, or your father’s machinations, or your business rival’s disapproval, or even because of your damn insecurities.” She fisted her hands at her sides and lifted her chin.

“Don’t do this, Sophie. It’s not good for you.” Henry’s hands were fisted too. “I’m not good for you.” The anguish in his eyes was real. He wasn’t just saying the words. He believed them. Sophie grabbed him again, gripping his shoulders this time, as if she could force the truth of her words through his suit and into his skin.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Henry Medina, and damn it, I’m not giving you up! We’ve both made mistakes, but anything worth having is worth working for... And I’m sure as hell going to work to make you see that this, what we have, is worth it. You care about me?”

“Sophie, I...” He trailed off, shaking his head.

She curled her fingers into his shirt, tugging. “Do you?”

“Yes,” he ground out. “I care about you.”

“Well, I love you. And I don’t feel like stopping.”

She yanked him down to her, pushing up on her tiptoes, crushing his mouth with hers.

Chapter Twenty-three

For a moment, Henry remained still, hands at his sides. Sophie wasn’t deterred. She moved her mouth from one corner of his lips to the other, her tongue touching the seam lightly before pushing in. She licked at his teeth, pressing her breasts against the hard wall of his chest.

She slid her hands into his hair and held him firmly as she sucked at his lower lip. Henry groaned, shifting against her. Sophie sensed him holding back and poured every ounce of her frustration and desire and, yes, love, into the kiss.

And then his hands came up, gripping her hips tightly, and whatever dam he’d constructed against what he was feeling broke. His tongue plunged into her mouth, forceful, demanding, claiming.

He kneaded the flesh of her hips before pushing beneath the soft cotton of her shirt, stroking up her back. His touch burned as he trailed rough fingers along her spine. Sophie gasped, dragging her mouth from his to nip at the strong line of his jaw.

His hands molded her ribs, thumbs caressing the undersides of her breasts, then sliding around until he could cup them. He teased her nipples, bringing them to hard, throbbing peaks. Sophie arched her spine, pressing herself harder against his hand, shuddering as the fire that had been burning within her turned sweet and pulsing.

Sophie’s mouth returned to Henry’s. She couldn’t get enough of him, the taste of his tongue, the scent of his skin, the feel of his body beneath her hands. She pushed at the suit jacket, forcing him to release her long enough to shrug it off. Their mouths never lost contact, nipping, licking.