The Last Dance (13 page)

Georgina was very good. Pavel had picked wisely. She had the ability to make a man forget. Almost. Roman never truly forgot. She belonged to Pavel. She was only here in his bed because she was tasked with trying to destroy him.

She would fail.

Many had tried before her, and none of them were here to tell their tale.

Carefully Roman moved from under Georgina so he would not wake her. He turned on the shower. As he waited for the water to heat up, he glanced at the reflection in the mirror. His neck and chest were covered in love bites. On his ass were scratch marks were Georgina had clawed at him, coaxing him to thrust harder, deeper.

She was good, a very accomplished actress. She faked passion well. Did she need to fake it with Pavel? Roman shook his head. He would not let himself think about that. He didn’t care.

There were lots of beautiful women in Russia; his bed would never be cold.

Roman had a shower and got dressed and ready for the day. He had given his servants the day off, so he would have to see to coffee himself. Everyone was gone except his bodyguards; they were always around, especially Vlad. Roman trusted few people, but he trusted Vlad

He flicked the switch on the coffeemaker. He turned when he heard Georgina coming down the stairs. Her long hair fell in curls, just past her waist. She was wearing the same gray leggings and pink sweater she’d worn last night. She had no clothes here. He needed to rectify that. He would send someone today to buy her clothes and toiletries to keep here.

“I need to get back to my apartment and change.”

Roman did not look up. Bedding her because he enjoyed it was one thing; but he was not going to allow the act to extend beyond that. It served no purpose. “Vlad will take you. He will wait with you in your apartment to make sure you don’t do anything stupid.” Roman poured a cup and handed it to Georgina.

“Thank you.” Georgina accepted the cup. “Will I be seeing you tonight?”

This time Roman did turn to fully look at her. A trace of excitement laced her words. Fascinating. She could even fake that, even the subtlest nuisances of attraction. Had Pavel trained her, or was it an innate gift? It didn’t matter; it was fake. That was the only relevant part.

“You will be sleeping here every night. Whether or not you will see me is an entirely different matter. We don’t need to fake it here. You will tire yourself with all your acting. Save it for the stage, angel.”

Georgina’s back straightened. Her lips thinned into a tight expression. “Fine. That reminds me, I need to activate the transmitter. Pavel is watching me. He knows I was here last night. He will expect me to place it before I leave.” She held out the small transmitter.

Roman stared at her open palm incredulously. The mention of her lover’s name snapped the little resolve he had left. He took the bug from her hand, threw it to the floor, and stomped on it. There was no denying they were playing a dangerous game with the highest of stakes, but they would play by his rules. “Not here. Here I want to fuck you and speak to you freely without him listening. He can hear us at my country house. But here, between these four walls, you belong to me.”

Georgina’s eyes widened. Her pupils were so dilated only a sliver of green encapsulated the obsidian centers.

Roman had to look away. He needed space, the distance to remember just how high the stakes were.

Georgina was back in her element. She stared out into the sea of flashing lights. Everyone knew the audience was not supposed to take pictures of the performance, but nobody listened. Georgina didn’t mind. This was the last time she would ever perform Ondine. The show was closing tonight. Her throat tightened. There was always a bitter sweetness to the closing of a show.

Dancers often performed the same role several times in their career; there were only a finite number of ballets to choose from, so you never really said good-bye to a role because there was always the possibility you would dance it again in another theater…another season.

That wasn’t the case this time. She would never be dancing Ondine again. The Mariinsky would not be performing it again in her career. If she was prone to tears, this would be a good time; they might ease the ache in her chest.

Sergei grabbed her hand and brought it up for their final bow. He was a good partner. They danced well together. He insulted her body less than other male dancers, which was refreshing. She smiled up at him. They had already started rehearsing for the next ballet.
Sleeping Beauty
started at the end of the month. She would focus on that.

Georgina bent down and scooped up the flowers on the stage. She had taken to giving them to Vlad. She always told him to give them to the woman in his life, but Vlad never responded, refusing to talk about his personal life. In actuality he spoke very little, but he always accepted the bouquets, which gave her cause to believe he did have someone. The thought made her happy; at least someone would be enjoying them.

Georgina had not spent the night in her own apartment since she’d met Roman, so there was no need for the flowers to decorate it. She wasn’t about to take them to Roman’s. Her bouquets would totally be out of keeping in his ultramodern flat.

She would keep these. These flowers were different. They marked the end of something special. The petals from these flowers would be pressed between the pages of a book. She would bring them out when she needed proof that this life had been real: her career, Russia, Roman.

Her heart ached when she thought about Roman. Every night Vlad drove her to Roman’s flat. They had a routine now. She stripped off and went to bed alone. In the middle of the night Roman would come to bed. Every night Georgina promised herself they would not have sex, but every night they reached for each other. They had frantic, needy sex and fell asleep holding each other. Every night. And every night she thought something had changed. Every night she believed the tender lover she shared her bed with was the real Roman. He was so attentive and passionate in those hours. Her pleasure was paramount to him. She felt cherished in those moments. Even the way he spoke to her made her feel safe, like everything was going to be okay. Every night, she believed the lies she told herself and then the morning would come and the real Roman would return: the cold, cruel man.

For the most part he ignored her, but if he did speak to her, he was dismissive. She was living with two men. She disliked them both but for different reasons. She hated the Roman she had during the day because he was every ounce the man she had feared he was when she was given the assignment. But the Roman who came to her every night, she disliked him more, because that Roman made her forget…and made her feel things she did not know she still could. She disliked him because he made her lie to herself and think things could be different.

Georgina exited the stage, her arms heavy with flowers. The curtain had gone down, but the audience was still loud, no one in a hurry to leave the theater. Backstage had come alive. Dancers lined the corridor, smiling and hugging. Part of Georgina wanted to stop and join in, but she wouldn’t. She would enjoy the afterglow of this performance the way she did every performance. Alone.

She stopped when she saw Vlad; he was already waiting for her near the exit. Georgina started to cross over to him to tell him she would only be a few minutes, but she stopped short when Natasha approached him. Vlad’s full lips stretched into a broad smile.

Georgina smiled to herself. They were an odd pair; Natasha was as plain as Vlad was beautiful.

* * * *

Georgina set the bouquets on the ledge in front of the mirror in her dressing room. She pulled her dress over her head before she sat and unlaced her shoes. She had gone through hundreds of pairs of toe shoes in her career. She had not kept a single pair, but she would keep these. God, she had become so nostalgic. This was not like her at all. She stripped off her leotard and tights and examined her feet. She really did have the world’s ugliest feet. They had endured a hell of a lot.

Georgina’s head snapped up when she heard her dressing room door open.

Her mouth dropped open.

Roman.

She stood up, forgetting momentarily that she was naked. Not that it mattered; he had seen her many times before.

He had never come to one of her performances. Vlad had come every night since she had offered him the tickets. At first she thought it was so he could keep out of the cold or that perhaps he just really enjoyed the ballet. But now she understood Vlad was coming to watch Natasha. It was sweet. That was how a man behaved when he liked a woman.

Georgina always left two tickets in case Roman ever wanted to come, but he never had. Not that she had ever specifically asked him. They spoke precious little and always in bed.

“Hi,” she said lamely.

“You were beautiful.” Roman held up the roses he brought. “Yellow. Our color.”

Her lips curled into a smile. He’d remembered that he said he would only give her yellow roses. “You were in the audience tonight?”

Roman nodded. “Of course. It was your last performance.”

Her heart jumped to her throat. He knew. Did Vlad tell him? Had she mentioned it? No she had never told him. But he knew and he was here.

She was glad she did not know before she went onstage. She would have been too nervous. She had danced for thousands of people, but Roman was different. “Did…did you enjoy it?” she asked tentatively.

Roman closed the distance between them. “I only saw you.” He pushed a lock of hair off her face. The all too familiar pressure built behind her eyes. Georgina blinked to ease it, but it did not work. She covered her face with her hand so Roman would not see.

Tonight was a special night…a momentous night…a sad night…a night she should commemorate with someone special…family… a friend… a lover…anyone and she had no one, no one on her side.

It was her own fault. She had given it all up for her career, and now that was coming to an end, and she had nothing. The only one here was Roman, and he didn’t even like her. He wasn’t her friend; he was nothing to her. She had experienced people that loved her, but she had given them up.

Pain settled in her chest. God she was standing naked in front of Roman again, and this time she really would cry. She scrubbed at her face.

“Are you in pain?” Roman demanded.

There was no denying the concern in his voice. No one else in the world gave a shit if her knee hurt as long as she was able to do her job.

Why? Why did he have to sometimes be lovely to then just be cruel?

“Answer me. Is it your knee?”

“Yes.” Georgina nodded. It was easier than explaining the real reason she was in pain.

Roman placed the flowers in front of the mirror and then sat down, pulling her into his lap. She wanted to fight him, not let him pull her in just so he could push her away, but she needed someone right now and he was all she had.

His hands settled on her knee, rubbing. He did this for her most nights until the painkillers kicked in. Silently he worked over the tender flesh. She could not look at him. If she did, the tears she was holding back would fall, and she would not cry, not over Roman. She would never cry over a man again.

“Stop dancing, angel. You’re hurting yourself.”

She laid her head against his broad chest. “My career is almost over. I will see it through to the end. My knee is already ruined. I am not doing any more damage.”

“But you’re hurting yourself.”

She hurt herself every night when she reached for him, but she kept doing it. It was the same thing. The moment of pleasure made the pain that came after worth it. Georgina closed her eyes and breathed in his clean, masculine scent. She loved the way he smelled. She would miss that smell when this was over.

“If you were mine, I would make you have the operation. I would make you stop, all of it.”

She had no doubt her life would be much different if she really was Roman’s. She should hate the idea of being told what to do. She was autonomous in every way and always would be no matter who she was with, but there was the smallest part of her that warmed at the thought of someone looking out for her. God, it had been a long time since anyone had looked out for her. “Well if you were mine, I would make you leave a life of crime. Only legitimate businesses for you.”

“We sound like we would be good for one another.” Sadness darkened his deep tone. He knew. They both knew there was no universe where they could be together.

But right now she would pretend because her heart ached and she knew what would ease it, if only for a moment. “I would also make you redecorate your flat. It looks like a prison.”

Roman smiled. “I wouldn’t know. I have never been to prison, though you and your…Pavel have worked hard enough to put me there.” His smile faltered at the mention of Pavel. His lips pressed into a tight white slash.

She would not speak about Pavel, not tonight. “Yes, your flat is awful. It needs more color and less metal.” Georgina stroked Roman’s face, her hands gliding over the knotted skin. “I would add a feminine touch.”

“If you were my woman I would feed you. No more living off only fish and vegetables. You would eat pastries every morning with your coffee.”

“In bed.” She smiled. “You would bring them to me in bed.”

“I would do that.” Roman leaned down and kissed her forehead. “You would eat your pastries and then I would eat you. A perfect start to every morning.”

“I would be very fat but very happy in that scenario,” she admitted.

“You would always be beautiful.”

There was no faking the sincerity in his deep voice. He believed that. She could not stop herself from running the pad of her thumb across his full bottom lip. She wanted to kiss him. She always wanted to kiss him, but if she kissed him he would be inside her in seconds. She wanted that, of course she did. Every night this month was a testament to her inability to resist him. She would always want him, but right now she wanted to speak to him.

Roman’s full lips parted. Gently he encircled her wrist so she could not pull away, not that she would. She always craved his touch even when she told herself not to, her body never complied. He pressed a kiss to her thumb and then to her wrist before he turned over her hand and kissed her knuckles. Her skin flushed. Tendrils of heat wrapped their way up her arm and across her chest.