Willing Sacrifice (Knights of the Board Room) Page 14

  When she stopped instructing to show the move, arching back into Max, she looked up at him. Though he knew their sexual intimacy helped, he felt what she was describing, her body fitted into the angles of his, conveying her trust in his hold. As he glanced at the mirror, their position reminded him of the melded sculpture idea that had crossed his mind earlier. It gave him a far greater appreciation for ballet choreography, as well as the strength it required. He felt a brief quiver beneath his hold now, telling him she couldn’t hold this pose indefinitely. But her ease and skill in demonstrating it suggested that, at one time, she could have.

  “You’ll exit the lift by straightening the left leg when he begins to dip you down again. Finish in arabesque en pointe as you started. And there we are. Yes, Tasha, we may begin with you.”

  For the next thirty minutes, he took each girl through the lift, with Janet circling them, using taps of the stick to encourage a lifting of the body here, a straightening of the leg there. From having a teenage sister, he knew how, when it mattered, they could go from an apparent complete lack of focus, giggling and chattering, to this. Though most fluttered and blushed a little if they met his gaze, once they started working on the lift, all of them focused on Janet’s instruction.

  Thinking of the repetitive activities his instructors had inflicted on him in BUD/S to teach focus and attention to detail, he realized Janet’s pre-class clothing exercise might have been to determine if he had the attention span to do this. He had to follow the same form, over and over, and adjust as needed. He felt almost as proud as her students when Janet only had to correct his form twice.

  By the end of class, he also had a much keener respect for the strength and balance of a male ballet dancer. He’d had the stamina to get through, but he knew it would take someone with his level of fitness to lift and hold twelve different girls in the prescribed position multiple times over thirty minutes. A few of those guys might have what it took to get through BUD/S. Despite the tights.

  Over the last fifteen minutes of class, parents started arriving. The way they tiptoed in, lining up against the back wall to watch, immediately checking their cell phones to ensure they were off, it was obvious Janet didn’t limit her severe chastising on proper behavior to her students alone.

  The last student had hung back until the end. During the class, he’d noted she worked as hard, perhaps harder, than everyone else, though she didn’t have the same aptitude for it. She was a year or so younger, maybe twelve, and though she wasn’t precisely overweight, she was suffering from the baby fat that could be normal for girls in their early teens. She was hesitant when they got started, but by the time they’d been through the lift several times, she had it, and she positively glowed when he high-fived her. Amanda smiled like that, when she was unexpectedly pleased by something.

  “Madame, I felt like a feather.”

  “You looked like one. Good form. You’ve been working on your lines, and it shows.” Janet put a brief hand on her red hair. “All right, class, that’s it for tonight. Practice your recital moves and the new moves I’ve taught you, with the exception of this one. Until we’ve performed it a few times here, I do not want you enlisting a male friend to help you work on this elsewhere. Mr. Ackerman received thorough instruction from me. Anyone doing a lift must have similar instruction or they could injure you. They could also injure themselves if they haven’t warmed up properly. I know many of you have a great deal of initiative—it’s why you are in this advanced class—but I want to hear each of you promise me not to practice this move outside of class.”

  She waited until each girl said, “Yes, Madame,” to her directly, then she nodded. “Very well. Get your things, and I will see you in two weeks. As usual, I will be here for the next thirty minutes if there’s anything you need to discuss with me or any other movements you wish me to repeat. To the rest of you, good night.”

  As several of the girls lingered, obviously wanting to ask her further questions, he touched her arm. “Janet, I’ll just hang out in the corner. No rush at all.”

  She nodded, but one of the girls fixed him with a reproving look. “Everyone calls her Madame while in class. We all agreed.”

  He nodded solemnly. “My apologies. I obviously need more thorough instruction. I’ll just be over here in the corner if you need me, Madame.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Ackerman.” The look she flashed him said she’d be more than happy to give him that instruction, and that she might make him pay dearly for teasing her. He hid his grin as he returned to his chair.

  As he took a seat, the one girl who hadn’t blushed and fluttered when he did the lift with her sat down in the chair next to him. Since the chairs were all pushed together, her hip was brushing his. She met his gaze with a bold stare and inviting smile. Tasha was obviously one of Janet’s top students, the first to step forward for the lift and when Janet required proof of their practice earlier in the class. She also had the feline smile and brazen confidence of a barfly. Unfortunately, she had the dangerous looks to go with it. She had jewel-blue eyes and long black hair, which she’d now unbraided and was stroking her fingers through, letting it pour in a silken curtain over her shoulders. Since she was all of fourteen years old, any intelligent man would steer clear, recognizing pure trouble when he saw it.

  Tasha’s parent apparently had not yet arrived for her. Since his chair was at the end, and there was fortunately another foot of wall space, he scooted his chair out, removing the physical contact between them. Her gaze faltered somewhat, and he glimpsed the uncertain child beneath the wannabe siren. Then the feline smile returned. “I enjoyed our lift together,” she said. “You’re very strong.”

  He shrugged. “You don’t weigh that much.”

  Those lips curved farther. She wore too much lipstick. He wondered if he was getting too old, since he found himself wanting to get a napkin and wipe it off, tell her to stop trying to be something she wasn’t. The fact she was a kid, on that awkward cusp of learning to be a young woman, gave him patience. Though her next words eroded that considerably.

  “You can’t say that about Debbie. I’m not sure why Madame lets her stay in this class. It’s for serious dancers, and she’s obviously not serious if she’s carrying around that flab.”

  The little bitch was fourteen, he reminded himself, and fixed her with a considering look. “You know, Tasha, when I was training in the military, seventy percent of my class didn’t make it to graduation. Most of them quit during the first four weeks. And a bunch of those were guys who looked the part, who were absolutely sure in the beginning they had everything it took to make it. Then, when they were faced with the reality of it, they found they didn’t have the commitment for the long haul.”

  Her brow creased. “So? A lot of guys are all talk, no action.” Her gaze swept him. “Are you one of those? Because you look like you could do a lot.”

  Jesus Christ. He didn’t want to know how she’d learned to be this brash, but he decided if Matt needed a full security detail on Angelica when she hit puberty, he’d take the job. SEALs were trained to do the impossible, after all.

  “The ones who made it were the kind of guys who knew what it was to be knocked down. They knew winning is about a refusal to fail. Until you’ve been pushed down over and over, and you still get up and dance and give it one hundred percent, don’t talk to me about being serious. I’ll bet Debbie is here every week, even knowing a lot of you don’t think she should be. She practices the steps and works hard for Madame. Which means she’s stronger under fire than someone whose natural talent has kept them untested. So if I was putting money on it, I’ll bet she’s here for graduation, whereas the first time someone sets you back on your heels, you’ll run to Daddy or Mommy to have them fix it for you.”

  Wow, he hadn’t expected to go there. Tasha paled. It was actually an improvement over the little-girl-pretending-to-be-a-seasoned-slut routine, but Max cursed himself as she got up and fled. Well, if she didn’t come back next week,
he’d proved his point.

  “Ah fuck, Ackerman. Don’t be such an asshole.” He would have left it alone if it was fully deserved, but he knew his own shit had driven his mouth, so after a few minutes, he got up and followed her. Several other girls were in the process of heading out, but once they cleared, it left the waiting room deserted, except for Tasha. She stood at the window, staring out at the parking lot, holding her tote bag on her shoulder. It had one of those boy bands printed on it, and a Hello Kitty key chain hung from the strap. He was an idiot.

  When he tugged on the strap, she pressed her lips together, crossed her arms over her chest. “Leave me alone.”

  “I have a sister,” he said quietly. “And she was like Debbie. She tried really hard to do everything well. Some things she did great, and others she didn’t. You’re the best dancer in the class, Tasha. Debbie may not be a prima ballerina, but I expect she’ll succeed at something else in life, because she doesn’t quit just because it gets hard. That’s the kind of person a smart girl would want as a friend. You seem pretty smart to me.”

  Her lips twisted. “You just treated me like I was stupid.”

  “Well, you can be smart and still act stupid occasionally. We all do it. It’s part of growing up.”

  She slanted him a glance. “You’re already grown up.”

  “We never stop growing up, Tasha. If we’re smart.”

  “Smart enough to know we’re dumb.”

  He grinned. “Yeah. See?”

  She shifted to a hip, tossed back her hair. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

  “Working on it.” Quickly realizing his error when her gaze lit up with calculation, he nodded toward the classroom. “Madame.”

  “Oh.” Her lips did a pretty pout of disappointment, but then she shrugged. “She’s a really good teacher. Strict, but fair.”

  “I’ve noticed that about her.”

  “She can be scary, but don’t let that put you off.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  A pair of headlights turned into the parking lot, and she adjusted the bag more securely. “That’s my mom. Will you be back next lesson?”

  “I’m not sure. It will depend if Janet…Madame, needs me to help out with more lifts.”

  “Well, I hope you’ll be back. You’re really hot, even if you’re old.” She gave him a cheeky grin and then darted out the door, hair rippling in the draft.

  Some days more than others, he thought. Watching her cross the parking lot, things hurt in his chest. He wanted to grab hold of her, tell her not to treat herself so cheaply, not to let the fact that Daddy wasn’t paying her enough attention drive her into looking for a surrogate. He’d also tell her not to mistake sex and acting like an adult for the love and acceptance she truly needed.

  Hell. He really wasn’t sure how Matt was going to do it. He’d be a wreck.

  Turning, he discovered he wasn’t alone. The rest of the class had left, because Janet had turned off the lights behind her, only the emergency lights casting a dim light over the wood floor of the main room. She leaned in the doorway, twirling her stick idly, her other arm crossed over her breasts, fingers clasping her biceps.

  “I didn’t realize I was in the running to be your girlfriend,” she noted. “I wasn’t informed.”

  “I panicked,” he admitted baldly, and won a chuckle. “I was afraid she was going to leap on me like cake, then and there.”

  Her expression became more serious. “You had a sister? You were talking about her in the past tense.”

  “No. I still have her. She’s just…she’s different now.” He debated, not sure whether to open that door, then decided it didn’t hurt to open it a crack. It was already hurting, after all. “Something happened to her a few years ago, and she has brain damage. She’s in a private facility outside New Orleans. I visit her twice a week.”

  Janet’s expression reflected simple compassion. “I’m sorry. Is she why you left the SEALs?”

  That empty place in his gut, a reminder of what was no longer a part of his life, gripped him. “Yeah. She needed me. I’m her only family. The only family who can take care of her, be here for her.”

  “I’d like to meet her sometime. If that would be okay.”

  It surprised him, such that he didn’t say anything right away. She cocked her head. “That is, if you weren’t just using me as your beard to put Tasha off. I assume you are working on making me your girlfriend.”

  “I think that depends a lot on whether you’re considering making me…” He hitched over “your boyfriend” because it sounded a little juvenile, but beyond that, it didn’t quite fit. She filled in the missing word though.

  “Mine.” She pushed away from the doorframe, turned away. “I guess we’ll see about that. Lock the door, would you? And turn off the foyer light. We’ll take the back exit out.”

  When she disappeared so abruptly back into the classroom, his brow creased. He wasn’t sure if he’d done something wrong, but as he complied with her direction and then followed her, he saw she was simply tired. She was leaning on the stick while pushing a stack of yoga mats closer to the wall. As she moved away from them, he noted she was walking stiffly.

  “‘We’ll see about that’,” he repeated her words. “Should I treat it as an audition then?”

  It brought her to a halt. When she turned toward him, her weariness translated to her expression, her tone of voice. It was more than being tired. Something he’d said or done had hit a nerve.

  “No, Max. My audition days are long over. You be what you are and I’ll be what I am. It’s not likely to work in the long run, but I don’t count on things for the long run. We’ve already proven we can be very satisfying to one another in the short term, until the differences become obstacles instead of attractions.” She fixed him with a direct look, her back straightening. “When that happens, you won’t have to think about a different job or worry about any awkwardness. We’ll end it as adults, and friends, with no harm on either side. Agreed?”

  “Agreeing to something beforehand and its reality are often very different.”

  “True. If we have our doubts, on either side, we should probably stop right now and let this be it.”

  Though she was only fifteen feet away, it was suddenly as if she was behind her desk at work, as remote in that position as she’d been up until six months ago. He could tell she meant it. If he said stop now, that would be it, and tomorrow he had no doubt she’d act as she’d always acted with him, before that day she’d sought him out on the parking deck and sat on the hood of his truck.

  She flipped the switch with such calm, it told him two things. One, he’d barely scratched the surface of who she actually was, what she felt about things, and two, a woman with armor that thick had a lot going on below the surface. She’d said a dancer had to have utter confidence in her partner to do lifts properly. He wondered if she applied the same yardstick to opening up in her relationships.

  “What’s the purpose of having a partner in ballet?” he asked.

  “To allow the ballerina to have a greater reach on certain moves,” she said automatically. “The ability to float across the stage, rather than merely move across it. To exceed what she can do alone.” She arched a brow. “You’re a very clever man, Max. But it doesn’t answer the question I’m asking.”

  “You didn’t ask a question. You made a statement. But if it is a question, maybe you’re the one who needs to answer it.” He crossed the floor, closed that distance so he was standing in front of her. “If we do this, I want it to be awkward. I want you to get so deep into me that, if it ends, I’ll feel like something has been ripped from my chest. I want to be forced to leave K&A because I couldn’t handle being this close to your scent, your heat, and not touch you, think about kissing you or making love to you.” He cupped her face, running his thumb along her jaw. “If you figure out how to put a collar and leash on me, Mistress, I’d rather you choke me with it than take it off.”

  Her pulse
was rabbiting under his touch, her eyes burning, her mouth soft in a way that made her seem vulnerable and yet untouchable at once. He didn’t give a fuck about her shields right now. Instead, he took the stick from her hand, dropping it to the floor. Thinking about it a bated moment, he dropped his grip to her hips, compelling her to turn so her back was to him. She tilted her head, keeping her gaze on his, trying to gauge his intent. There was a quivering stillness to her. Putting his mouth close to her temple, he directed her attention to the posters over the mirror. “Let’s do that one.”

  It was a Latin dance setting, but he’d already figured out there was a lot of crossover in types of dance, and he saw echoes of ballet form in the lift pictured. The man was raising his partner all the way over his head, and she was arched toward the sky, one leg extended, one bent, arms in a graceful position like tree branches over her head. His part of things seemed pretty simple, but he put his hands exactly where they were in the picture. Janet was ready for him. Despite her tiredness, she bounced into the lift like a bird taking flight.

  He had to adjust his stance, figure out the weight distribution. There was a harrowing moment where he nearly had to bring her back to the ground and re-try, but in the end he got it. He found the right groove and locked in, holding her up there for a good ten seconds. In the mirror, he could see her head was back, eyes closed, a look of near peace on her face, as if she was a bird in flight in truth.

  When he at last lowered her to his shoulder, her body was curved back against his, her shoulder blades high against his chest, her buttocks pressed to his abdomen. As he took her down farther, her arm hooked around his neck and shoulder, the other hand catching in his shirt and the waistband of his jeans. He held her there with one arm, her feet just above the floor, him bearing all her weight. She wasn’t a “heavy old broad” at all—far from it.