Fade to Red (8 page)

Working through one of the fast songs that had more of the pop/lock moves that Beckham was known for in his shows reminded Roxie of the dance-offs she’d done back home, only Anthony took them to the next level. As soon as the song was over, he turned on the slower song “Shadows” where Brooke and Vanessa mirrored each other’s movements and Roxie danced just outside of them.
Leo would totally be making fun of me right now if he saw this
. A smile crept up on her face as she thought about it. She usually danced like this when she was pretending to be the sleep fairy in his room. Anthony told her to freestyle around the girls for now, but that she would be trailing Beckham later.

Midway through the song, Beckham walked in the room. Her skin felt hot when his eyes landed on her. They scorched through her like a glassblowing torch, melting her into something she didn’t recognize. She tried to tune him out and keep her movements fluid. There was no way she could react to him like she had the other day. If she was going to do this tour, she needed to be professional … not act like a snotty bitch. Better yet, she just needed to stay off of Beckham’s radar altogether. She had absolutely no time for his type, whether he was her boss or not.

The song ended and Roxie walked toward the stack of clean hand towels. Beckham beat her there and lifted one up to her.

“Need this?”

“Thanks,” she said and turned around to grab a water bottle.

Anthony walked over to them and said, “I’m glad you’re here together. I wanted to talk about this song and a couple of the other slower ones. We’ll need to have extra time to work on these. I’m thinking let’s get after it tomorrow. What do you think?”

Beckham looked startled and then stretched his hands up over his head and left them in his hair. “Uh … whatever you think. It’s Saturday, though. Did you have plans, Roxie?”

“Well, kinda … but…”

Anthony studied her. “I told you I’d be owning your time,” he said. “So, I suggest you clear your plans. Unless you want me to hand all your solo parts over to Vanessa … Beckham? Is that what you wanted anyway?”

Beckham’s feet shifted and he glared at Anthony. “We have time. And it’s up to Roxie, whether she’s up for the extra work or not.”

Roxie put her hands on her hips. “Please stop talking like I’m not right here!”
Shit, I have to start controlling my mouth. Dammit, dammit, dammit.

Both guys stared at her, stunned.

She backpedaled quickly. “Sorry, I’m not trying to be … uh, I will try to clear my schedule. Is there any way we can meet early in the morning? And how much time do we need?”

Anthony looked at her, half-awed and half-ticked. “Okay then, little miss. Let’s meet from 6-12 tomorrow and Sunday morning.” He took a step toward her and leaned close to her face. “And get your attitude on straight. There’s only room for one prima donna around here.” He looked over at Beckham and pointed at himself. “And that’s me.”

They laughed, while Roxie felt sick to her stomach.

“I really am sorry. I’m not normally … it’s not … I’ll be there.”

“That’s more like it!” Anthony smiled as he walked away.

Beckham groaned. He looked at Roxie with what seemed to be an apologetic grin. “Thanks. Listen, Roxie. I think we got off on the wrong foot.”

“You got that right,” she muttered.

He looked at her incredulously. They stared at each other for what seemed like forever, until Roxie couldn’t look at him anymore.

Finally, Beckham leaned in closer to her. “Whatever I’ve done to piss you off, I’m sorry. I’d like to start over, if that’s okay with you. We’re gonna be working together closely, and if you’re not good with me … it will show.”

Again, the silence.

She stood on her tiptoes and whispered in his ear.

“I’ll
never
be good with you.” She tried not to inhale his scent as she got closer. His breath smelled like cinnamon and his skin smelled like something she wouldn’t mind sinking her whole face in. “But I will fake it and no one will ever know the difference.”

She stepped back and gave him a smile that was as bright as the California sun. She reached out her hand and he shook it, troubled by her words but lured in just the same. When their skin touched, an electric current zinged through and shocked them both, causing them to jump back at once.

“Ow!” he said.

She just smiled bigger.

He walked away from her, certain she had a voodoo doll of him at home.

Beckham stayed for rehearsal and he and Roxie were paired together several times. The whole group was part of the practice, but she was always the one selected to shadow Beckham. It was his first time to work with them and he seemed to have already learned every dance long before they got there. Roxie had always been impressed with the way he moved. All through high school, she studied every single music video he made and never failed to record every live performance. Dancing with him now was surreal. She could feel the energy radiating off of him, almost knew his move before he made it. It was easier than it had been dancing without him there. Everyone worked harder, did better. He made everything Anthony choreographed come to life.

This was what she’d trained for … forever. This was what she’d given up when she got pregnant with Leo. It was all worth it. She stumbled, getting distracted in her thoughts.
Don’t blow it, Roxie.
Beckham grabbed her arm and pulled her into him, doing the salsa and staring into her eyes like he owned her. The way he looked at her when they danced—like she was a delicacy he was scared to touch but also wanted to devour—she could almost feel her defenses begin to fall. But no, she hated him. She
needed
to hate him. No matter what. There was no way she could let him in. Not again.

She’d Googled his eye color before. She was embarrassed thinking about it now, but as she looked into them again, she remembered that she’d done it more than once. His eyes were such an unusual grey blue. Constantly changing.
Chameleon eyes, just like him
, she thought. Never trust a guy that doesn’t even have a distinguishable eye color.

He laughed. She’d also studied videos of his laugh. It was the best laugh. If she didn’t hate it so much, she’d love it. It was not contained. He always laughed with everything and almost sounded like a geek when he did.

“What?” she snapped.

“
What
is going through that head of yours, Roxie Taylor?” He stretched her out and pulled her back along the front of his body. Her eyes widened when she felt a little too much of him. “Your hair is amazing, by the way. I’ve never seen it down.”

“Don’t try to distract me,” she said through clenched teeth.

He laughed again as the song ended. She yanked her hand away from his and before Anthony could start the song from the top again, Beckham said, all humor gone, “Why do you hate me so much?”

The music picked up again and they went through every move, not tearing their eyes away from the other. The tension was excruciating, but neither could look away.

When he pulled her tight to him this time, he said softly, “I asked you a question.”

Before she was swung out into a twirl, she replied, “It would take too long to tell you all the reasons.”

A flicker of hurt crossed his eyes and then he laughed the full-on laugh that had never failed to charm her.

“Are you joking? Am I being pranked? If so you are cracking me up!” His laughter faded away as he looked carefully at her. “Are you always this hateful?”

Roxie ignored him and concentrated on the rest of the song. He was gonna bust her vibe if he didn’t shut up already. She thought ignoring him would make him mad, but it seemed like he just got more and more amused by her. He turned up the sex about ten more decibels and when he pulled her in for the last cross-body hold, she gasped when she felt him against her back.

Hard and substantial, just like she remembered.

Beckham’s alarm went off at a very crucial part in his dream. Roxie was naked under him and she was looking up at him smiling. Like she adored him. Her long legs were wrapped around him and…

He hit snooze and willed himself to go back to the dream.

He ran his fingers through her hair and gave it a little tug. It was so short, it made her neck scream to be kissed. Her eyes closed as his tongue trailed down that pale neck and teased her breasts…

Shit!
He hit the snooze again.

This time he was awake and Roxie’s true features came into focus. She wasn’t skewed like she’d been in the dream. Now her hair splayed out on the pillow as he imagined her grinning up at him while he drove into her.

Her eyes didn’t look at him nearly as adoringly as they had in his dream. He squeezed his eyes shut to try and change them from scorn to adoration.

Sick bastard
, he thought later as he went into the bathroom, feeling much better.
You need a woman. Bad.

At least now maybe he wouldn’t alarm her with his traitor dick every time she got near him. He’d managed to hide it from everyone but Roxie the day before. Just add one more huge notch to his growing list of embarrassments where she was concerned.

She looked away, as if the thought of even seeing him made her want to cease living. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. And he couldn’t wait to touch her again. Although he’d have to start chanting “Grandmother, grandmother, grandmother!” to avoid embarrassing himself with her again. This morning’s dream only made him more aware of her.

It wasn’t like she was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. He’d been with many more beautiful, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember who. She had such an expressive face. Thick eyebrows, wide-set, eyes—sometimes green, sometimes blue—that pulled you in and spat you out, thick blonde hair so long it made you want to get lost in it, and pale, smooth skin; she didn’t fit the typical model mold he’d dated. He couldn’t remember ever being so interested in a face, though. Those lips. And then the way she moved so gracefully. Her body was made to be a dancer, lean and sculpted. Her breasts were perfect, not too big, not too little. His gut clenched and he groaned inside. One shoulder was exposed, showing her hot pink sports bra. Her nipples poked through the shirt like there was nothing that would hold them back. She turned around to put her bag down and he saw her ass in yoga pants for the very first time. The baggie sweats had been nice the day before, but fuck him, these were like a second skin.

Sweet almighty Mary and Joseph!
He was desperate.
Mother Teresa’s great-grandmother!

It was like a work of art, the Michelangelo of booty.
Tight and juicy.

Yeah, he was already coming up with a melody. Her ass was what songs were made of … the songs he’d written in middle school. He’d never claimed to be the most mature person out there anyway.

She turned around and his cheeks lit on fire. He knew for a fact no woman had ever made him blush, whether he was being an asshole or not. Back in his heyday of women, not so long ago, he’d actually been quite smooth. So there had to be some sort of spell she’d weaved on him.

He pulled the coffee he’d bought for her out from behind his back and it was the brightest her eyes had gotten so far.
Ah—Miss Taylor has a weakness!
He made note to bring her coffee for every early morning rehearsal they had together.

She snatched it out of his hands. Greedy.

He raised an eyebrow at her aggressiveness.

“Thanks,” she said with her raspy voice. It was always husky, but sounded especially so that early in the morning.

He smiled and her eyes softened. Just a touch, but enough to make him breathe easier. “Thanks for coming out so early. I know you didn’t really commit to giving up your weekends, at least not this early in rehearsals. You’re a quick learner, we’ll have it in no time, I promise.”

“It’s fine,” she said softly. “Thanks for this opportunity.”

He paused, not expecting that. Maybe she was warming up to him…

“Just keep your weapon away from me,” she added, with a raised eyebrow.

No, she hadn’t warmed up.

Anthony walked in, looking like he hadn’t slept in a week. He probably hadn’t. David apparently hadn’t taken the breakup well.

“You all right?” Beckham asked.

Anthony lowered his fedora. “Ugh, don’t ask. When I get home from work every day, David starts calling every ten minutes. I finally picked up last night at midnight, just to tell him to never call again. We ended up talking until three. He said he never meant to hurt me … that he was just having a mini what-am-I-doing-with-my-life crisis and acting out.” He said it all so matter-of-fact, as if it were nothing, but his lower lip trembled a little.

Roxie put her hand on his arm. “Men suck. I’m sorry.”

Anthony smiled at her. “Don’t they? Thank you, hon. Come on, let’s get to work.”

If the day before had been a disaster where Beckham’s focus was concerned, this rehearsal was a thousand times worse. Beckham and Anthony had worked out the choreography weeks before; Beckham knew the material inside and out. But he kept getting distracted by Roxie. The song was all about seduction and the way she looked at him as they moved—he could have sworn she was seducing him.