The Last Dance (10 page)

Roman sat on the bed beside her. He took her leg between his massive hands and rubbed. “You are going to see my doctor tomorrow. He will refer you to a specialist.”

Georgina shook her head before she realized he could not see her. “There is no point. I have seen doctors. My knee is held together by scar tissue. I need surgery. A knee replacement.”

“I see. And you have been advised not to dance.”

It wasn’t a question, but she answered him anyway. “Yes. Dancing doesn’t help, but at this point it can’t make it any worse.”

“It must be agony when you’re onstage.”

“Actually that is the only time I don’t feel it.” Georgina paused before she added, “And when you rub it. That helps.” She felt self-conscious admitting that to him, which was silly after the things they had shared in the short time she had known him.

“Why don’t you stop dancing?”

Georgina sighed. The question was simple, but the answer so complex. She could not answer honestly without explaining everything that had happened with Lev and Pavel. She could not tell him. Those were her truths, and no one got to know them. For a long time neither of them spoke. She concentrated on his hands working over her tender flesh. “I have made a lot of sacrifices to be where I am. They would all be for nothing if I quit, so I will dance until I can’t anymore.”

“Can you afford to stop? Have you saved enough money?”

Of course it came down to money for him. He was worth billions; that was how he marked his success. She judged hers in very different ways. Instead of answering his question, she asked one of her own. “You have enough money. Why don’t you stop? Retire to a tropical island somewhere. Why are you still in Russia?”

“Hmm. I see,” he said when she did not answer his question.

She wasn’t sure what he thought she saw, and she didn’t ask. He had his truths too, and she had no more right to know his than he did to know hers. “That feels good. Thank you. You can go back to sleep. The painkillers are about to kick in.”

“I’m awake now.” Roman continued to rub her leg.

Tomorrow she was going to have to face the reality of her situation. She was a broken, aging dancer caught between two dangerous men. One of them was going to destroy her; she just didn’t know yet which one. They were both cruel and ruthless. But only one of them could make her forget all about that.

She wanted to forget again, one more time. In the morning she would remember why she should not do this, but tonight, right now, she was going to live in the moment and feel good. Roman made her feel good.

Georgina pushed Roman down against the mattress. She knelt beside him. Her hands swept over his hard body, exploring, tracing the deep ridges of his muscles, taking in each inch. His cock twitched in response, but Georgina made no move to caress him there. That could happen later. There was enough pleasure for her to be had in merely stroking his chest. The texture of his burned skin was such an anomaly, rough and smooth at the same time. She had fantasized about touching it, and now she could. She traced the pattern of the scars from his neck to below his ribs. Her hands settled above his heart, the beat steady and strong, reverberating in her fingertips.

His body was perfect. Even with the scars it was a thing of beauty. She licked her lips, her mouth suddenly dry. Slowly her hands drifted down his flat belly and lower still. His breath quickened. She knew where he wanted her hands, but she wouldn’t…not yet…not until she had gotten her fill of him. There was so much to explore, and she wanted to know all of him.

He was already hard. Roman was thicker and longer than any man deserved to be. It was almost wasteful. He could pleasure her with much less, but how she appreciated all of it.

She held the heavy weight of his balls in her hands, gently caressing. Her thumb found the smooth, sensitive skin below and rubbed—small circles, soft at first and then increasing the pressure until Roman groaned, his cock twitching in anticipation.

“Georgina.” Her name came out as a strangled plea, his voice low and hoarse.

She would make him wait, the way he had made her wait, with slow, sensual torture.

He called her name again. The sound was a carnal victory. Right now only she could provide the relief his body craved, only her hands, her body. The knowledge was invigorating. She could get drunk on the power of it.

She stroked his cock from the base to the smooth tip and back again. Over and over she slid her hands up and down, so smooth and so hard.

Her pussy clenched in anticipation. She was torn; as much as she wanted to make him wait, she needed him too. She needed his body as much as he needed hers. She straddled him and positioned his cock at the entrance of her body. She slid it up farther over her clit. It glided over the sensitive area. She rubbed her body over his length. He provided the perfect amount of sweet friction. Every movement brought relief and hunger, satisfying her need while stoking the fire. She could come like this. She would. Oh God, he felt so good, better than any vibrator.

Roman groaned. Unlike her, he wasn’t likely to come like this.

She smiled. “If you ask nicely I will fuck you. Or should I make you beg too?”

Roman grabbed her hips and pulled her down, impaling her on his cock. “Or I can just fuck you,” he growled. Sensation shot through her.

His cock felt good rubbing on her clit, but it felt divine buried deep inside her. Roman held her firmly in place, not allowing her to move as he thrust into her. Even lying under her, he was in control. No one topped Roman Zakharov.

His hands bit into her hips. The message was clear: he was in control; he always was. The knowledge was strangely liberating. There was nothing to fight against, nothing to think about or fear. All she had to do was feel.

Roman’s hands found her nipples, rolling them between his fingers. When he tugged, desire shot through her, electric and powerful, waking every nerve ending in her body. She rocked her hips over his thick length, pulling back and sliding over him, taking him all until his hips pressed hard against her.

Her head fell to the side as she rode him; the sensations were too much as she came. So good…so, so good.

Over and over she rocked against him, bringing another orgasm. Roman groaned as he came inside her, filling her again with his hot seed. Georgina collapsed onto his chest, completely satisfied. He was still deep inside her, but neither of them moved to untangle their bodies. They would sleep like this, joined.

They made love again in the morning as soon as they woke up, even before she reached for her painkillers. This time with Roman on top. That was her favorite so far: him on top of her, his heavy weight pinning her in place. She felt overwhelmed and overpowered and completely satisfied. He always took charge no matter what position or situation. He was always in control. She liked that. She would have never guessed that about herself, but she liked giving him the control, safe in the knowledge that anything he did would feel good.

Now, Georgina stood in the doorway to the bathroom, Roman still lounging in her bed. She needed to get ready and get to rehearsal. Bizarrely she was saddened about having to take a shower and wash away the evidence of their night together. It was almost like she knew the connection would be gone as soon as the physical evidence of the encounters was gone.

“Do you want to take a shower with me?” Georgina asked, hoping he would say yes. She loved shower sex. Hot water and an even hotter man… Yes, that was exactly what she needed before she left for rehearsal. She could get through anything the day threw in her direction if she started off like that.

Roman glanced at his watch and scowled. “No, I will shower at home.” He crossed the room and picked up his clothes.

Georgina bit back her disappointment. It was fine. She had a busy day; she should get going anyway.

“Vlad will drop you off at the theater. He will be watching you at all times. He is my right-hand man. Nothing gets past him, so don’t do anything stupid,” Roman warned. His voice was completely devoid of emotion. He had changed back to the cold man she had spotted in the museum, the monster she had read about. His body changed with it; even his scars seemed more prominent. He was not the same man she had spent the night in bed with, the one that had made her scream out in pleasure and massaged her pain away. That man was gone. Georgina shook her head; no, he had never existed. Roman was who he was. She had seen something that wasn’t there because she was lonely, because she needed something to hold on to in the uncertainty.

But it wasn’t Roman. Roman was just another man who would hurt her.

“Vlad will pick you up after the performance and bring you back to my apartment. We need to keep up the charade that we are lovers.”

The charade.
Georgina turned so Roman would not see the sting on her face. The charade that they were lovers. He had said as much himself. Georgina scrubbed at her face. She was going crazy. This was a job. He was a job, or was a job until he had discovered who she was and turned her against Pavel. So what was he now? The new handler that she fucked?

Roman stopped buttoning his shirt to give her a hard stare. “Do you need to be reminded what will happen if you alert your handler or anyone else?”

Georgina’s back straightened. Yes, she did need reminding because clearly she had forgotten because of last night and then again this morning. “Yes, tell me what you do to people who betray you. Do you kill them with your own hands, or does someone else do it for you now? Once upon a time you did the killing yourself. During the aluminum wars, you killed the other bauxite miners yourself. But you’re past that now. Someone else’s hands get bloodied now, don’t they? But maybe you would make an exception for me. Will you make sure I suffer, or will you show some mercy?” Georgina bit out the words. She had endured enough. He needed to go. Their
charade
could continue later, after she danced, after she did the thing that made this all worth it.

Roman let himself out without saying good-bye. When she got out of the shower he was gone, like he had never been there. Georgina put long underwear on over her leotard. As promised, Vlad was waiting for her on the street in front of the silver SUV.

Georgina’s eyes narrowed. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected Vlad to look like but certainly not like the man in front of her. For starters she did not expect Vlad to be young or handsome, but he was. At first glance, he appeared to be the same age as Georgina. For some reason she expected the man guarding her would be old, with the weathered face of a hard drinker. He was tall, though not as tall as Roman, and had broad shoulders. His hair was black, which made his light blue eyes stand out all the more. He was definitely handsome, almost beautiful.

He nodded at her as she approached and opened her door, but he did not smile or speak to her. Maybe he did not speak English, but more likely he simply had no desire to speak to her. Roman went through a lot of women; she was one of many, soon to be replaced.

Georgina glanced up to see her neighbor staring down at her again. She had seen Sergei drop her off last night, and no doubt she had also seen Roman arrive minutes later. And now she was watching Georgina leave with the third man in less than twelve hours. Georgina could only sigh.

She returned her attention to Vlad. If he had any thoughts on her, he kept them well hidden behind his stony veneer. She wondered how much Roman had told him about her. That she was a spy who used her body to get the job done?

Georgina looked out into the dark morning. The sun was just starting to rise. The horizon was coral with smoky black clouds. Once she might have considered it beautiful.

When they arrived at the theater, Georgina thanked Vlad in Russian. He pulled up right in front where all the dancers could see her getting out. That was the point, that she be seen in Roman’s car. People needed to talk. The charade was only a success if people gossiped, and they would.

She walked through the sliding doors of the modern, glass-fronted theater. Several dancers from the chorus had already arrived, but Natasha was standing alone in front of the three-story golden onyx wall, her open bag slung over her shoulder. She smiled at Georgina but didn’t say anything as she glanced past her to Vlad. Natasha’s mouth fell open, the man’s beauty not lost on her.

Georgina nodded to Maxim. He was arriving at the same time as her. His eyes narrowed. He looked from Georgina to the car and back again and then smirked. “Ugly and rich. Good choice,” Maxim said, clearly referring to Roman because no one could ever describe Vlad as ugly.

Georgina pretended not to hear him and walked straight to the studio to wait for Sergei. They would practice for three hours before Georgina went home for lunch. Every day she had a few hours in the afternoon before the performance to go home and eat or nap or shop or do whatever normal people did in the evening when she was on stage.

She would not go home today. She could get soup in the canteen connected to the theater. She wasn’t a massive fan of the stomach soup the chef was keen on serving, but she had no desire to go home to her empty flat.

Georgina only thought about offering Vlad tickets to the performance during intermission. She never used her allocated complimentary tickets. She had no family in Russia to come and see her. She had no family anywhere actually, so the tickets went unused.

If Vlad drove her tomorrow, she would offer him tickets. She had expected him to go home and come back and collect her at the end of the night, but he sat in his car all day, watching the theater. No doubt he was reporting everything to Roman. He was keeping tabs on her for Roman. Of course Roman didn’t trust her. There was no connection. Last night was about two horny people; that was it.

Being onstage and putting all thoughts aside led to another wonderful night. Georgina collected all the flowers that had been thrown onstage for her and bundled up in her sleeping bag jacket.

* * * *

Vlad opened the door for her. Georgina laid the bouquets on the leather seat. “You can have these.” She glanced at his ring finger. “Give them to your wife or girlfriend.” Georgina was guessing. That man was beautiful; he had to have a woman, probably several.