Shifter's Dance (2 page)

“Coming?” she called over her shoulder.

He
wished
.

Once inside the elevator, Stephen became
claustrophobic, trying to stand in that small space and not touch
her. He leaned toward her, breathing her scent again and letting it
wash over him. Night blooming jasmine and warm female body, but
what was that?

“You smell funny.” He blurted out the words before
he could stop them. And he thought the teen wolves downstairs had
poor impulse control.

Surprisingly, she laughed. Her face brightened, her
nose wrinkled, and she clapped a hand over her mouth.

“Well, aren’t you refreshing?” She stepped off the
elevator and he followed, admiring the way she moved, each step so
elegant. “It’s an ointment the doctors gave me for my eyes after I
was blinded. It stinks.”

Surprise slapped him hard.
After she was
blinded?

“You weren’t born this way?”

“No, I wasn’t.” Her voice was bitter as she pushed
open a door. She must have forgotten that she’d left a suitcase
standing next to the bed, because she walked into it and tripped,
sprawling forward onto the bed.

“Are you okay?” He was at her side in an instant,
reaching to help her. She rolled over, an angry red blush filling
her cheeks.

“Hey.” He sat down next to her on the bed, his heart
breaking for her. How strange it must be to have to learn
everything all over again. “Don’t be embarrassed. It’s okay.” He
tilted her chin up with one finger. Sitting this close, he couldn’t
fight back the desire to touch her. Cursing himself for the damned
fool he was, he leaned forward and kissed her. He meant it to be a
simple gesture of friendship, but then—

She tasted sweet, like the wine they’d served with
dinner. At first she stiffened in his arms and then she relaxed,
one hand coming up to stroke tentatively at his face as he nudged
and nibbled, teasing and tempting until her lips parted and
oh,
hell.
The whimpering sound she made went straight to his cock,
and the southern rush of blood left him lightheaded. He tugged her
into his lap, pulling her legs around his waist as he deepened the
kiss. He couldn’t get enough of her, and it was crazy, but she
seemed to feel exactly the same way. Her athletic body undulated
against his and her teeth grazed his lower lip. He was quickly
skipping over the “Let’s get to know each other” part of the
evening and moving straight on to the “If I don’t see you naked I’m
gonna die” part.

“Yoga.” He pulled away from the temptation of her
mouth, groaning as she snuggled her face into the place where his
neck and shoulder met, sucking on the tendon there.

“Mmm.” The noise she made sounded…happy. Content. No
way should she be making that noise. She wasn’t a shifter; she
wouldn’t get the whole “mate” thing.

It was as if she realized it too in that next
moment.

“What the fuck?” She sat up and pushed away from
him.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t do that again.” She stood on trembling
legs.

“I promise I would never do anything to hurt
you.”

“I don’t even know you.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” He was babbling. He had
to say something other than
I’m sorry.
“Romy, I didn’t mean
to assault you. I just wanted to comfort you and it got out of
hand. You’re a beautiful woman, but that’s no excuse for groping
you like that.”

“You didn’t assault me.” She shook her head. “No, I
wanted that as much as you did—it just surprised me. It’s not like
me. Heck I don’t even know what you look like.”

* * * *

“Give me your hand.”

She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth. This man
filled her senses. He was big and his body was hard-muscled and
when he’d tugged her onto his lap, she’d felt alive and achy—full
of need. His voice was rough and growly, and sent shivers down her
spine. And the way he smelled and tasted, like he’d been
custom-ordered off the dessert menu just for her?
Divine.

She gave him her hand. She heard and felt his
chuckle as he laid it against his cheek.

“This is how they do it in movies.”

She explored his face with her hands. A thick beard,
soft under her fingers, framing the full lips that moments ago had
been stoking her desire to a fever pitch. An elegant, aquiline
nose. Attached earlobes. Long eyelashes. Soft hair that slipped
like silk through her fingers.
Well, that was a
surprise.

“What color is your hair?”

“Brown.”

“Brown like chocolate? Brown like honey? Brown like
chestnuts?”

“It’s just brown, Romy.”

“Stephen.” She didn’t even attempt to keep the
frustration out of her voice. “I can’t see, but I remember seeing.
There is no ‘just brown.’ Tell me.” She was trying to picture him
in her mind, and the possibilities were endless.

“Brown like a cup of tea, and my beard has a little
red in it.”

She could see it then.

“And your eyes?”

“Darker brown. Trade the tea for a black
coffee.”

“You’re handsome.” She took her hand back. “Thank
you.”

“You’re welcome, and thank you for the
compliment.”

“Don’t let it go to your head. It’s not like I can
see or anything.”

He laughed then, and she wondered what it looked
like. It sounded warm and lush, the crackling air before a storm,
and desire coiled low at the base of her spine as her lips twitched
up in response. This was the first time she’d joked about her
blindness, and the freedom went straight to her head. For the first
time in eight weeks, she had someone on her side, the shared joke
making a friend out of him.

“We should go to the yoga class.” She reached,
feeling around for his hand. When she found it, she gave it a
gentle squeeze before letting go. She extracted the yoga mat from
its place in her suitcase and turned back to the door, but when she
heard a rough noise behind her, she turned back.

“Stephen?”

“I’m moving your suitcase up against the wall next
to the bed. It’s still close, but hopefully it won’t trip you
later.”

Oh
. The moment stretched between them as her
emotions took up sides in her head.

“I don’t need anyone to take care of me.”

“I’m not trying to ‘take care of you.’ I’m just
moving your suitcase.”

“I didn’t ask for your help. I need to do things on
my own. I’m going to fall sometimes. Come on, we’re going to be
late for yoga.”

They rode the elevator back to the lobby in silence,
but when Stephen took her arm to guide her toward the yoga studio,
she stiffened and pulled it away, tapping resolutely with her cane.
A part of him was angry at being put so firmly in his place, but
another part of him admired her independence.

But good God, what made him think he could stand
behind his mate—and there was no doubt in his mind now that she was
meant for him—and watch her perform a series of
vinyasas
that put her ass in the air and showcased a rather exceptional
flexibility? It wasn’t like he didn’t have his share of athletic
ability; he was strong and pretty fast for a bear, but her balance,
her precision, her ability to flow into each pose as if she were
born doing them—it was captivating. Delightful. It was poetry and
she was writing it with her body, each verse sending him into his
own private torment.

“Stephen, you need to focus inward, find your
breath.” Dana, the were-tiger’s mate, was standing beside him,
adjusting his pose to help him find his balance.

“It would be easier if a certain nymph in front of
me weren’t stealing it away,” he muttered.

Perhaps it was his imagination, but it seemed like
Romy teetered for just a moment in her perfect tree pose.

When the
savasana
had left them languid and
dripping on the floor, he had a feeling that the acute agitation
that stirred through him was not the intended result of a yoga
class. He tried to relax each muscle group like Dana had said, but
in the end, he just found himself anxious to get the hell out of
that studio and into a cold shower.

“Thank you, Dana. That felt fantastic.”

Romy stood nearby, talking to the other woman as
Stephen rolled up his yoga mat. He tried not to eavesdrop, but
couldn’t help himself.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it. I don’t think I’ve ever
had a student as flexible as you. I wasn’t sure it would be
challenging enough. You should take one of Trixie’s classes. She’s
amazing.”

“It’s nice to use my body like that again. I’ve
missed it. It really helps loosen up some of the sore spots from
all the laying around I’ve done the last few weeks. The Wiccan Haus
website said there was a hot spring somewhere on the island? Any
chance you could give me directions?”

Stephen’s protective instinct reared up inside. Oh,
hell no.

“You are
not
swimming alone.” He bit back the
growl that threatened to escape as he swung to face her. Her
shoulders stiffened and her posture grew even more rigid, but he
didn’t care.

“I know where it is. I’ll take you.”

“I told you, I don’t need anyone to take care of
me.”

“Too bad. Swimming alone is a stupid idea, even if
you did have use of your eyes.” This time, he couldn’t stop the
growl.

“And who appointed you my seeing eye dog? Get over
yourself.” She couldn’t see him, but damn if she didn’t manage to
jab that pointy finger right dead center in his chest. She was
magnificent when she was angry; the yoga class had left her shining
with exertion, red faced and gorgeous.

Slowly, silently, he counted to three before
speaking.

“Hey, Romy, I think I’d like to splash around a bit
myself. Why don’t we go together?” he suggested in a fake-cheerful
voice.

“Whatever,” she muttered. “Dana, is it okay if I
leave my mat here in the studio for the duration of my stay? One
less thing to carry around blindly.”

“Of course, I’ll stash it somewhere safe for you.
Enjoy the hot spring.” Dana took the rolled up mat from Romy’s
hands, then turned to Stephen.

“Rekkus needs to talk to you.”

“And I need to talk to him. Have him come find me
tomorrow, whenever it’s convenient.”

“I will. Have fun swimming.”

If he didn’t know better, he’d think that she was
laughing at him.

If she didn’t actually want to relax in the hot
spring so badly, she would have told the big chauvinist to go to
hell and she’d have gone back to her room. She’d meant every word
she’d said. Part of why her agent had encouraged her to come to the
Wiccan Haus to unwind was the emphasis the website had put on
“spiritual healing.” It wasn’t healing to her spirit to have
someone coddling her like this.

But he’s right.
She knew he was. Swimming
alone in a strange place was stupid, especially for a blind woman.
She couldn’t help that her anger at being blinded in the prime of
her life was carrying over to her reactions to this infuriating
man.
Infuriating, sexy man.

“Hey.” His voice beside her sounded hesitant,
uncertain. She stopped walking and turned halfway, as if she could
see still. His hands came down on her shoulders and suddenly the
smell of him filled her and she wanted to take the step closer to
him that would bring her head to his chest and the comfort of his
embrace.

“I’m sorry, Romy.”

Well, that was unexpected.

“For what?”

“For treating you exactly how you came here
not
to be treated. I get it, and I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.” For a moment, she stood still, trying
to find her bearings now that her anger had been effectively
deflated.

“And, I’m not just saying that to get in those
amazingly form-fitting yoga pants.”

She laughed then, the laughter filling her,
overfilling her, bubbling out of her.

“Okay, you’re forgiven.”

“Good. The spring is about ten feet in front of us,
nothing between you and the water. I’m going to take my clothes
off, since I don’t have to worry about you peeking.”

“Are you leering at me?”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

And oddly enough, she realized he probably wouldn’t.
For all his overbearing efforts to take care of her, he seemed to
respect her.

“Turn your back,” she demanded.

“Okay…but how do you know I actually did?”

“I trust you.” She shrugged before she realized he
wouldn’t see it, smiled as she realized she did trust him, as much
as she trusted anyone right now. Of course, she’d trusted Ashley
too, and look where that had gotten her. Not wanting to think on
that further, she stripped down to her underwear and sports bra,
then gradually walked forward until she felt the warm water on her
toes.

Oh sweet heaven, it feels amazing.
Her feet
had taken the brunt of her former life’s work, and she suspected if
she could examine them, she’d find that there were still yellowed
bruises at the tips of some toes. The natural hot spring soothed
aches she didn’t realize she had.

“Can I turn around yet?” His voice interrupted her
carnal enjoyment of the water.

“Go ahead,” she called over her shoulder. She didn’t
care if he saw her in her underwear. Hell, she’d spent more than
half her life wearing a leotard or less.

“Oh,
hell.”
His voice was full of rough
admiration, and she grinned.

“What’s the matter?”

“What did you do, exactly, Romy, before you were
blinded? Fitness coaching?”

“Hardly. I’d just been cast in the lead for
Giselle.
I was a damned fine ballet dancer.” It wasn’t
bragging. She was twenty-seven years old, had been in the prime of
her dancing career, and she’d landed the part of a lifetime. Had
she gotten as far as to perform it, she would have been
magnificent.