Surrender (Careless Whispers #3)(56)

I grab his arm for balance and make the change, staring down at my pink-covered feet, memories exploding in my mind. Dancing. More dancing. “I auditioned for Juilliard.”

“What?”

“I auditioned.” The memory is sharper now and I wait for some emotion to hit me, but it just feels like a fact.

“And?”

One of the questions we’d wanted answered is my answer. “The CIA showed up.”

“Did you make it into Juilliard?”

“I don’t know. The CIA withdrew my application the minute I said yes to them.”

“Why’d you say yes?”

That sharpness becomes focused, and I know why I’m recalling this again now. “I was never a dancer after I killed my first two men.”

“Your father’s murderers.”

“Yes.”

“How do you feel about that?”

“Oddly unemotional. Joining the CIA appealed to me because they were an extension of my father. I think I wanted a family unit. Little did I know that’s not how the CIA operates, but I made it work.”

He doesn’t comment, but I know he gets it. No family. No one to worry about. Until there was us. “Do you remember anything else?” he asks.

“No, but I will.” There is confidence in my tone. “That’s becoming evident.”

“It is. For now, though,” he kisses my forehead, “be a dancer.”

A bubble of excitement fills me. “I’m eager to try out my new slippers.”

“Good. I’m eager to see if you really can handle them like Annie.”

“Game on,” I say, accepting the challenge. “But I need music.”

“I have about every song released in the States in the past five years, as well as the biggest hits by decades. They’re programmed into the panel in the corner.” He walks that way. “Any idea what you want?”

Feeling determined to steal any power Neuville still has, my answer is quick. “?‘Take Me to Church,’?” I say, choosing a song that we both know reminds me of that monster.

Kayden returns to me instantly, his hands settling at my waist. “No. You will not dance to a song that reminds you of Neuville raping you. This place is about you having something special for you. Should you invite me here on occasion, I would love to join you. But this is your place, our new life, and he doesn’t get to be a part of it. Understand?”

In this moment, Kayden slides a little deeper into my soul. This man who can be hard and cold should he need to be, yet so very tender and gentle. “The many shades of dark and light that you are, Kayden, is so damn sexy and perfect.”

His eyes soften, and those sensual, sometimes punishing lips curve. “I could say the same of you, sweetheart. Now. What music do you want?”

I shove his chest. “You go stand somewhere. I’ll pick it.” He hesitates. “Not that song.”

He smiles, obviously pleased with my eagerness, and so am I. I haven’t felt this light-spirited in a very long time and I want to enjoy every moment. I walk to the electronic panel and find it’s pretty close to having the entire iTunes library installed. I scan my choices and smile when I see Jason Aldean’s “Just Gettin’ Started,” deciding to connect with the Texas boy Kayden is at his core.

I turn it on and move back to the center of the room, finding him leaning on the wall, hearing the song begin: “I knew the minute that I picked you up, it was gonna be a wild ride.” “That doesn’t sound like ballerina music,” he says.

“The ballerina gets to decide what ballerina music is,” I say, feeling pretty darn playful.

I lift my arms and try out the first position, my eyes meeting Kayden’s, a smile mixed with heat in the depth of his. I go to my toes, and oh, how I love this. Toes. Arms. First position. Second position. Plie. I am back. I start dancing, falling into my old steps far more easily than expected, and throwing in some new moves. Giving a sexy shake of my hips here and there, and throwing Kayden an equally sexy look over my shoulders.

“That doesn’t look like ballet,” he accuses.

“The best dancers have a creative side,” I say, moving around the floor, and as my confidence grows, so do my sexy little moves, and before long we’re having a great time, both of us singing and laughing. I really love that he’s singing too, that he lets down his guard with me. That he can let himself be my man, not The Hawk, right now. It’s just us having fun, and there’s not a flashback or inhibition in sight. I love that, too.

I go all out and present him with my backside, pull up his shirt, and dare complete silliness. I twerk. I have no idea how I know how to twerk. Probably the kids at school, but I seem to be good at it.

“You can’t do that to Jason Aldean,” he objects. “It’s just wrong, though it looks very right when you do it.”

I face him, both of us laughing, and knowing the lyrics coming up, I close the space between us to stand in front of him just as the words I’m waiting for fill the air: “Ain’t even had a taste of your love.” “I haven’t had a proper taste,” I dare.

“What is proper?” he asks, dark hunger in his blue eyes, and I suspect my green eyes are dancing with the same.

My hands settle on his hips, then find their way under his shirt to shove it upward. He rewards me by pulling it over his head, his delicious muscles flexing as he tosses it aside, while my palms have already pressed to warm skin and hard, ripped abs. The instant he looks at me again, I slowly lower myself to my knees.