The Blitzed Series Boxed Set: Five Contemporary Romance Novels Page 7

  “Used to have my own show.” He shakes his head. “Maybe learning ballet is a good use of my time.”

  “We have a lot of good teachers here,” I say.

  He spins in circles around me. I turn to him as he makes his way around. He’s amazing. His form. His energy. It’s one thing to see recordings on a laptop screen. It’s another one entirely to have him right in front of me.

  “The whole world probably wishes they were me right now,” I say.

  This stops him. “Not exactly,” he says. His face is serious. “I don’t think there’s a name I haven’t been called in the past few weeks.”

  “Is that why you came home?”

  He takes my hand and starts turning me in circles, roll out, roll in, away from him and back. Finally he says, “I couldn’t trust anybody. Half of my staff quit and the other half is stabbing me in the back.”

  “So you wanted your family.”

  Blitz steps close and places my hand on his shoulder in what I recognize as waltz position. He grasps the other and we begin circling the stage floor. “Your favorite,” he says.

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  He spins me in a circle and lets go once I’m away. “You are my escape right now.”

  My heart threatens to stop. “Me?”

  He nods. He runs a few feet, then leaps into another attempt at a grand jeté. He’s full of nervous energy.

  I decide to stop asking questions. If he needs escape, then I’ll be it.

  When he lands, he asks, “Better?”

  “Yes. But I think for a man, you don’t want the framed arms. I’d go with an extension.”

  He does it again. Each leap is higher than the last. He’s a wonder. I can’t believe Danika said a thousand dancers were as good as him. He has to be one in a million.

  “I know there are basic ballet positions,” he says. “But I don’t know what they are.”

  “You want me to show you?”

  “I’d love it.”

  “This is first position,” I tell him, putting my heels together, toes out, and my arms in a circle in front of my chest.

  “Like this?” he asks.

  It’s perfect, but I use this as an excuse to touch him, shifting his arms down the barest inch. His skin is warm, the muscles flexed and hard. Danika warned him away from me. I have to be careful.

  But I can’t stop myself.

  “That’s it,” I say. “From there you go into second position, stepping your feet wide and extending your arms.” I move into place.

  He mimics me perfectly.

  We go through all five positions.

  “I love this,” he says. “I guess if you’ve never danced with a partner, you don’t know any ballet lifts.”

  I shake my head. “There aren’t any male ballet instructors at Dreamcatcher, although I’m sure the other girls know some dancers.”

  “I might have to get some names.” He places his hands on my waist and lifts me again. “I’m betting it’s all very similar.”

  It’s a little disconcerting how he keeps taking me airborne. He braces his legs with a lunge. Then his hands shift me so that my center of balance changes.

  “Can you hold the position horizontally?” he asks. “It takes a lot of core strength.”

  I’m not sure, but as he tilts my body into a line, my legs stay in the air until I’m parallel with the floor. I remember my arms and hold them out, fingers in proper hand position.

  “Now that’s beautiful,” Blitz says. “You ballet dancers really have pretty details in the hands and head.”

  He lowers me down. “You okay?” he asks. “Was that a strain?”

  “Not at all,” I say. And that part is true. But I’m so high, so outrageously overflowing with excitement in his presence, that it is almost painful. I can’t tell him that.

  “Too bad we don’t have any music. I left my cell phone in my car.” He notices my string bag. “Do you have yours?”

  My face burns. “Not with me,” I say.

  “Good for you. Going off grid.” He takes my hand and assumes the waltz position, but this time he leads me into another type of step, in a box. “I wish I could stop torturing myself with the Burn Blitz Burn hashtag.”

  “What’s that?” I try to relax and follow Blitz’s steps, but with no music or any idea what he’ll do next, it’s all I can do not to tromp all over him.

  “It sounds like fun, which is why everybody keeps jumping in. They bash me pretty damn hard with it. Every time I think it’s died down, it resurrects itself.”

  “Like Zombie Jesus,” I say.

  His laugh reverberates off the stage and walls of the recital hall. “Princess, where have you been all my life?”

  Hiding under my father’s iron rule, I think, but I simply continue to follow his step. He rolls me out, ducking me under his arm, then lifts my arm so he can turn beneath mine. We do this over and over again until I’m breathless and my arm aches. But it’s fun, so fun. We’re dancing almost as part of the conversation.

  “So do you have class today?” he asks.

  I let go of him. “Oh my gosh. What time is it?”

  He flicks the round screen on his wristband. A watch face lights up. “Four-ten.”

  “Oh, no! I’m late!” I run for my bag, then stop. “Come with me,” I say. “Betsy can teach you a few things!”

  He hesitates.

  “Do you have something better to do?” I ask. “Like reading nasty Burn Blitz Burn Tweets?”

  “Touché,” he says. “All right. But I’ll have to keep my hands off you in there.” We head off the side of the stage.

  My heart revs up. “Why is that?”

  “Your kindly boss Danika,” he says. “I’m skating on thin ice after Wednesday.”

  Shoot. That’s right. It was one thing to sneak a dance in an empty recital hall. Another thing to be together with an audience.

  I stop walking. “Maybe we should go through the main entrance of the recital hall rather than just appearing from the storage room.”

  “I’ll risk it if you will,” he says. His smile is devilishly charming, and my heart immediately reacts with a jump in my pulse.

  He takes my hand and we head into the staging area, where the door to the storage room still stands open.

  My blood rushes in my ears. “Did you have some nefarious plan for in there?” I ask.

  We dodge the costume racks. He pulls me behind one.

  “Just this,” he says.

  He cradles my face in both of his hands, and before I can even think, his lips land on mine.

  Kissing is everything I remember, and so much more. His breath caresses me, his mouth warm and welcoming. He takes it easy, nibbling across my lips, his thumb stroking my cheek.

  When I lean in, the kiss grows more demanding. His body presses against mine. His tongue flicks against my mouth, and I open for him.

  His arms come around me as he explores inside. He tastes like mint gum and smells like pine. I couldn’t be more swept away.

  Blitz’s kiss is the key that unlocks the secret diary of my past, every suppressed need, every hidden desire.

  The kiss goes on and on. His hands explore my back and neck, his fingers threading into my hair. I never want the moment to end. My body tingles, warming to all the old needs I once felt but shut away. I bring my arms around him too, hanging on to his strong muscled back.

  He breaks the kiss and holds me close, pressing my head to his chest. He caresses my hair for long moments. I listen to his heartbeat, quick and sure. Finally, he lets me go.

  “Ballet?” I ask.

  He glances at the exit sign by a set of loading doors. They aren’t entirely closed. Apparently whatever caused the stage to be in use involved a delivery.

  “I think I’m going to jet this way, Princess,” he says. “I’m afraid if we go out there the way we are feeling right now, everyone is going to see it.” He gestures between us.

  My heart feels ready to
burst. So he feels something too!

  “Besides,” he says, “parts of me are more prominent than I’d like.”

  I glance down at his tights and my eyebrows shoot up.

  “Oh!” I say.

  “I know,” he says. “I’m a damn teenager around you. But I’ll be here next week.”

  I want to protest. That’s a weekend away!

  But he turns and heads through the double doors, leaping majestically off the loading dock.

  I head over and watch him leave, moving across the parking lot with easy grace. Then he turns the corner of the building, and I can’t see him anymore.

  I lean against the door frame. I’m in over my head. I don’t care what a hashtag says, what the world thinks of him. This isn’t the person they are talking about. It can’t be.

  Because he’s the most amazing person I’ve ever met.

  Chapter 11

  I don’t even want to think about two days without Blitz.

  On Saturday morning, I get up and throw myself into housecleaning with Mom. Dad and Andy take off for soccer practice. I’m relieved to be away from his constant supervision, as I’m afraid I’m wearing my obsession on my sleeve.

  While Mom and I pick up knickknacks to dust beneath, I wish I could tell her what was happening. Ask her advice.

  But it’s not possible. I cannot cause her pain, can’t get between her and my father again. She made her choice to stick by him even as he became this paranoid, punishing, unforgiving man.

  The idea that I’m interested in a man like Blitz would no doubt cost me my freedom. She’d tell my father, and that would be it. No more ballet. No more Gabriella.

  Not worth it.

  I live and relive the kiss in the storage room like it’s a favorite song I can play on infinite repeat. I’m still not sure how all this has happened. Why did he pick me out of all the girls in San Antonio?

  Shortly after lunch, Mindy shows up to hang out. My father approves of our taking the short walk to the park two blocks down. I know he’ll pass by every half hour or so to make sure we aren’t talking to any boys, but that’s fine. It’s not like Blitz is going to show up, and I’m definitely not interested in anyone else.

  When we’re far enough away to talk, she asks me, “So what’s happening with Blitz? I’ve been dying to know.”

  “He kissed me!” I say. I can’t help it. I have to tell somebody.

  “Oh my God!” she exclaims, then claps her hand over her mouth. “Now tell me every detail!”

  I describe as best I can the encounter in the recital hall and then in the storage room, including his graceful exit.

  “This is so romantic!” Mindy says. “My best friend is having a fling with a reality show star!”

  “An ex-reality show star,” I say.

  “But isn’t getting his show back the whole reason he’s doing all this charity stuff?” Mindy asks.

  “He is?” I ask.

  “That’s why he’s at Dreamcatcher.” Mindy pulls out her phone. “He’s organized a fund-raiser and kissed a pig at a rodeo and —”

  “He WHAT?” I try to picture Blitz and a pig and it so does not fit.

  “Yeah, he went to some rodeo last weekend and kissed a pig. If they got so-and-so much money for some charity, he would do it in the arena.”

  “Show me.”

  Mindy taps on the screen. “Here’s the video.”

  I look around, making sure my dad isn’t taking a stroll right about now. I have to be visible when he walks by, but hidden enough that he can’t see what we’re doing.

  I look around. “Let’s sit on that bench,” I say. Our backs will be to the sidewalk.

  We head there and Mindy hands the phone over. The still shot is of Blitz in a cowboy hat and jeans. My pulse speeds up at the sight of him. He looks so different but still perfect.

  Blitz stands on a stage with an announcer. It’s not the big San Antonio rodeo, which isn’t until February. It looks pretty small and informal. A teenager brings out a pig with a ribbon on its collar. Blitz gets down on his hands and knees to plant one on its pink snout.

  I laugh. He’s trying so hard. He’ll do anything.

  “If he gets his show back, he’ll leave for LA again,” I say, eyes still on the video.

  “You’ll just have to marry him and go!” Mindy says.

  She’s so crazy. And impractical. That’s not how these things work. Even if I was his soul mate, he’d have to go back to his job. And his contestants. Women willing to strip naked for him in front of everyone.

  His wife is supposed to come from Dance Blitz. It’s part of the show.

  The video ends and another one automatically begins. It’s not a news station, but a celebrity gossip site.

  A woman sits with a video in the background, like a newscaster. She says, “And Blitz Craven continues his wild nights deep in the heart of Texas. The dancing Romeo, who was recently the subject of a Twitter scandal when he posted a naked woman in his bed, is back in the saddle with socialite Avery Hines, daughter of tech mogul Michael Hines.”

  The video behind her shows Blitz, in jeans and a black jacket, escorting a woman in a slinky red dress to an open limo. His arm is on her back.

  My stomach drops. “When was this?” I ask.

  “Maybe that was last week,” Mindy says. “Before he even met you.”

  But the woman goes on.

  “The King of Dance has been seen with several prominent Texas women since he kissed a pig at a small local rodeo last weekend.” Behind her flash several images of Blitz in various places around San Antonio, a different woman on his arm each time.

  So he has been seeing other women all week. And unlike me, brushing off his kisses for days, these women probably do all the things he wants.

  “You think any of those were last night?” I can barely ask the question, my mouth has gone so dry. “Do you think he went out with someone after he kissed me yesterday?” The words are physically painful, like barbs in my throat.

  “No way,” Mindy says. “You said the owner warned him away from you, right? That’s probably what made him see other people. And now that he knows how he feels about you, he won’t. There wasn’t a date on that footage. It could have been a few days ago.”

  But I’m not sure about that. I close the video and look on her phone for Twitter. When I open the app, I type in #BurnBlitzBurn.

  Page after page of Tweets appear. I read a few out loud to Mindy.

  “Looks like the alphahole dancer is making moves on Texas women. Maybe one of them will shoot him. #BurnBlitzBurn.”

  “Don’t,” Mindy says. “It’ll make you crazy.”

  I find another one.

  “Somebody tell the new girls to take his phone away before bedtime. #BurnBlitzBurn.”

  “Stop,” Mindy says.

  But I can’t quit reading them, pausing on keywords. Jerk. Horrible. Worst kind of man. Shoot his balls off.

  One of the Tweets has another hashtag. #BlitzSightingTexas. I click on it and another set of messages fall in a line.

  “Spotted on the Riverwalk draped over some chick. Wanted to push him in. #BurnBlitzBurn #BlitzSightingTexas.”

  The Tweet was last night.

  Last night. The night after our kiss.

  Some of the Tweets have pictures. I can’t look.

  I hand the phone back to Mindy.

  She tries to hug me but I resist.

  “He screwed up, Livia,” she says. “He’s trying to fix it. He kissed a pig!”

  “He hasn’t changed,” I say, my voice dull. I feel numb now. “He’s just a flirt. He probably kissed ten women yesterday.”

  And I was the stupidest one, I think silently. I want to cry. He probably calls all of them Princess. What a stupid name, anyway.

  But the weekend will be a lot easier now. I’m not waiting for Monday anymore. I’m waiting for him to be gone.

  Chapter 12

  I drag myself to the wheelchair ballerina class on Tuesday, not s
parked even by the chance to see Gabriella. Everything feels blunted and dull, like the world is drained of its color. I skipped Monday practice. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. My dad is right. Boys make me stupid. I should stay away.

  The girls come in, one by one. Marissa is better today, and I’m relieved to see it. Gwen is on time, Gabriella beautiful in a bright red leotard and sparkly tutu. “Where’s Benjamin?” she asks as soon as she’s in the room.

  “He’s with another group now,” Janel says, starting the music.

  Danika did say she was taking him out of my class. She was right all along. Maybe she had seen something I didn’t. Flirting with Suze or some of the mothers, more than just accepting their attention. Maybe she’d even caught him with someone.

  I picture him kissing one of the other instructors and I want to throw up.

  “You okay, Livia?” Janel asks.

  I shake myself out of it. “I’m fine,” I say. I move forward to line up the girls.

  About halfway through the class, the door opens and a woman enters.

  I’m less necessary today, so I’m just standing in the corner watching the dance as she looks around the studio. She’s definitely not from around here.

  Her suit is red, tailored, and fits her like it was custom made. The skirt hits just above her knee. She’s got killer red heels and her ash blond hair looks like she just came out of a magazine shoot. She’s older, maybe fifty, but her skin is as radiant as a girl’s. Her makeup is perfect, her lips the exact shade of her dress. She puts on a fake smile as she looks around.

  Janel keeps the motions going to cue the girls. “Can I help you?”

  “Where is Blitz?” the woman asks.

  “He isn’t in this class,” Janel says. “Check with the front desk. They can help you.”

  “The front desk sent me here.” Her eyes light up as she watches the girls. The song comes to an end. “Was Blitz here before?”

  Gabriella turns her chair to her. “Do you mean Benjamin?”

  The woman blinks for a second, then says, “Yes. Was he here?”

  “Last week!” Daisy says. “He’s a dreamboat.”