Excerpt

Glory

by Ali Katz

“Sur les pointes. Now, give me attitude.” He marveled as she snapped into position without a quiver.

With one hand lightly touching her center of gravity, he examined her lines, then traced her spine with one finger until the curve deepened. “Beautiful. Can you hold that?”

“Sì,” she said on a breathe.

Testing her a little, he took his time inspecting her form. Whoever decided breasts and butt ruined a perfect outline? What could be more perfect than the pleasure this body elicited? Not a single muscle relaxed, or even ticked, in all the time his gaze roamed over her.

He lowered his arm slowly to her waist and walked her full circle. “Fall…a poisson.”

Now her body jerked. With perceptible effort, she avoided breaking form before she dropped into his arms. He waited to comment until he’d talked her into the correct position and raised her to her feet.

“You hesitated. Glory, for the hundredth time, trust me. I’m not going to drop you.”

“I am too heavy,” she said, her gaze fixed on the floor.

“Sophie Kessler is ten pounds heavier. I’ve never dropped her.” Already, after only their first hour together, he’d determined to put this hurdle behind them as quickly as possible and make this partnership work. If he succeeded in gaining her trust, if the damn nosebleeds didn’t get in the way, if…they would be brilliant. “How badly do you want this?”

She locked her golden eyes to his and nodded.

The hunger was there. “Well, then.” With one hand against her ribs, the other on her thigh, he lifted her over his head. “Again, a poisson.”

This time, she didn’t hesitate, didn’t try to compensate. In the mirror, the perfect line her curves created remained undisturbed as he extended and lowered her torso into a dive. He reversed the tilt and dropped her into his arms. She weighed nothing. With his arms wrapped around her thighs, he buried his face in her belly and smiled.

Peppermint…she smells like Christmas.

She was desire personified in his arms, her body sliding slowly over his, caressing him as he lowered her en pointe. Her left leg curled around his hip and she leaned back into his arm. With her arm stretched above her head, the mounds of her breasts and the peaks of their nipples yearned toward the sky. He couldn’t stop himself, in spite of the growing discomfort as the belt he wore tightened around his rising arousal. Hell, he didn’t want to stop. They were already so close to what he’d imagined, a celebration of the body.

The arch of her back deepened as he let his hand slide up her thigh, hip, ribs to cradle one full, round breast with his outstretched thumb. That’s as far as he let himself go; his eyes completed the stroke. The shadows of her dark areolas bled through the taut fabric. For a moment, the sight of her took his breath away.

“Perfect.” His mouth watered for a taste. Mentally laughing at his reaction, feeling more joy than self-derision, he led her to complete the move.

“Brava, Glory.” God, they were going to be so good together—if he could do her justice.

Excitement shone in her eyes. “You are stronger than you look, Connor.” She laughed and the sound intoxicated him.

Hands to chest, he mimed a broken heart. Thinking about it, though, he wondered if perhaps he wasn’t also stronger than he thought. Rather than dwell on the oddity, he chalked up the ease with which he’d held her above his head to his being more interested in the way her soft flesh pillowed his hand. They finished the session in a light mood and, for his sake, with minimal touching.

As Glory left the floor, the sway in her hips told Connor she knew the effect she had on him. He watched her disappear into the dressing room before turning to gather his things.

“Mr. Finn,” a voice called from behind him. The man who’d shared Glory’s box at the theater stood in the doorway. Connor crossed the dance floor to greet him. Boyfriend, he thought, tall, black, extremely good-looking, wearing Armani, but a certain resemblance to Glory around the eyes and cheekbones made him hope for brother. How long had he been watching?

The man offered his hand; Connor took it. “Damiano Scalisi, Glorianna’s father.”

Connor caught his mouth gaping and closed it with an audible snap of his teeth.

“Yes,” Damiano said, with a laugh and neon smile. “Obviously, I’m older than I look.”

“It’s a pleasure, sir.” Really, how long had he been watching? “You’re daughter is very accomplished.”

“And beautiful, don’t you think?” He wore a good-natured smirk.

Long enough. Inside, Connor squirmed. “I’d hoped you hadn’t noticed me admiring her.” Ogling’s more accurate, or, for God’s sake, mauling. The man’s unfaltering expression did a lot to ease his mind.

“Honesty,” Damiano said. “Refreshing. You’ll have no interference from me. Glorianna is her own woman and quite capable of defending herself, if it comes to that. I wanted only to congratulate you on your success this season. I’ve never seen a better cast dancer. With your strange coloring, you might have been born to the role.”

Relieved, Connor laughed. “My mother always said I was half sidhe.”

“Who would know better? The way you move across the stage, I think it’s quite probably true.” He gave no hint of amusement. The way he scrutinized him, Connor thought the man more than half believed the fantastical statement.

He glanced over Connor’s shoulder and his face softened. Connor turned and saw Glory coming out of the dressing room. She hesitated a moment until her father extended his hand for her to join them.

“My daughter’s been away a long time,” Damiano said in a low voice as she approached. “Sometimes I find it hard to reconcile the child who left with the woman who returned. This passage—the incident you witnessed—has been difficult for her, but I promise you, the situation is temporary. Don’t be frightened away. You’ll be good for her.”

That was a strange thing for a man he’d just met to say. This passage, he’d said. Connor would’ve liked to question him further, but Glory was there, taking her father’s hand and reaching up on her toes to plant a kiss on his cheek.