"Roberts, Nora - Stanislaski 08 - Dance of Dreams" - читать интересную книгу автора (Roberts Nora)

bone tired. If I don't get the proper rest, I won't be able to function at top
level tomorrow. I have a responsibility to the rest of the company, to Nick and
to myself."
Carefully, Donald stubbed out the cigarette. Smoke hung in the air a moment,
then wafted out through an open window. "You can't tell me you won't do any
socializing, Ruth. That's absurd."
"Not as absurd as you think," she returned, crossing to him. "There're less than
three weeks until the ballet opens, Donald. Parties simply have to wait until
after."
"And me, Ruth?" He pulled her into his arms. Underneath his calm, civilized
exterior, she sensed the anger. "How long do I have to wait?"
"I've never promised you anything, Donald. You've known from the beginning that
my work is my first priority. Just as your work is for you."
"Does that mean you have to keep denying that you're a woman?"
Ruth's eyes remained calm, but her tone chilled. "I don't believe I've done
that."
"Don't you?" Donald's hold on her tightened, just as Nick's had hours before.
She found it interesting that the two men should draw two such differing
responses from her. With Nick she had felt equal anger and a sharp attraction.
Now she felt only impatience touched with fatigue.
"Donald, I'm hardly denying my womanhood by not going to bed with you."
"You know how much I want you." He pulled her closer. "Every time I touch you, I
feel you give up to a certain point. Then it stops, just as if you've thrown up
a wall." His voice roughened with frustration. "How long are you going to lock
me out?"
Ruth felt a pang of guilt. She knew he spoke the truth, just as she knew there
was nothing she could do to alter it. "I'm sorry, Donald."
He read the regret in her eyes and changed tactics. Drawing her close again, he
spoke softly, his eyes warming. "You know how I feel about you, darling." His
lips took hers quietly, persuasively. "We could leave the party early, bring a
bottle of champagne back here."
"Donald. You don'tЧ" she began. Another knock at the door interrupted her.
Distracted, she didn't bother with the peephole before sliding the chain.
"Nick!" She stared at him foolishly, her mind wiped clean.
"Do you open the door to everyone?" he asked in mild censure as he entered
without invitation. "Your hair's wet," he added, taking a generous handful. "And
you smell like the first rain in spring."
It was as if the angry words had never been spoken, as if the simmering,
restrained passion had never been. He was smiling down at her, an amused, cocky
look in his eyes. Bending, he kissed her nose.
Ruth made a face as she pulled her thoughts into order. "I wasn't expecting
you."
"I was passing," he said, "and saw your lights."
At the sound of Nick's voice, Nijinsky leaped from the table to rub affectionate
circles around the dancer's ankles. Stooping, Nick stroked him once from neck to
tail and laughed when the cat rose on his hind legs to jump at him
affectionately. Nick rose, with Nijinsky purring audibly in his arms, then
spotted Donald across the room.
"Hello." There was no apparent change in his amiability.
"You remember Donald," Ruth began hurriedly, guilty that for a moment she had