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

overpowering kiss she might have expected and fought against. He kissed as if he
knew she would respond to him with equal fervor. It was a man's mouth seeking a
woman's. There was no need for persuasion or force.
Ruth's lips parted when his did. Their tongues met. Her thoughts, her body, her
world concentrated fully and completely on him. The scent of her bath rose
between them. Reaching up to draw him closer, Ruth took her hands from the robe.
It dropped unheeded to the floor. Nick ran his hands down her naked back, much
as he had done to the cat, in one long, smooth stroke. With a low sound of
pleasure, Ruth pressed closer.
And as he ran his hands up her sides to linger there, the kiss grew deeper,
beyond what she knew and into the uncharted.
Her head fell back in submission as she tangled her fingers in his hair. She
pulled him closer, demanding that he take all she offered. It was a dark,
pungent world she had never tasted, and she yearned. Her body quivered with hot
need as his hands ran over her. She had felt them on her countless times in the
past, steadying her, lifting her, coaching her. But there was no music to bring
them together here, no planned choreography, only instinct and desire.
When she felt herself being drawn away from him, Ruth protested, straining
closer. But his hands came firmly to her shoulders, and they were separated.
Ruth stood naked before him, making no attempt to cover herself. She knew he had
already seen her soul; there was no need to conceal her body. Nick took his eyes
down her, slowly, carefully, as if he would memorize every inch. Then his eyes
were back on hers, darkened, penetrating. There was fury in them. Without a
word, he turned and left the room.
Ruth heard the front door slam, and she knew he had gone.



Chapter 3
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And one, and two, and three, and four. Ruth made the moves to the time Nick
called. After hours of dancing, her body was beyond pain. She was numb. The
scant four hours sleep had not given her time to recharge. It had been her own
anger and a need to defy which had kept her at the noisy, smoke-choked party
until the early hours of the morning. She knew that, just as she knew her
dancing was well below par that day.
There was no scathing comment from Nick, no bout of temper. He simply called out
the combinations again and again. He didn't shout when she missed her timing or
swear when her pirouettes were shaky. When he partnered her, there were no
teases, no taunts in her ear.
It would be easier, Ruth thought as she stretched to a slow arabesque, if he'd
shouted or scolded her for doing what he had warned her against. But Nick had
simply lowered her into a fish dive without saying a word.
If he had shouted, she could have shouted back and released some of her
self-disgust. But he gave her no excuse through the classes and hours of
rehearsals to lose her temper. Each time their eyes met, he seemed to look
through her. She was only a body, an object moving to his music.
When Nick called a break, Ruth went to the back of the room and, sitting on the
floor, brought her knees to her chest and rested her forehead on them. Her feet