“You know Lil, even as an artist myself, I never looked at these paintings in quite the same way that you do,” he praised me, adding as he admired the watercolor rendering of a ballerina soaring free through the air. “You know how to bring each portrait alive.”
I shook my head.
“Thanks, babe.” I used his own favorite pet name to affectionate effect. “The truth is, though, that every painting has a story. You just have to release it, to learn it and enjoy it.”
“Very well said.” I jumped as my comment was answered by a deep, melodic voice; one whose rich, textured accent could not possibly belong to Oliver.
I turned in a swirl to greet a man who himself likened a work of art; a tall, lithe gentleman with thick blond hair and wide ebony eyes.
“Mademoiselle,” purred Vladimir Scotto, stepping forth with graceful steps to take my hand in his. “Miss Lily, I presume? Oliver has told me so much about you.”
Gasping outright at this unexpected and rather shocking news, I turned to Oliver and squeaked out, “You two are on a first name basis?”
Oliver shrugged.
“Well, my dad does co-own the theater,” he told me, ducking his head in a sheepish manner.
“Of course he does,” I said with a chuckle, adding as I returned my gaze to a smiling Vladimir, “I’m so honored to meet you. I own DVDs of many of your performances—in Swan Lake, in The Nutcracker, in Romeo and Juliet. I think I know every note and step by heart,” I paused here, adding as I bit my lip, “Um, perhaps I just overshared. You’re probably contemplating an emergency call to your security team. Right. About. Now.”
Pitching his sculpted blond head back, Vladimir exposed his peerless white teeth as he guffawed outright.
“You are right, Oliver,” he nudged his friend. “She is so charming. I am so glad you brought her back here to meet me. And I certainly hope that my performance this evening met her satisfaction and esteemed standards.”
“Oh heck yeah it did!” I exclaimed, meeting Vladimir in a spirited high five as Oliver looked on with a grin. “Rock’n’roll!”
After taking seats on a red cushioned couch that marked the center of the backstage area, Vladimir and I discussed the finer points of Swan Lake while Oliver watched with interested eyes.
Eyes that shifted upward to note the arrival of the other star of today’s performance; a tall, slender redhead dressed in her elegant tutu of beaded, feathered ivory silk.
I immediately recognized Deanna Morgan, the locally based prima ballerina that performed in several small ballet productions I’d seen at my college theater.
As a matter of fact, I believe that she attended my college for a bit—at least before she got headed for Broadway. I wonder if she’ll remember me from freshman year bowling. Blast those physical fitness electives…
Greeting Deanna with a bright smile, I extended my hand in her direction; my grin quickly dissolving as she rushed past my seat in a beeline for my wide eyed date.
“Oliver Clark!” Deanna snapped, planting her oh so delicate hands on her ever so tiny hips. “I can’t believe that you had the nerve to face me after what transpired the last time I performed at this theater.”
I froze as Oliver shifted beside me; meeting Deanna’s words with a casual shrug that belied his tense posture.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, Deanna,” he offered, pinning her with a weak attempt at a charming smile. “I thought we had a perfectly nice date that evening.”
Deanna nodded.
“And we were supposed to have another,” she reminded him with a sniff. “Only after a long session of passionate lovemaking, you never called or e-mailed me once. And when I returned here last Christmas, to dance my signature role of Clara in The Nutcracker, you didn’t even bother to attend the performance!”
“Guess his nuts weren’t big enough to face you again,” I murmured, adding as I tilted my head in her direction, “I’m not sure if you remember me, Miss. I’m Lily Ashton—you and I went to school together once upon a time.”
After pinning my hapless date with one last savage glare, Deanna brightened immediately as she turned to face me with a broad smile of instant recognition.
“Lily!” she exclaimed. “I do remember you! You were always the smartest gal in class, and you always cracked everyone up with your funny remarks. It’s so good to see you!”
I nodded.
“It’s good to see you too,” I returned, engaging her in the same warm, friendly handshake that had been denied me moments beforehand. “I’m so pleased to see you and may I say, Deanna, that you delivered a flawless performance tonight—absolutely beautiful.”
Deanna nodded, and blushed very prettily.
“Thank you, Miss Lily. You are so sweet.” She squeezed my hand, adding as she turned away, “Much too sweet, I must say, to be dating the likes of Oliver Clark.”
And with these words, she was gone.
As Oliver wriggled and shifted in his chair, seeming to hope with fervor that the ever convenient trap stage door that you used to see in old movies would open up and swallow him whole, a quiet Vladimir extended his hand to me.
“Care for a tour of the stage area?” he asked.
I nodded.
“I’ve never cared more for a tour of the stage area,” I told him, adding over my shoulder, “And you, Oliver, are not invited.”
Taking Vladimir’s arm, I ignored Oliver’s probing gaze as I followed my guide through the solid black door that accessed the stage area.
My worries fell away the moment that my feet touched the stage; suddenly I found myself in a fantasy wilderness; the mystical world of Swan Lake.
Now it was I who stood by the mirrored likeness of a lush crystalline lake; admiring the dew-glistened scarlet red roses and pearl pink carnations that adorned its surrounding bushes… yet not as much as I adored the man that now extended his hand to me; drawing me into his mystical world with this single grand gesture.
Laying my palm into his, I allowed the dancer to draw me in to his smooth, sinuous movement; suddenly feeling as light as air as he moved and swayed me across the stage.
Drawing me closer, Vladimir draped his lithesome arm around my waist and pulled me just a bit closer; suddenly my own arms wrapped around the shoulders that I’d admired from a distance so many times; staring into the deep, dark eyes I’d seen in my dreams; finally my body was pressed against the flawless form that often ignited my fantasies.
With a contented sigh I sank happily into a dream of an embrace; all thoughts of Oliver fleeing my mind as my movements merged with Vladimir’s. Suddenly my body found a new grace, moving in flawless synch with his across a lighted stage.
“A woman like you deserves to be treated like a princess,” he whispered in my ear, leaning my body backward in a poetic dip. “And as much as I like Oliver, I sense that he does not value you.”
I nodded.
“Your instincts are correct… most of the time, anyway, Oliver does not truly grasp and value everything I bring to his life,” I agreed, adding with a slight shrug, “Oh, don’t get me wrong. Oliver really is a good guy, he just needs to start exploring and showing off his deeper side.”
I grinned in spite of myself as my words were met with a long, stunned silence, one immediately followed by the words, “Oliver has a deep side?”
I laughed.
“Trust me, he does,” I assured him. “It just needs to show itself on a more regular basis. You know what, though? I don’t want to think at this point, about him or anything else. Right now, Vladimir, I just want to feel.”
I took in my breath as, erasing all distance between us, the dancer pulled me closer than close and said, “Feel this.”
I took in my breath as, in a single smooth flourish, Vladimir’s strong arms encircled my waist and lifted me high above his head; elevating my body in an effortless arch that sent me soaring into the air.
I felt like I was flying through the air; my heart a
nd soul joining my body in a majestic cascade.
For moments I was suspended in time and space; feeling at once his hands at my waist, his strong presence beneath me, and the encompassing atmosphere of the ebullient stage that threatened to consume me.
I almost let loose with a groan of disappointment as Vladimir lowered me to the ground; a feeling that dissolved seconds later, as he pressed his full, moist lips against my cheek in a whisper soft kiss.
“Thank you for this dance, Miss.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. It was all beautiful and graceful and all that—but may I cut in now?”
No, these words certainly didn’t come from me, but from the man who had escorted me to the theater that evening.
Pinning us with a cool stare, Oliver held his arms open to me; grinning in triumph as a surrendering Vladimir released me into his care.
“Sorry, babe,” the dancer whispered in my ear. “His father owns the theater.”
I shook my head.
“Yeah,” I assented, adding as I raised my chin in Oliver’s direction, “But he doesn’t own me. And if Oliver wants to dance with me, he can ask me politely.”
Oliver looked at me a long moment, then nodded.
“You’re absolutely right,” he assented, adding as he extended a chivalrous hand in my direction, “Miss Ashton, may I have the pleasure of this dance?”
I grinned in spite of myself as I took his hand; cringing only slightly as a quiet Vladimir retreated from the stage.
Soon the atmosphere brimmed with the sound of a jazzy, rhythmic tune; one that flew free and fast from an overhead stereo system.
“How did you do that?” I asked him, floating forward into his arms as he pulled me closer to him.
“Ownership has its privileges,” he growled, erasing all distance between us as he swept me up in his arms.
I nodded my agreement, adding as I looked him straight in the eyes, “Just remember this much, Oliver Clark. You still don’t own me.”
“No, I don’t,” he assured me immediately. “But maybe, just maybe, I could lure you around to my way of thinking. I’ll never own you, but at least let me show you a really good time.”
With these sleekly spoken words, Oliver set our bodies in motion; swinging me around the stage with uncommon grace as his muscular body moved against mine.
Although not as technically skilled as Vladimir, Oliver moved with a snakelike sliver that far surpassed his rivals in terms of pure, unbridled sensuality.
Or maybe not so pure, judging by the way he was making me feel…
Pulling back with a distinct sniff, I looked Oliver straight in the eyes; only noticing how those wide, dark gems glowed in the lights above us. I also couldn’t help but admire the way that his bronzed skin absolutely glowed in this very same light; along with the strands of cinnamon hair that fell soft against my shoulder.
I then surrendered to his touch as we danced across the floor; his massaging hands rubbing up and down my back as he continued to undulate in my arms.
My eyes shut as I suddenly imagined Oliver and me performing a far more intimate dance; one performed naked as we kissed passionately and rolled wild in one another’s arms.
My body relaxed and my mind flew free as the fantasy intensified; transporting me from our public surroundings to a place of hot, sensual fantasy.
I’d visited this same place many times in my dreams; but the presence and intensity of his red hot touch made it all the more real.
Neither of us noticed when the music subsided; our bodies kept swaying closer together as fantasy consumed us.
“So Lily,” Oliver whispered in my ear, gathering up my body in a loving hug. “Despite a few rough spots, I’d say that we still had a wonderful evening. What do you think?”
Drawing back just far enough to open my eyes and grace him with a serene smile, I nodded and agreed, “Downright magical.”
~
Chapter Eight
~
Lily
Last night I slept with dreams of dancers in my head; two beautiful men whose grace and beauty enflamed my imagination and sparked my hottest desires.
Alternately throughout the night I dreamt of moving and writhing in Vladimir’s arms; and, more intimately, in Oliver’s bed. Even in my sleep my heart pounded as I contemplated kissing and embracing that perfect body, of sinking in those delectable arms as our beings merged and we collapsed together in a fit of sublime, uncontrollable ecstasy.
The first light of day, however, did much to tame and restrain my wild sensual imaginings. Indeed, as I wriggled and shifted in my sweat-laden sheets, I thought immediately of the uncomfortable scene that had transpired yesterday between Oliver and Deanna Morgan.
I remember hearing the anger in her voice and seeing the pain in her eyes; and reminded myself that if I wasn’t careful, I would feel the same emotions I saw reflected in her eyes.
Maybe it’s already too late, I mused, biting my lip as I sat up in bed.
As it stood, I already felt my heart beat just a little bit faster every time I looked at or as much as thought of Oliver. Was it too late to save myself?
I was glad at least that today was Saturday; I didn’t have to face Oliver at the office and if he tried to contact me, well, I guess I could just ignore any attempts on his part to call or e-mail me.
As if on cue the phone rang, and after seeing the name Oliver Clark appear on my caller ID, I conveniently ignored the call.
Rising finally from bed, I grabbed a shiny new paperback book from its place on my bedroom bookshelf and plopped back down on the edge of my floral print comforter.
With eyebrows arched I opened the front cover of the thick, vividly illustrated romance novel; one that depicted a gorgeous couple in the throes of passion at the center of a pristine beach.
As I began to read this torrid tale of lust and passion, I kept picturing the hero as my very own Oliver; and the heroine, conveniently, as little ol’ me.
“Well, of course I’d picture someone who looks like Oliver,” I sniffed aloud. “I mean, this is a romance novel with a handsome man on the cover—one that, much like Oliver, boasts thick brown hair and big dark eyes.”
Taking a casual look at the cover of the book, which I’d bought on impulse just last week at a local drug store (Why, I wondered, was I feeling so very romantic these days? It couldn’t have been the anti-itch cream or the super flex salad tongs I also bought at the pharmacy that day. Just sayin’). My eyes widened as they beheld the hero of my chosen tome; a striking blond man with sparkling blue eyes.
Tossing the book aside with a hard, pronounced groan, I grabbed another book from the shelf; this one a spy thriller that, from all appearances, contained not even the slightest hint of romance or sensuality in its pages.
Yet upon discovering that the hero of this second book was a strapping muscular dark-haired man with eyes as dark as midnight, I gave up the case and headed for my kitchen—determined to drown my concerns in a doughnut or two, and in a steaming hot cup of cocoa that I planned to render just a little bit Irish for effect.
After this admittedly rocky start to my Saturday, I set about doing a craft project that involved the use of rainbow-hued beads and ribbons on an applique surface; one that did not involve the use of my cell phone, which—despite ringing several times throughout the course of the day—lay unattended on my night stand.
The loud knock that graced my door just before 5 o’clock was not as easy to ignore.
“Who is it?” I called from my kitchen table, making no effort to set aside my project or even leave my chair.
“Oliver!” The smooth, deep voice of the bane of my existence resounded from my front entry.
“Hi Oliver,” I greeted, adding in a stronger tone, “I’d love to talk to you right now but I’m really busy with a project. I wish you had called first.”
Oliver’s hard sigh penetrated and echoed through a solid wooden surface.
“Lily, I tried to ca
ll you four times today,” he informed me, adding in a softer tone, “I was starting to worry about you, girl.”
I sighed.
“Thanks for your concern, Oliver, but I’m just fine,” I told him, voice sharp and stiff. “And, as I said, I’m in the middle of a project right now. Whatever you have to talk to me about, could it please wait until Monday morning?”
It was Oliver’s turn to sigh.
“I dunno, Lil,” he told me. “Methinks the triple pepperoni pizza I brought you would be pretty darned cold by Monday morning. Plus if I keep all of these DVDs I rented today until Monday, I’ll be owing a veritable king’s ransom in late fees. I just might have to ask Dad for a raise.”
“Movies?” I repeated, feeling my resolve abandon me at record speed. “And triple pepperoni pizza? Are there actually three varieties of pepperoni?”
“Open the door and find out, Lily.”
Gritting my teeth in frustration, I finally arose from my seat and headed toward the door, fully prepared to send my boss packing with a few well-chosen words.