Dancer's Body

Chapter 12

"I have you until noon," Roman said. It was a reiteration, not a question, and he finished it with a shake of the head.

She already felt guilty enough, and it was magnified with the solid white dress she wore to RCDC. If she hadn't worn her pinning dress to work, there'd be no way she'd have time to change before the ceremony.

Olivia followed Roman around backstage, madly taking notes as he called out what needed to be checked, replaced or investigated. She wanted to ask him why this wasn't the stage crews' job, but she didn't dare question him. By now she knew he needed control over every aspect of the company.

Roman fingered a number of switches and the center spotlight shone down like a call from heaven. On the stage, just the two of them, it seemed to stretch out for miles. Yet the siren's song of the spotlight was irresistible. She could see how moths defiantly tossed themselves into the flame. It was worth it.

While Roman circled the stage, bending down to examine every little detail, she made her way into the spotlight and closed her eyes. This is how it would feel. The heat bearing down on her, the blinding of it all. Fluttering her lashes open, she could barely make out any of the seats, and that's when she knew. A dancer danced for nobody but themselves.

She tilted her head skyward and let the light rain down on her. Of course she wasn't Mia, she wasn't even close. She'd likely never know what it was like to be the star, to dance a solo on a stage like this. But this was the closest she could get, and she was going to soak it all up.

A creak overhead made her eyes shoot open. Roman yelled her name right as the impenetrable whiteness was overtaken with a black yawn.

Suddenly she was on her back, the floor cracking against her head. Olivia groaned, but then felt the weight on her. His weight. Roman was spread across her, his chest bearing into hers and his face inches away. "Are you okay?" he asked. She couldn't answer. "Olivia! Are you all right?"

"I think so," she said, woozy. "Ow." The tenderness of her head was already giving way to a massive goose egg.

"Can you see clearly?" he asked, still on top of her. Why wasn't he moving?

"I think so," she repeated.

"I hope you don't have a concussion."

"What happened?" One second she'd been the star of her own debut, marinating in the spotlight. The next it was blackness and him and a stab of pain.

"Something ... the goddamned lighting crew didn't secure the new spotlight correctly. Damn. They could have killed someone." Olivia realized he was resting between her legs, her white dress inched up during the fall. Fuck, it's going to be filthy for pinning. There's no way Ava's going to let me in. Oh my God, why are you thinking about that?

The buckle of his belt bore into her, cold and stiff like the vibrator before it warmed up. She blushed at the thought. She scanned his body, her eyes tracing the lines from his shoulder down the bulging biceps to his forearms. One was slashed and bleeding onto the floor. It would always have a piece of him. "You're bleeding!" she said, shrill and alarmed.

He glanced down. "It's nothing."

"It's not nothing, it's deep. You need stitches."

He looked closer, the red-black blood flowing steadily. "Maybe you're right," he conceded.

"I'll go with you," she said. He seemed reluctant to roll off of her.

In the small underground garage, he pushed a button on his keychain and a cherry red sports car lit up. "What is that?" she asked. "It looks like a Transformer."