Page 57 of One Last Dance
But hearing the words from his lips cut deep into her, like a poisoned blade. Cold spread over her skin, originating from her heart.
This couldn’t be it. She’d had other plans. Even if tonight hadn’t worked, if he hadn’t come, she already had ideas for how to get him to talk to her. The determination that had seen her through those first several years of dance before she started winning competitions, had been blazing through her.
Henry’s words were a chilly rain.
Sophie stared at his face, every line more familiar to her than any other man’s had ever been, even though it had been only weeks since she’d first laid eyes on him. The silence of the studio around them was icy and unquiet. It reminded her of Henry saying that all the buildings he oversaw felt like tombs.
Memories of that day in the abandoned building dropped into the pit of her stomach like blocks of wood. Just what her fire needed.
“No.” The word exploded from her just as the blaze rekindled in her gut. Henry’s dark brows snapped down over his straight nose.
“Sophie—”
“No. That’s wrong, Henry. You’re wrong.” She stamped her bare foot, the slapping sound not as authoritative as she was hoping. “This... you... have brought me so much more than pain. Don’t you see?” She swept her arm at the studio. “Before you, this place was just my job. Ever since my accident, dance was something that I had lost. I did this because... after so long, what else was I supposed to do? But I had no joy in it. It... it was like I had not only lost my love, but I was being forced to teach the endless parade of lovers after me how to love him. It was torture!”
Tears stung her eyes, slipping down her cheeks. Sophie had never admitted how deeply she’d been hurting, even to herself. Her throat was clogged with anger. Henry flinched as if her words were arrows.
“I’m sorry,” He said, dropping his eyes. “I had no idea it was like that for you.”
“Well, it was. And then you walk through that door and ask me to dance, and... Henry.” She crossed the distance between them in three quick strides and gripped his face, forcing him to meet her eyes. She felt as if hers must be glowing, so fierce was the fire inside her. “When I got injured, I swore to myself I would dance again. But when Christian... when my partner, the man I loved and danced with, left me, I gave up. I thought that thrill that I’d always felt in front of the crowds was lost to me forever. Until you took me in your arms.”
He drew away from her, lashes dipping over his eyes. “I—”
“I’m not willing to give it up again, Henry. Not again. Not because of Nicole’s jealousies, or your father’s machinations, or your business rival’s disapproval, or even because of your damn insecurities.” She fisted her hands at her sides and lifted her chin.
“Don’t do this, Sophie. It’s not good for you.” Henry’s hands were fisted too. “I’m not good for you.” The anguish in his eyes was real. He wasn’t just saying the words. He believed them. Sophie grabbed him again, gripping his shoulders this time, as if she could force the truth of her words through his suit and into his skin.
“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Henry Medina, and damn it, I’m not giving you up! We’ve both made mistakes, but anything worth having is worth working for... And I’m sure as hell going to work to make you see that this, what we have, is worth it. You care about me?”
“Sophie, I...” He trailed off, shaking his head.
She curled her fingers into his shirt, tugging. “Do you?”
“Yes,” he ground out. “I care about you.”
“Well, I love you. And I don’t feel like stopping.”
She yanked him down to her, pushing up on her tiptoes, crushing his mouth with hers.
Chapter Twenty-three
For a moment, Henry remained still, hands at his sides. Sophie wasn’t deterred. She moved her mouth from one corner of his lips to the other, her tongue touching the seam lightly before pushing in. She licked at his teeth, pressing her breasts against the hard wall of his chest.
She slid her hands into his hair and held him firmly as she sucked at his lower lip. Henry groaned, shifting against her. Sophie sensed him holding back and poured every ounce of her frustration and desire and, yes, love, into the kiss.
And then his hands came up, gripping her hips tightly, and whatever dam he’d constructed against what he was feeling broke. His tongue plunged into her mouth, forceful, demanding, claiming.
He kneaded the flesh of her hips before pushing beneath the soft cotton of her shirt, stroking up her back. His touch burned as he trailed rough fingers along her spine. Sophie gasped, dragging her mouth from his to nip at the strong line of his jaw.
His hands molded her ribs, thumbs caressing the undersides of her breasts, then sliding around until he could cup them. He teased her nipples, bringing them to hard, throbbing peaks. Sophie arched her spine, pressing herself harder against his hand, shuddering as the fire that had been burning within her turned sweet and pulsing.
Sophie’s mouth returned to Henry’s. She couldn’t get enough of him, the taste of his tongue, the scent of his skin, the feel of his body beneath her hands. She pushed at the suit jacket, forcing him to release her long enough to shrug it off. Their mouths never lost contact, nipping, licking.
As if he needed to be touching her as badly as she craved him, Henry’s hands returned to her hips, sliding beneath the thin, loose material of her pants, dipping into her underwear to cup the smooth globes of her ass. He tightened his grip, lifting her against him, rocking his hips, rubbing the steely length of his erection against her belly.
“Sophie, Christ, dolce, I need you.” His words were strangled. He pressed his forehead hard to hers, tongue touching the corner of her mouth fleetingly.
“Henry,” she moaned. Sophie tugged at the buttons on his dress shirt, heedless in her haste, popping several off. The tiny plastic discs pinged to the floor, skittering away into the shadows.