So be it. Custo doubled his step to catch up to Annabella, who was just opening one of the building’s brassy doors. He could feel Luca’s eyes at his back, his condemnation rolling across the street. Well, Luca could chastise him for eternity, but later. After tonight. There was no way anyone was going to drag him away from Annabella’s side until the wolf was back in the Shadowlands. This performance had to succeed.
And afterward? Annabella would have to develop a mastery over the magic, just as she had her dance. Talia could guide her, following the birth of her babies. This wasn’t the way he wanted to leave. He’d wanted to help her himself.
Annabella hurried across the lobby. “Where’s the warm-up class?” she asked a harried-looking woman carrying a frothy pile of white.
“Fifth-floor studio. They’re starting now.” The woman had a needle dimpling her blouse, thread cascading over a breast. Must be someone in charge of costumes.
“Thanks,” Annabella said, hurrying to the elevator and hitting the up arrow.
“Class? You don’t have time for a class,” Custo said, utterly bewildered. He’d wanted to brief her on his team’s assessment of the building’s exits, introduce her to the team members she’d be able to turn to for help, take a moment to tell her that everything was going to be fine, to trust him.
But she was beyond that. The elevator binged almost instantly. “Oh, no no no.” She shook her head as she unbuttoned her coat. Class is essential. “I have to warm up. I have to be ready.”
“But Anna—”
She shoved her coat into his arms. “I can’t dance well tonight without taking class. And we both know I need to dance well.” She flashed him a smile. “So deal with it.”
They took an elevator to a private dressing room, secured by Segue away from the other dancers for their protection. Annabella dropped her bag on a chair and started to strip. “Turn around,” she said, but not before he caught a glimpse of her bra, shocking fuchsia lace, as she peeled off a snug sweater in cornflower blue.
He turned, but watched her anyway in the reflection of the dressing room mirrors, hungry like a man at his last meal: Pale, slender body, naked. Raspberry nipples soon covered by a flesh-colored insult to women’s underwear. His gaze roamed down the long, flat flanks of her legs, which dimpled her ass as she bent over, and formed lovely, smooth planes to her knees. A swell at her calves tensed as she found what she wanted in her bag and stood. Beauty.
“Custo!” Annabella complained, though she smirked as her chest and face swept with color. He doesn’t seem mad about this morning, she thought.
No, he wasn’t mad. Not at her. He was looking for another opportunity.
It was a crime to cover that body with a dingy leotard, black tights, and faded sweats. She grasped some new shiny satin toe shoes and first-aid tape and took off down the hall to a studio. Inside, dancers gripped ballet barres at the walls and freestanding barres lined up in the center of the room. A woman was clapping a perfect, even rhythm to keep time for the dancers.
Custo tapped his earplug as Annabella took her position and joined in the deep squats, what the woman called pliés.
“Jens here.”
“I’m on the fifth floor. She’s doing some sort of dance class.” As an afterthought, he added, “Adam here yet?”
“No.”
Custo hoped Talia wasn’t in labor. Those babies needed a little more time before they could handle this world.
“Everyone else checked in?”
“All except for Tommy,” Jens said.
Custo cursed. “Find him. Now.”
“Shhhhhh!”
Custo brought his attention back the dancers, who were staring at him. Annabella managed to roll her eyes from a very interesting upside-down stretch. He’s gonna get kicked out, she thought.
“Custo out,” he mumbled to Jens.
The class resumed.
The next fifty-five minutes were a revelation. Whatever fragility he might have attributed to Annabella shattered with the acute precision with which she “warmed” her body. The teacher, a fellow dancer, led the group through a series of rigorous exercises that outmatched any martial training he’d mastered, and then some. No show of tension betrayed the difficulty of the steps, though their feet were angled into tidy, unnatural positions. Their flexibility was nothing short of gymnastic, but the transitions between their movements had an ethereal fluidity that elevated mere training to art.
Annabella might not know the first thing about defending herself, but she was far from weak. She was flexible steel, personified. Her slight body, so trim and smooth, was primed for power. Not one ounce of ease remained on her frame, yet somehow she was still soft. Vulnerable.
“Annabella!” a pretty boy called to her. He had some muscle to him and moved with a cocky swagger. “You want to run through a few things?” His junk was straining his tights, but he seemed to revel in the effect, yeah, look all you want, which made Custo want to knock his mocking smile right off his face.