11 Chapter 11

Tasha dimmed all the lights except for one, a spotlight. She smiled, pleased, and glided to the center of the floor. She crouched into a bow and held her hand out to an imaginary partner. Her eyes glowed in excitement and, in one lithe, graceful movement, she began to dance.

The world ceased to exist.

She was alone with her imaginary audience, captivating and seducing them with her flawless movements. She used the entire floor space, running and leaping into the air  stretching out her arms and landing gracefully. She twirled and spun, kicked and chassed. She danced as though it were her last dance, enjoying every second of it. If she could bottle freedom, this is what it would feel like.

After an hour, the demands of her body began to make themselves known. She was beyond thirsty! She landed a perfect pirouette within the spotlight and swept into a low bow. Coming back to reality, she laughed out loud in sheer delight.

It was heaven to dance again!

Tasha turned to the wall of mirrors and studied herself critically, something all dancers did. She saw a small body, curved a little more than a ballet dancer should be, but she was no longer a professional. She didn't have to starve herself for the perfect physique. Her back and shoulders were straight, breasts high and pointed, fuller than they used to be. Her legs were long, the calves and thighs strong.

Humming to herself she tip-toed over to her things, flinching. Now that she wasn't dancing, her poor feet were feeling the punishment of ballet shoes. She picked up her water bottle and took a long drink of the cold, soothing water. In a graceful move, she sat in the shadowy corner next to her belongings by the mats and began some stretches to stop muscle fatigue. She wanted to dance for another hour or so, but her body needed a ten-minute break.

The darkened room in a gym, located in one of the rougher neighborhoods in the city, should have felt creepy, but Tasha never found it so. She had been borrowing it for months now, having negotiated a trifling payment with Jordan, and secured the key and alarm code. She thought maybe he had a thing for her. Though she didn't return his affections, she did feel safe in his gym, hidden from the world.

Tasha sat up straight and brought her arms over her head in a long body stretch. She twisted her legs in an ‘S' sit and felt something bump her shoe. Curiously, she glanced over her shoulder. She had tapped the white box with her foot. It was the unopened delivery that'd been sent to the travel agency earlier in the day.

Deciding now was as good a time as any to go over the promotional material, she reached for the box. She moved her legs into a wide ‘vee' sit and untied the ribbon holding the box closed. It was fancier than the boxes the usual posters came in. She pushed herself forward, forcing her legs further apart in the stretch.

She flipped the lid off the box and looked down.

"No!" she gasped and pulled her legs in, recoiling.

A wave of dizziness and nausea swept over her. She brought her hands up to her eyes and bowed her head. "No, no, no, no," she repeated in a horrified moan.

This wasn't happening!

Maybe she imagined it.

Tasha dropped her hands and reached forward, desperate to prove she was wrong. Shaking fingers lifted a single white lily from the box. Only one man had ever given her flowers. And it had always been white lilies. He insisted they reminded him of his prima ballerina, his little Russian dancer. Graceful, lovely and pure.

Tasha suddenly felt cold in the overheated room.

Then she felt him.

Watching.

Stalking.

Tasha felt a wave of nausea roll over her as she sat frozen on the floor.

"David," she whispered brokenly.

Every instinct in Tasha screamed at her to drop the flower and run from the gym. To flee the danger that had found her, but she knew it was too late. David had finally come for her.

As if to prove her correct, footsteps, so quiet they were almost inaudible approached her from a darkened corner of the gym. She stared in horror as the specter of a man stopped several feet from her crouched form. He wore expensive black pants with a black collared shirt, buttoned most of the way, but stopping just below his throat. Casual but well dressed.

He was not a massive man in proportions, but his presence was so overwhelming he always seemed bigger. He was much bigger than Tasha. His body was solid with muscles corded beneath his skin, making his lithe strength subtle but deadly. He looked like a killer. He was a killer.

"Natasha."