2 Chapter 2

Tasha tried not to stare around her in wide-eyed astonishment. She had never been to such a place before. She rarely ate in restaurants, but sometimes the dancers would go out on weekends if their workout schedules allowed. She glanced guiltily at the plate in front of her. She definitely never ate anything so rich as the seafood linguine that was tempting her to take a bite. She pushed it with her fork and stole another nervous glance sideways at the empty tables surrounding hers. It seemed very odd. The entire restaurant was filled with people, except for the tables all around theirs. Hers and David's.

She took a breath and allowed her gaze to slowly roam from the white tablecloth toward the strong hand that rested next to his plate. David. That was as far as she would raise her eyes. His fingers were long, perfectly tapered and masculine. The nails were short, but not manicured as she might expect from a very rich man. His skin was tanned a few shades darker than hers. Not surprising considering Sergei's gruelling schedule rarely allowed for his dancers to see the light of day. David's hand was so much bigger than hers. He was so much bigger than Natasha. He was taller than the male dancers she had grown used to, but just as muscular. She could see the slabs of muscle as they bunched and released under the fine fabric of his suit. She was used to assessing such things. She needed to know if her partner could lift and carry her across a stage. She knew at a glance that this man could do whatever he wanted to her. The thought sent a shiver of fear slithering down her spine.

She had yet to fully look into his face since he'd picked her up from the theatre and brought her to this restaurant. Partially because she was afraid and partially because he always seemed to be obscured by shadows. But she felt the heat of his gaze scorching her skin. He hadn't removed his eyes from her since the moment he'd arrived to collect her, except to drive his fancy car.

"You haven't touched your food, Natasha," he observed, his deep quiet voice sending another shiver down her spine.

His flawless Russian told her he was likely native born, though she couldn't place the region. She had been born and raised until the age of fourteen in a poor farming area. Sergei had insisted on speech lessons to perfect her dialect for city life and so she could learn other languages. She shook her head slightly, her hair swaying around her face with the action, and kept her eyes on David's hand. For some reason, she felt safer knowing where his hands were.

"Natasha," he said patiently, his voice smooth and clipped. "You will eat your food and drink your wine."

She held her breath and refused to move for a moment, her eyes glued to his hand. When his fingers twitched she finally reached for her fork. He seemed to relax slightly. He picked up his own fork and when she wrapped a noodle around her utensil, he did the same. He watched every move she made, like some kind of predator, ready to strike if she made one wrong move. She chewed and swallowed, barely tasting, Sergei's words echoing in her head  you must be very obedient with this man.

She ate several more bites, feeling the burn of his gaze upon her flesh until finally she couldn't continue. She let the fork fall to her plate and reached for the wine glass. He had chosen a red wine of some kind, she didn't know what variety. She didn't care. She took a big gulp. Fire burned down her throat and into her belly making her eyes water unbearably. She began coughing and spitting up wine.

She reached for the napkin in her lap and slapped it against her mouth, gasping, "Yuck!" Involuntary tears welled up and began to spill over.

David was beside her in an instant, making matters even worse. She stiffened in her chair as he crouched next to her, taking her fragile wrist in his large hand. He tugged her hand away and turned her face toward his until she was forced to look into his face for the first time. Deep blue eyes clashed with obsidian and the floor felt like it was dropping out from beneath her. She swayed in her chair. She blinked. Another tear escaped from her eye.

He reached up and captured it on his fingertip. She sat, trapped helpless in his dark hold while he rubbed the tear between his fingers, watching her intently, a small crease between his eyebrows as though he were trying to figure out a puzzle. This thought frightened her because she didn't think David liked puzzles. He seemed too much in control of himself and his surroundings. What if he didn't like her? Would he return her safely to the Bolshoi and never look back? She hoped so.

His hair was lighter than hers, ash brown and well-groomed. He had thick, darker brown eyebrows over eyes that were so dark they could easily be called black. Grooves were etched between and around his eyes, as though he frowned often in concentration. He had a serious face, with strong cheekbones, forehead and jaw. Scars marred his features. One across the bridge of his nose, ending just under his eye. Another bisecting his chin, and yet another next to his lips, which were hard and a little thin, as though he didn't smile. Ever. He was not a handsome man, but definitely not ugly. She thought he might be around his mid-thirties. Maybe fourteen or fifteen years older than her.

"You don't like the wine?" he asked, concern lacing his quiet tones. His finger caressed her smooth cheek sending a shiver of sensation over her skin.

She glanced down at her lap where her fingers twisted together. "I d-don't think so. I've never tried it before. It hurt my throat."

He chuckled, putting lie to her thought that he never smiled, though it was a quick, barely-there smile. He eased back dropping his hand from her face. She heaved a tiny sigh of relief. Though his touch was not unpleasant, she preferred when he didn't touch her. It made her think of the stories the other girls told of what the rich patrons expected the dancers to do when they got them alone. She desperately hoped David's intentions were more honourable, though Sergei had told her to expect the worst.

"Then I ordered the wrong variety of wine for your first time," David told her. He turned to wave for their waiter.

First time, first time the words echoed ominously in her head as she thought of all the first times she was being subjected to by this man. First date, first time alone with a man, first sip of wine. Of the other ‘firsts' he would possibly force upon her. She knotted her fingers in her lap and dropped her eyes, trying to calm her breathing while the waiter hurried to do David's bidding.

Her wine was quickly replaced with something else. At David's urging she cautiously sipped the rich, amber liquid. This time it was much sweeter on her tongue, almost like honey. It slid easily down her throat. Instead of burning it made her feel pleasantly warm. She carefully placed the wineglass back on the table, glanced toward David's hand and attempted a small smile.

"It is much better, thank you," she whispered.

He drew in a sharp breath. The air around them seemed to thicken and the smile slowly slid from her lips. She sat stiffly under his perusal. She didn't like it when he stared at her, and yet, that's all he seemed to do. She wanted to frown and demand that he stop looking at her, but Sergei's voice kept echoing through her head. She had no idea who this man was, or who his connections were. She could not get herself into trouble. She could never forget that she was vulnerable and lived in a place where she could easily disappear. No one would find her. No one would even know to search for her, except Sergei. And he knew better than to try.

She picked at the rest of her meal, unable to actually stomach any more of the rich food. She knew she would just have to purge what she'd eaten later anyway. This type of food could not stay in her stomach, corrupting her system. She couldn't dance on such heavy food and she had a show tomorrow night. Competition among dancers was high. She had to look a certain way, act a certain way and dance a certain way. She had to be the best if she was to stay on top.

She suspected David's sharp eyes missed nothing as she pushed the food around her plate without touching another morsel to her lips. Yet he said nothing, eventually escorting her from the restaurant. She breathed easier when he took her straight back to her dormitory and escorted her to the front door. Perhaps she had been too boring for him! She was not sexy and experienced like many of the other dancers. She lived, ate and breathed the dance. Nothing more, nothing less. It did not make for good company. This, combined with Sergei's advice to reign in her personality quirks may have put the man off. Good news!

He took her hand in his and placed a quick kiss against the back of her wrist, his dark eyes on her face as he caressed her. Warmth flooded her cheeks and Natasha quickly snatched her hand back as soon as he released her. She could feel the burn where his lips had been. She kept her eyes averted, but the image of his thin, hard lips with the scar at the corner played in her imagination. She absently rubbed the tingle away with the fingers of her other hand.

"Until tomorrow, little dancer," he said quietly.

"T-tomorrow?" she asked, surprised. "I will see you tomorrow?"

"Da," he confirmed. "We will dine again, perhaps spend more time together."

"But I have to dance tomorrow, a-and the night after," she told him in a hushed voice, her eyes on his feet. "I'm not allowed to go out on ballet nights."

His long fingers enveloped her chin and tilted her face up to his. Though he was not a huge man, he was still much taller than Tasha. She kept her face straight ahead, turned toward the buttons of his coat. It was a fine coat. Grey wool and warm, but not too heavy for Moscow in Spring. He tilted her head still further until her dark mahogany hair swished against the smoothness of her own jacket. Finally, she flicked her gaze up, giving him what he was after, her eyes.

"You will make an exception for me tomorrow night, Natasha," he said sternly, the hard tone to his voice telling her resistance would not be an option. "I have already talked to your director. You will be ready to leave once you have finished your dance."

Her mouth fell open and for just a moment, an irresistible spark to argue with this man rose up within her. He tensed, his fingers tightening on her chin. She quickly tamped down on the instinct and gave him a quick nod, lowering her lashes in case her too-revealing eyes gave her away. He released her and stepped back. Without another word, he turned and left, walking quickly away from her. Tasha stared after him for a few seconds before making her way indoors and checking in with the dorm matron.