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"What? Tell me what you know!"

"I think you've got it bad," Noelle laughed.

"Got what bad?"

"A bad case of love."

Noelle's statement slapped her across the face, and she retreated into denial.

"No. No way! That's not what this is."

"Uh huh," Noelle hedged, waiting for realization to sink in.

"I mean, really, it's not love," Kiara stated emphatically.

"Uh huh."

"I'm not even ready for that. I could tentatively pencil it in years from now, but not now."

"So tell me about him."

"He's taller than me and his every move is exact. His eyes are turquoise. I've never seen anything like it, and he's strong. At least, I've never had to worry he would drop me. Remember the last male lead? I still have bruises. But I can't get him out of my head. Did I mention his eyes are turquoise? He's utterly distracting and maddening!"

"Wow, he sounds hot."

"Yeah, he is, so maybe I'm in lust. That's all. Lust dies quickly," she said, suddenly hopeful.

"So do you like him?"

"I don't know. I respect him, and he's strikingly good-looking, and I admire that he is the dance. On that level, we match. It's not just a craft that he works at. It's who he is, and we're both exacting, and we challenge each other, and oh my God, Noelle. Is this love?"

"Uh huh."

"No! It's awful! It's throwing my whole world off kilter!"

"Yeah, you've got it bad Kiara."

"So what's the cure? Give me an antidote!"

"I don't know of one, girlfriend. I think you're going to have to ride it out. You could transfer to another school, but love has a way of tracking you down."

"Shit! I don't have time or room for this!"

"You can do this. I know you, Kiara. You're strong. You'll figure it out."

"Do you think he loves you too?"

"Shit! Shit! Shit! I don't know! Other than as a partner, I don't think he knows I'm alive. Oh, shit! How the hell did this happen?"

Noelle laughed softly. "Hugs. It's going to be okay."

"Is it?"

"Yes. You know you're all about the dance. Just keep doing that. The rest will fall into place."

"Thanks, Noelle."

"I can beat this. My mind is made. If I just keep moving, dancing, advancing, I can get free of it."

"Uh huh, let me know how that goes. Go on and give him a run for his money, and keep me posted."

"I will, Noelle. Thanks for being there."

Nine a.m. arrived too early. Her head hurt with a hangover, and she cursed herself, you don't drink, Kiara. Don't let anyone get you crossed up like this again. The last thing you're going to do is let him see that you came unraveled, even for a minute, so get a freakin' grip!

She downed two aspirins and donned ballet slippers, prepared to tough it out. Her movements were sluggish and every step felt forced. It made for an extremely long day.

After practice she took a dip in the pool to clear her head. She swam laps like a woman possessed, and focused all of her attention, swimming like the devil himself gave chase.

Mikhail dove into the deep end and surfaced in front of her. She nearly plowed into him and came up sputtering. He caught her by the waist, and demanded, "You're always precise, Kiara, on point. What happened today?"

"I, um, I had a rough night. It won't happen again."

He stared at her, unblinking, with those turquoise eyes searching hers, and she felt faint. "Come out with me tonight. We'll take a break for a night and come back better."

"Okay, I guess. Where?"

"Dinner, drinks, and maybe we'll catch a show. Yes?"

"Yes, sure."

"I'll collect you at six o'clock."

He embraced her, and kissed her like he meant it, deliberately, passionately, and she shivered against him. Immediately, he released her, and commanded, "Go on. You have time to swim more. Clear your head."

She stood stupefied, staring at his muscular frame climbing out of the pool, an image which was sure to keep her awake for many more nights. She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head, not having a clue what she was doing.

She admonished herself, I'll go out and get my fill of him. By the time it's over, I'll be back to just dancing with a partner, like any other partner. Simple. I've got this. But she wasn't assured at all.

She returned to the dorm and tried on several dresses, did her makeup, and decided to leave her hair down. She pictured him kissing her, and then forced the image from her mind, telling herself, it's just a pressure valve. People who are thrown together, like we are, develop feelings which are just due to proximity. That's all it is, just a pressure release.

She raked a brush through her straight blonde hair, fought with a particularly stubborn knot, and finally got up and paced the floor. True to character, Mikhail arrived precisely at six.

Kiara buried her face in lilacs, inhaling deeply, "Thank you, Mikhail. They're my favorite."

"It's my pleasure, Kiara. I'm glad you like them."

He led her to the car and took her to Tatiana by Kwame Onwuachi, and then to the Lincoln Center for Performing Arts. The conversation was effortless, and she joined him for a nightcap at his apartment.

She kicked off her shoes, folded her legs beneath her, and Mikhail sat next to her on the couch, asking, "Tell me about your family."

She fixed her gaze on the opposite wall. "No, tell me about yours. Does dance run in the family?"

He noted her sidestep, and let it slide momentarily, "Yes, my parents taught. I have several brothers, but I am the only dancer."

"Well, you're terribly impressive," she told him. Have you studied all your life?"

"Yes, as have you," he said, turning her face back to him.

She lowered her eyes, flustered, "True. I've been in it for life."

Mikhail kissed her softly and tried again. "Do mom and dad dance? Are there other dancers at home?"

"No," she stared into her glass. "Just me."

"That must have been lonely, having no one to share your passion."

"In part, yes, but dance fulfills me."

"It shows," he said, studying her face.

"So mom and dad are here in New York?"

"No."

"Where are they?"

"Gone."

"I'm sorry, Kiara. "Do you have siblings?"

"Yes. No. I mean, no blood relatives. I have a chosen family."

He pulled her into his arms and held her to him. "It's amazing that you have the ambition to succeed, not having a family to be proud of you."

Kiara sipped her drink, trying not to look him in the eye, and he didn't loosen his grip. The conversation had become too personal for comfort. She didn't want to think about where she came from, the few people she'd held in high regard, and those who had betrayed her.

Mikhail could easily discern her pain, and he held her tightly, asking, "Can I refill your wine?"

"No, thank you. I made that mistake last night."

"I see," he smiled, "So you had too much to drink, and that's why you were lethargic today?"

Kiara blushed. "Guilty as charged."

"But I spoke to several of your prior partners. They told me you don't drink."

"True. I was fighting a demon and I decided to have a few drinks. It was a mistake."

"Oh? What demon?"

"No. I can't. You wouldn't understand. It was a one-time thing. One infrequent glass of wine is my limit."

"Okay, we will drop it for now."

"Thank you, Mikhail."

"I think you should stay here tonight," he leveled turquoise eyes at her, and she froze.

"You do?"

"Yes, I do. There is much you want to confide, but you're afraid. Stay. Try to trust me."

"Mikhail, I don't know. I don't know how."

"Let me lead, just like you trust me to lead you in dance. Follow me, Kiara."

He kissed her deeply, and she wanted him intensely, but warred with her bruised heart, having suffered the loss of loved ones years prior.

She pushed away slightly, and he lifted her into his arms. "I know you're scared. Let me hold your heart tonight. I'll keep it safe."

She melted, not knowing how he had read her thoughts. He carried her to the bedroom, set her on her feet, and held her trembling body, unzipped her dress, and laid her on the bed.

Kiara couldn't think, didn't want to think, and she watched him disrobe and join her. He was gentle and patient, drawing her out, and letting her come to him.

He massaged her shoulders and then slid his large, warm hand over her belly, engaging her in slow movements and questions. "You're trembling. Is this okay?"

Her voice caught and she shook her head. He moved to stroke the inside of her thigh, and watched her respond, with her chest rising and falling heavily. He stretched out against her, stroking her wet slit, and kissed her intensely, asking, "It's good, baby girl?"

"Yes, Mikhail. So good."

He slid his manhood between her legs and a whimper escaped her. He whispered, "When was your last time? How long?"

She tried to count back the years, but couldn't concentrate. He took her hand, raising one finger at a time, asking, "This many?" She shook her head. Two fingers and three fingers, she shook her head. At five fingers, he asked again, "This many?" Kiara nodded affirmatively, and he stroked her clitoris, whispering, "Too long, little one. Let me reintroduce you," and he drove his hard length into her fiery depths.

Kiara cried out, and he kissed her scream away, inhaling her passion, and she wrapped her thighs around him, pulling him in as deeply as she could.

He drew her out, not rushing to fulfillment, never taking his eyes off her, and she focused solely on him, needing his reassurance. Mikhail plundered her with long, slow, deep strokes, and kissed her deeply, as lightning fire singed her soul. She arched her hips to meet him, squeezed his ass, pulling him even closer, and the lovemaking took on a life of its own.

He fisted her hair and kissed her hard, sucking her tongue into his mouth, and he thrusted harder and faster. Kiara explored his whole body, feeling how powerful he was. It was terrifying and intoxicating, and she clung to him, whimpering, with everything in her pleading for climax.

They were pushing, thrusting and rolling, and he pulled her atop him. She straddled him and dropped onto his iron need. They both exploded, toppled off the bed, and fell in a lump of covers laughing in each other's arms. She helped him straighten the bed and fell asleep in his arms, sated, happy, and content.

At six a.m., she shot awake and sat up, nudging Mikhail. "We're going to be late for practice. I have to go home and shower," and she scrambled to get up.

Mikhail pulled her back down and pinned her to the bed, saying, "Today is the exception to the rule. Come back to bed, my love."

She snuggled against him, and he held her tightly, her back to his chest, and he explored her body, lazily stroking her side, squeezing her breasts, and running fingers through her hair.

Kiara still could barely think, already wanting him again, and she gripped his hand in front of her, trying to steady herself. He spread his fingers and laced them with hers. It was such a small, intimate gesture, and she rested one hand on his thigh, stroking him there.

He pulled her tightly to him, squeezed her buttocks, parted her thighs, and pushed a finger into her molten tightness. She gasped, and bit her lip. Slowly, languorously, he alternated one and two fingers, wiggling deep inside the nexus of her, and it drove her to distraction. Then he cradled her and drove himself deep into her soaking-wet cunt, whispering, "I'll never turn you loose, baby love. You're mine."

Sizzling lightning fingers shot through her extremities and he pummeled her. She writhed in his arms, needing the satisfaction only he could give her, and she breathed, "Promise?"

He drove into her as deeply as she could take him, and she squirmed against him, desperate to climax, and he held her still, fucking her intensely, meaning to claim her very soul, and insisting, "I'll wreck you. You'll never want to look at another man."

Kiara spread her thighs, needing exactly that. Her pussy went up in flames, and she cried, "Make me yours, Mikhail. Wreck me!"

He pulled out and flipped her over, facing him, and devoured her lips, raking desirous fingers over her flesh, and she begged him, "I need you, please!"

He pulled her up on her knees, held her to him, drove into her wetness hard, and she held her breath, stifling a soft scream. She suckled his neck, bruising him, and barely clinging to sanity.

Mikhail spanked her, crushed her to him, and fucked her with long, punishing strokes. Kiara was desperate for him, knowing that his love might incinerate her soul, and that she would happily die in his arms. He pummeled her, and she vibrated in his grip with her breasts pressed to him, as she gasped for air, and her abandon sent him over the edge.

She climaxed hard on his cock and he throbbed against her contracting walls, and Kiara knew he'd made good on his promise. She would never be able to think of another man. Only Mikhail could take her to the edge of sanity, and make her respond as she had, wantonly, and wholly wild.

Kiara laid in his arms, completely spent, and he whispered, "You're mine, baby girl."

She closed her eyes, feeling as though he had gently clipped her wings, and tucked her into his heart, and she whispered, "Yes, Mikhail. I'm yours."

"Then let's make it official. I want to dance with you at our wedding. Marry me, Kiara."

"Yes, make me your wife. Soon, please?"

"As you wish, my love."

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