POV Ajax
The Ducati screamed across the finish line, tires smoking against asphalt. Victory tasted like burnt rubber and adrenaline.
"That's what I'm fucking talking about!" Jake slapped my back hard enough to bruise, cash already in hand. "Three grand, baby! These idiots never learn."
The underground circuit pulsed with energy. Engines revving, money changing hands, the kind of danger that made blood sing. But something was off.
Had been for the whole week already.
"So how's the bet going?" Jake's question cut through my thoughts. "You've been quiet about the ice princess. She finally cracked?"
"She vanished." I pulled off my helmet, scanning the crowd out of habit. "Probably crying on daddy's yacht in Monaco."
Jake laughed, counting bills with practiced efficiency. "Rich bitches and their dramatic exits. Remember when Talia Geller pretended to have mono just to avoid me?"
"Yeah." But Bella hadn't looked dramatic yesterday when she'd finally returned to classes.
She'd looked hollow. Fragile. Wrong.
"Shit, man." Jake checked his phone. "Wasn't your waltz thing at seven? It's past nine."
"So?"
"So Mrs. Meyer will crucify you. That woman made me do extra sessions for a month when I showed up drunk last year."
"Princess can wait." I shrugged, but my feet were already moving toward my bike. "She needs me more than I need her."
Jake's laughter followed me into the night. "Sure she does. That's why you're racing there like your ass is on fire."
* * *
The rehearsal hall blazed with fluorescent accusation. Almost empty, because of course she'd waited.
Bella stood by the mirrors, bag clutched like armor, fury radiating from every line of her body.
"Where the hell were you?"
The words exploded the moment I entered. No greeting. No pretense.
"Lost track of time." I strolled forward, deliberate casualness masking the strange relief at seeing her standing there.
"Lost track—" She spun toward me, and Christ, she was magnificent when angry. "I've been here for two hours! Two damn hours, Ajax!"
"Nobody asked you to wait."
Her palm connected with the mirror behind her, and a harp sound cracked through the space.
"We have only a bit more than two months until the gala. Two months to drill a waltz that’s fighting us, and a dozen other things that actually need our attention. And you can’t even show up?"
"Relax. It's just a dance."
"Nothing is just anything with you!" She was shaking now, exhaustion bleeding through the anger. "Everything is a game. A joke. Another way to prove you don't give a damn about anyone but yourself."
"You figured me out." I moved closer, noting how she didn't retreat. "The big bad Ajax Spencer, disappointing everyone since birth."
Something shifted in her expression. "That's not—"
"Are we doing this or not?" I cut her off, extending my hand. "We've got maybe an hour before security kicks us out."
She stared at my hand like it might bite. Then, with visible reluctance, she took it.
The music started—someone had left the sound system on repeat. Waltz music filled the empty space, echoing off mirrors that reflected us from every angle.
"The turn sequence," she muttered. "I can't get the timing."
"Show me."
We moved through the steps. She stumbled on the third turn, frustration tightening her shoulders.
"You're fighting it." My hands settled on her waist, adjusting her position. "Feel the music. Don't think."
"Easy for you to say." But she tried again, letting me guide her through the rotation.
Better. Not perfect, but better.
"See?" I pulled her closer, deliberately letting my breath fan across her ear. "You can be graceful when you're not trying to fight me."
Her shiver was subtle but unmistakable.
Progress.
We ran through the complete routine. Once. Twice. By the third run, something clicked. Our bodies found synchronization, that perfect harmony where two become one movement.
"You're getting better at following my lead, starlight."
The nickname slipped out uninvited and she stiffened but didn't pull away.
The antagonism dissolved, replaced by something electric and immediate. The empty room became our universe—just music, mirrors, and the dangerous proximity of her body against mine.
She felt perfect. Like she was carved to fit exactly here, in this space between my arms.
"The lift," she said quietly. "We haven't practiced the lift."
"Trust me?"
Our eyes locked. The question hung between us, weighted with more than dance moves.
"One time," she whispered.
I lifted her easily, her body weightless and willing. She arched backward, arms extended in perfect form, absolute faith in my grip.
When I lowered her, we stayed pressed together. Her hands on my shoulders. Mine spanning her waist.
"Bella…" Her name came out rough, desperate.
She didn't move. Didn't breathe. The space between us evaporated when I leaned forward.
Bella tilted up her face, and her lips almost touching mine. So damn close, so fucking full and seducing.
One breath away from crossing the line.
When I leaned closer, I could see the fight in her stunning eyes as her gaze landed on my mouth.
Then keys jangled in the hallway and the spell shattered. Bella immediately jerked backward, stumbling in her haste to escape.
"I have to… I need to…"
"Bella, wait—"
But she was already gone, the door slamming behind her like punctuation.
"Everything okay in here?" The janitor peered in, suspicion clear. "Building's closing."
"Yeah." I grabbed my jacket, trying to process what just happened. What might have happened. "Everything's fucking perfect."
But it wasn't. Nothing about Bella Sinclair was perfect or simple or easy.
And I was starting to realize that was exactly the problem.