Page 68 of Broken & Bound

Her shoulders sagged. Disappointment flickered across her face. I hated that look. Hated it even more that I’d been the one to put it there.

“Fine.”

“Back to the floor,” I called out.

The students scrambled into position. Determined to do better, I shoved everything else aside and focused on the lesson. For approximately ten minutes. Then the next class started. And things got worse.

The ballroom students filtered out, and the advance acrobatics group filtered in. We were working on partner lifts. We demonstrated the setup and explained the mechanics.

“Your timing matters more than your strength,” I started. “If you’re late here, your partner compensates. If they compensate, the entire movement falls apart.”

Kinsley climbed into position. I stepped forward.

“Watch her feet placement.”

The students nodded. I initiated the lift. Halfway through the transition, my mind drifted. One second. That was all it took. Kinsley slipped. A sharp gasp echoed through the room.

I caught her, but not before her body dropped several inches farther than intended. She recovered instantly. Professional as always.

“And that is what not to do. Now we will show you the proper way,” she said, as if that was the plan all along.

It was a great save. The students relaxed. Nobody seemed concerned. Except the two of us. I’d like to say that fixed the problem, but several minutes later and a completely different attempt resulted a barely missed catastrophe.

Her face damn near hit the mat. If I hadn’t caught her, she would have greeted her men tonight with a broken nose and two black eyes. I snatched her back at the last second.

Once I placed her solidly on her feet, she grabbed my forearm. Her fingernails dug into my flesh. The smile vanished from her face. Gray eyes blazed, and her voice cut through the room.

“Dostatochno, Pavel.” Enough.

The single word snapped my attention toward her. Fuck. She used my name. I ran a hand down my face, wiping the sweat with it. Her hands flew up, and she planted them firmly on her hips. The students immediately found something fascinating on the opposite side of the room.

Smart kids.

“Go,” she said in Russian. “You’re distracted.”

She practically spat the last word out. A few students exchanged nervous glances. My jaw tightened.

“I am teaching.”

“No.” She crossed her arms. “You’re being dangerous. I won’t have it.”

A few muffled snorts sounded from somewhere near the back. Traitors. For one brief moment, I caught a glimpse of my mother in her expression. Then my father. The same look they’d both worn time and again whenever I tested the limits of their patience.

“Go,” she repeated. “Wait for me in the office.”

The little menace even pointed toward the door. Heat rushed through my face and flushed down my body. I muttered several colorful things beneath my breath and stalked from the studio.

A few minutes later, the office door opened. She walked in and immediately narrowed her eyes.

“What the hell is wrong with you today?”

“Me?” I huffed. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I’m not the one who almost killed someone.”

“You’re exaggerating,” I huffed.

“And you’re trying to deflect. We aren’t doing that, my friend. Now, I have neither the time nor the patience. Spill it.”