Nora Roberts - Lindsay Dunne 02 -dance Of Dreams.pdf

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Dance of Dreams
Chapter 1
The cat lay absolutely still on his back, eyes closed, front paws
resting on his white chest. The last rays
of the sun slanted through the long vertical blinds and shone on his
orange fur. He was undisturbed by the
sound of a key in the lock which broke the silence of the apartment. He
half-opened his eyes when he
heard his mistress' voice but closed them again, just as lazily, when he
noted she was not alone. She'd
brought that man home with her again, and the cat had no liking for him.
He went back to sleep.
"But Ruth, it's barely eight o'clock. The sun's still up."
Ruth dropped her keys on the dainty Queen Anne table beside the door,
then turned with a smile.
"Donald, I told you I had to make it an early evening. Dinner was
lovely. I'm glad you talked me into
going out."
"In that case," he said, taking her into his arms in a practiced move,
"let me talk you into extending the
evening."
Ruth accepted the kiss, enjoyed the gentle surge of warmth just under
her skin. But when he pulled her
closer, she drew away. "Donald." Her smile was the same easy one she had
worn before the kiss. "You
really have to go."
"A nightcap," he murmured, kissing her again, lightly, persuasively.
"Not tonight." She moved firmly out of his arms. "I have an early class
tomorrow, Donald, plus a full day
of rehearsals and fittings."
He gave her a quick kiss on the forehead. "It'd be easier for me if it
were another man, but this passion
for dancing…" He shrugged before reluctantly turning to leave. Was he
losing his touch? he wondered.
Ruth Bannion was the first woman in over ten years who had held him off
so consistently and
successfully. Why, he asked himself, did he keep coming back? She opened
the door for him, giving him
one last, lingering smile as she urged him through. A glimpse of her
silhouette in the dim light before she
shut the door on him answered his question. She was more than beautiful—
she was unique.
Ruth was still smiling as she hooked the chain and security lock. She
enjoyed Donald Keyser. He was
tall and dark and stylishly handsome, with an acerbic humor and
exquisite taste. She respected his talents
as a designer, wore a number of his creations herself and was able to
relax in his company—when she
found the time. Of course, she was aware that Donald would have
preferred a more intimate relationship.
It had been a simple matter for Ruth to decide against it. She was
attracted to Donald and was fond of
him. But he simply did not stir her emotions. While she knew he could
make her laugh, she doubted very
much that he could make her cry. Turning into the darkened apartment,
Ruth felt a twinge of regret. She
felt abruptly, unexpectedly alone.
Ruth turned to study herself in the gilt-framed, rectangular mirror
that hung in the hallway. It was one of
the first pieces she had bought when she had moved into the apartment.
The glass was old, and she had
paid a ridiculous price for it, despite the dark spots near the top
right-hand corner. It had meant a great
deal to Ruth to be able to hang it on the wall of her own apartment, her
own home. Now, as the light
grew dim, she stared at her reflection.
She had left her hair down for the evening, and it flowed over her
shoulders to swing past her elbows.
With an impatient move, she tossed it back. It lifted, then settled
behind her, black and thick. Her face,
like her frame, was small and delicate, but her features weren't even.
Her mouth was generous, her nose
small and straight, her chin a subtle point. Though the bones in her
face were elegant, the deep brown
eyes were huge and slanted catlike. The brows over them were dark and
straight. An exotic face, she
had been told, yet she saw no beauty in it. She knew that with the right
make-up and lighting she could
look stunning, but that was different. That was an illusion, a role, not
Ruth Bannion.
With a sigh, Ruth turned away from the mirror and crossed to the plush-
covered Victorian sofa.
Knowing she was now alone, Nijinsky rolled over, stretched and yawned
luxuriously, then padded over
to curl in her lap. Ruth scratched his ears absently. Who was Ruth
Bannion? she wondered.
Five years before, she had been a very green, very eager student
beginning a new phase of her training in
New York.Thanks to Lindsay, Ruth remembered with a smile. Lindsay Dunne,
teacher, friend, idol—the
finest classical ballerina Ruth had ever seen. She had convinced Uncle
Seth to let her come here. It
warmed Ruth to think of them now, married, living in the Cliff House in
Connecticut with their children.
Every time she visited them, the love and happiness lingered with her
for weeks afterward. She had never
seen two people more right for each other or more in love. Except
perhaps her own parents.
Even after six years, thinking of her parents brought on a wave of
sadness—for herself and for the tragic
loss of two bright, warm people. But in a strange way Ruth knew it had
been their death that had brought
her to where she was today.
Seth Bannion had become her guardian, and their move to the small
seacoast town in Connecticut had
brought them both to Lindsay. It had been through Lindsay that Seth had
been made to see Ruth's need
for more training. Ruth knew it hadn't been easy for her uncle to allow
her to make the move to New
York when she had been only seventeen. She had, of course, been well
cared for by the Evanstons, but
it had been difficult for Seth to give her up to a life he knew to be so
difficult and demanding. It was love
that had made him hesitate and love that had ultimately ruled his
decision. Her life had changed forever.
Or perhaps, Ruth reflected, it had changed that first time she had
walked into Lindsay's school to dance.
It had been there that she had first danced for Davidov.
How terrified she had been! She had stood there in front of a man who
had been heralded as the finest
dancer of the decade. A master, a legend. Nikolai Davidov, who had
partnered only the most gifted
ballerinas, including Lindsay Dunne. Indeed, he had come to Connecticut
to convince Lindsay to return
to New York as the star in a ballet he had written. Ruth had been
overwhelmed by his presence and
almost too stunned to move when he had ordered her to dance for him. But
he had been charming. A
smile touched Ruth's mouth as she leaned her head back on the cushions.
And who, she thought lazily,
could be more charming than Nick when he chose to be? She had obeyed,
losing herself in the
movement and the music. Then he had spoken those simple, stunning words.
"When you come to New York, come to me."She had been very young and had
thought of Nikolai
Davidov as a name to be whispered reverently. She would have danced
barefoot down Broadway if he
had told her to.
She had worked hard to please him, terrified of the sting of his
temper, unable to bear the coldness of his
disapproval. And he had pushed her. Ruth remembered how he had been
constantly, mercilessly
demanding. There had been nights she had curled up in bed, too exhausted
to even weep. But then he
would smile or toss off a compliment, and every moment of pain would
vanish.
She had danced with him, fought with him, laughed with him, watching
the gradual changes in him over
the years, and still, there was an elusive quality about him.
Perhaps that was the secret of his attraction for women, she thought:
the subtle air of mystery, his foreign
accent, his reticence about his past. She had gotten over her
infatuation with him years ago. She smiled,
remembering the intensity of her crush on him. He hadn't appeared to
even notice it. She had been
scarcely eighteen. He'd been nearly thirty and surrounded by beautiful
women. Andstill is, she reminded
herself, smiling in rueful amusement as she stood to stretch. The cat,
now dislodged from her lap, stalked
huffily away.
My heart's whole and safe, Ruth decided. Perhaps too safe. She thought
of Donald. Well, it couldn't be

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