Dance Like Nobody's Watching

Evernight
Publishing

www.evernightpublishing.com

Copyright©
2010 Luxie Ryder

ISBN:
978-0-9867225-7-8

Cover Artist: Dara
England

Editor: BL Brown

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

WARNING:
The unauthorized reproduction or
distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal.
 
No part of this book may be used or
reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the
case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

This
is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any
resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or
dead, is entirely coincidental.

DEDICATION

To the "Sherrie's" among us.

Nobody
can make you feel inferior without your consent.

-Eleanor Roosevelt

Dance
Like Nobody's Watching

Luxie
Ryder

Copyright ©
2010

Chapter One

Sherrie Alveston held her breath as the seam on the trousers
she’d spent the morning sewing and adjusting threatened to give way. It was
hardly her fault. The athletic body of the male dancer wearing them was
subjecting her needlework to undue strain.

Tyrone Webster’s impressive thighs parted as he straddled
the actress paired with him during a spirited Samba. Sherrie winced again, her
stomach tying in knots. A patch of white appeared suddenly in the crotch of the
black sequin pants and her worst fears were realized—the damn thing split.

The production band fell silent and embarrassed giggles echoed
around the interior of the studio. Shocked gazes from the audience focused on
the front of Ty’s gaping trousers. Sherrie wanted to run and hide but she
couldn’t, and not just because of her disability.

As the new wardrobe assistant for the top rated show,
Strictly Dancing,
all last minute
alterations and repairs to the costumes were Sherrie’s sole responsibility.
She’d jumped on the prospect of working with celebrities, who raised money for
their charities by dancing with famed ballroom stars. Despite the inflated egos,
chaos and stress of working on a busy production set, she loved her job. When
Sherrie resigned from her position as an office clerk two years earlier, to
enroll on a fashion design course with the compensation from her accident, she
knew life would be much more exciting. But sometimes she questioned the sanity
of her decision to join Chelwood Studios.
 

“Sherrie!” The director’s booming voice cut short her
escape. She turned back slowly, unwilling to lift her gaze from the floor. “I
thought you fixed Ty’s pants?” he barked, pinning her to the spot with his
demanding tone.

“Um, I did. At least, I thought I did,” Sherrie spluttered,
desperate to not be the center of attention. Dancers, musicians, tech staff and
the entire audience all stared at her, awaiting her response. She’d only had
the job with the production company for a month and she couldn’t believe she’d
made a mistake so soon. “You want me to do it again, Baz?”

“Yes, of course I want you to do it again, but properly this
time,” the director answered, his gaze frenzied.

“Arrogant jerk,” Sherrie mumbled. When he turned as if he’d
heard her, she dropped her gaze and hid behind the blanket of her long curly
black hair. His tone made her feel like a teenager with a new and exciting job,
rather than a woman in her mid thirties with vital skills. If her frazzled
libido hadn’t been the reason for the stupid stitching mistake, she’d have
given him attitude as good as she got.

“I’ve got a short fuse and a
very
long memory,” he warned, loud enough for the entire studio to
hear. “It might do you good to remember that.” Sherrie’s toes curled in
embarrassment and her cheeks stung with a blush. She cursed the ground below
her feet for not swallowing her up during moments like this. Thank God the studio
taped the show rather than transmitting it live.

“Hey, Baz, give her a break.”

Sherrie looked behind Baz and smiled when her gaze landed on
Ty. He winked and the gesture calmed her frazzled nerves a small degree, until Baz
turned to stare at her, as if daring her to enjoy the moment. Ty didn’t seem to
care how angry Baz acted. “It’s not her fault. I told the designer this fabric
wouldn’t take the punishment.”

A snort escaped before she could stop it.
Punishment?
That was a funny way to
describe the strain Ty put on the crotch of his pants. He laughed and her gaze
wandered over him again, feeling the blush crawl up her cheeks as she realized
he must’ve known what she’d been laughing at.

Sherrie’s heart pounded as the warmth from his eyes seeped
into her. She had a major crush on him even before she’d ever joined the show. Discovering
he was a nice guy in person only intensified the attraction. More importantly,
he never patronized her or pretended not to notice she wore a leg brace, and it
made her admire him all the more.

Unlike most people she met, he came right out and asked her
about it during their one and only conversation so far. She’d been grateful for
the rare opportunity to set the tone for the discussion for once, rather than
trying to make others feel comfortable talking about it. Sherrie told him how
she’d been out on the Harley, on her way to visit her best friend and simply ‘ran
out of road’ in
Topanga
Canyon
. She spared him
the details of her injuries and just how serious the accident had been. The pillion
crushed the lower half of her leg and she’d almost died from blood loss by the
time she was found. Ty seemed to sense what she wasn’t saying but he didn’t
push her on it. He just smiled and said she was lucky to be alive and then
teased her by asking what the Harley had ever done to deserve her.
 

Ty’s intervention seemed to mellow Baz a little. “Yeah, well,
just sort it out,” the director said, far less willing to curse out one of the
stars of the show than a lowly assistant.

Sherrie rushed to her little booth, hands shaking nervously
as she got ready to make the repairs. If only it had been anyone but Ty, she
wouldn’t have been so careless in the first place. The attraction she felt for
him never failed to disrupt her concentration. Now, she was faced with the task
of being near to his well-stuffed package again. Having trouble remembering how
to function while doing the repair earlier had been the cause of this dilemma.

The dancers usually kept their costumes on as the
seamstresses worked; saving both time and embarrassment by not exposing what
was usually very minimal underwear. A man in skin-tight Lycra couldn’t wear
much more than an athletic support underneath without it showing through.

“Are you ready for me?” Ty asked, making her jump as he
appeared in the doorway.

You have no idea how
ready!
 
“Yes, come on in,” she replied as calmly as
her voice allowed.

Sherrie took a shaky breath and sank to her knees in front of
him, ready to do the fast repair needed to get him back on set before the
director blew a gasket. Her gaze travelled upwards even as she willed it not to,
and her mouth went dry as she met the bulge at his groin. She coughed to cover
her almost audible groan before daring to look up into his face. If he noticed
her perusal, he didn’t let on.

Ty Webster was six feet of lithe sinewy muscle, with thighs
that could crack walnuts, made hard from years of training. The outfit he wore
exposed his broad, hairless chest, typical of what male dancers often wore for
the Latin routines—a skin tight shirt, revealing strong, bulging biceps, and
slashed right down to the waist. The trousers were even tighter than the damn
shirt. At thirty five years old, he had the body of a man half his age thanks
to years of competing at the top of his field. He’d been with
Strictly Dancing
since the show first
aired and watching him every Sunday night had been one of Sherrie’s guilty
pleasures.

Ty’s moss green eyes, dark blonde hair and killer smile
knocked her off her feet even through the TV screen, but in the flesh, he was the
epitome of lethal sensuality. Since then, she’d watched him from the shadows,
her lust for him growing with each routine. She would’ve rather died in the
motorbike accident that mangled her leg than ever let her injuries hold her
back, for she had no qualms about pursuing men she wanted. But for some strange
reason Ty was different. It was like he was on a pedestal she couldn’t reach.

His eyes narrowed to barely more than slits when he finally
looked down at her face, mere inches from his groin. An erotic image flashed
into her mind briefly and she wondered how he would react if she allowed her
mouth to follow her thoughts. Without thought of the consequences, her teeth
gently skimmed over the bulge stretching the fabric of his trousers, then she
quickly corrected herself, hoping he hadn’t noticed.

“Are you ok?” Ty asked. “Your hands are shaking.”

“I’m scared I might prick you with the needle.” She laughed
when she realized what she’d said.
Good
choice of word, idiot…especially when so near to his
…

Ty clearly didn’t miss the humor.

“Would it be easier if I took them off?” He didn’t bother to
wait for an answer, and hooked his thumbs into the waistband, sliding the
trousers to his knees before she thought to avert her eyes.