He tried to respect the professional distance she wanted, even though it killed him to hold her so close at work and not be able to have her. He went to Liam’s parties hoping to forget, but soon realized no one measured up to Petra. It was a special kind of hell.
But at least she was right there in hell with him.
Sometimes he went out of his way to make her suffer. He’d give her a smoldering look or touch her a certain way he knew would arouse her. He’d spank her ass—playfully—even though Yves had warned him for years that it wasn’t appropriate company behavior. With Suzanne or Meredith or Hannah, he’d just give a light tap, but with Petra he flicked his wrist so he cracked her a lot harder than it looked. Whenever he did it, she’d give him a look halfway between fury and ecstasy. It was the same look she gave him in his fantasies.
His life had become an endless, burning dream from which he couldn’t awake. If she ever gave him permission to fuck her again, he’d probably kill her from all his pent-up desire. He tried to vent his needs on other women but it wasn’t the same. Petra was the one he couldn’t have.
“
Bonita
,” he would say in his dreams. “Beautiful girl...” And he’d stroke her soft, white-bright hair, and touch her all over her body. He’d hold her down and spread her pussy lips and make her wet, but he wouldn’t let her come. Instead he’d cuff her hands over her head so her body was stretched in a long, delicate line, and then he’d make marks on her, sometimes with a whip, or sometimes with a belt. Sometimes with a long, elegant cane or a riding crop. She would beg him to stop, his beautiful ballerina, as she hopped on her toes, but he wouldn’t stop until she was sobbing in true distress. And then...
Then he would release her hands and take her face between his fingers and taste her salty tears. He would kiss her and squeeze her thighs, and press his palm into the hot crevice between her legs. He’d make her beg for his cock and then he’d thrust it into her. Sometimes in his dreams he rode her in a wild fervor, and other times he was cool and deliberate, tormenting her with slow, measured thrusts.
Sometimes, rather than dream-fuck her pussy, he’d part her ass cheeks and tease her bottom hole until she begged him to fuck her there. Or begged him not to, which he liked more. He’d push inside her tight asshole anyway as she whined and cried, and then he’d drive in and out while she struggled against him. Every noise, every plea aroused him beyond bearing. He’d pin down her shoulders, snapping his hips against her bucking ass—
“Ruby.”
He spun in the half-dark rehearsal room to find his partner standing near the door. He brushed a hand over the bulge in the front of his sweat pants. “Hey. I thought you went home.”
“Not yet.” She stepped inside, hugging the wall. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like I’m doing? Some practice. I have energy, you know, when there’s no performance.”
“I know,” she said with a faint smile. A very faint smile. She was so sad, but he didn’t know how to fix her. He hated the way her body drooped.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
She forced a bigger smile. “Nothing. I just don’t feel like going home.”
“You got your shoes on? Come practice with me.”
For a minute he thought she’d say no, but then she walked across the room to join him. “What do you feel like practicing?” she asked. “
Giselle
?”
He made a retching sound. “I’m sick of
Giselle
. I want to dance something fun. Maybe...you know
Theme and Variations
? Is one of my favorites.”
“I danced it once, but it was a while ago.” She scrunched up her face and looked at him sideways. “It’s kind of hard, isn’t it?”
“Is not too hard. I’ll help you remember the steps. Come on,” he said when she balked. “We do like Baryshnikov and Kirkland. I have the music.” It was a fun piece and he wanted to see her smile. He cued the music and turned it up, and finally she took his hand and let him lead her through a few combinations. She was made for dancing like this, for precise, musical steps. They reached the part where they danced in unison, and they laughed together, trying to beat one another at quickness and elevation.
“If I remembered the steps,” she said, “I could do this a lot better.”
“You’re doing good. Keep going.”
They circled one another, bungling the choreography. She stopped and shook her head. “I can’t. I don’t remember it.”
“I’ll help you. Here, try again. Leg up.” He tapped her thigh and she performed the requisite arabesque. He walked around her, admiring her balance. “Is it hard to do that?” he asked. “Does it ever hurt your toes?”
“Why don’t you try it?” she asked with a touch of pique.
“I like better to watch you do it.” He slid an arm around her waist. The choreography called for it, but he held her much closer than necessary. They ended up face to face. She fell off pointe, dropping her hands.
I want you, Petra. I miss you.
He had to clench his teeth so he wouldn’t blurt out the words.
She dug a toe into the floor, glancing at the clock. “That was fun. It’s a cool ballet, but I should probably go.”
“Why go? What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. Go home,” she said, drifting away from him.
“What’s wrong?” he asked again. “You always look tired, sad. Something is sad for you?”
“Nothing is sad. It’s just...”
He tilted his head. “You look terrible.”
“Why do you have to say I look terrible? That’s mean.”
“Mean but true.”
She bent forward, rotating her shoulders. “I haven’t been sleeping well. Bad dreams.”
He could understand that. He had bad dreams too. Well, good dreams about Petra, but they were bad dreams because they left him frustrated and desperate to have her. He turned her around and started kneading the tension out of her upper back. “I massage you, yes?” he asked, not really giving her a choice.
She blushed, her cheeks reddening as she stared at him in the mirror. “That feels...oh man...really good.”
I could give your whole body ten times greater pleasure
, he thought.
Silly, stubborn girl.
“What you dream about, Petra?” he asked as she stifled a moan.
“I, uh, I don’t remember. I got a call this morning and it wrecked my sleep.”
“Who called you? Your mom? Don’t she know dancers need rest? Your shoulders feel like a pile of knots.”
She shuddered as he dug his thumbs into her spine. “My mom died a few years ago.”
“Oh, I’m stupid,” he said. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay. She got cancer. I miss her. She was a great mom.”
“I miss my mom in Brazil,” he said, massaging down to the base of her back. “She is a great mom too, very loving. Still alive though.” He made a sound and scrubbed his hand over his face as she turned to him. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what things to say.”
“No, it’s okay.” Petra was blinking really fast, like she was angry now, or trying not to cry.
“You need a hug?” He swept her up, impulsive, playful, but she clung to him in earnest. He held her closer, lifting her against him. “If you tell me, you’ll feel better,” he said. “I won’t tell nobody. For you, I’ll keep secrets. What’s wrong?”
She was quiet for so long he didn’t think she was going to tell him, but then she turned her face and whispered into his ear. “So much is wrong right now. My stalker’s started calling me, every hour. Calling and texting and emailing and writing…” She shivered, holding him tighter. “It’s too much, Ruby. Way too much. I’m scared.”
Rubio paced Petra’s living room, back and forth, back and forth. He could tell by Liam’s expression that something very bad was going on. He could read the seriousness of her situation in the deep lines of his frown.
His friend looked up at him from Petra’s computer. “Do you mind? The pacing isn’t helping.”
It was hard for Ruby to be still under normal circumstances. It was impossible when he was stressed, but he forced himself over to the couch. Petra sat beside Liam at the table, squeezing her hands together.
“Paulsen sent you eight hundred and fifty-six emails in the past month,” Liam said to Petra. “So, that’s about...” He scratched his pony-tailed hair. “Twenty-eight emails a day on average.”
Petra stared down at her lap. “I stopped tracking them. They were so repetitive. I got annoyed, so I set them up to go straight to the trash.”
“What? Out of sight, out of mind?” snapped Ruby.
Liam held up a hand. “If you don’t stop, I’ll make you leave. She doesn’t need you bitching at her on top of everything else.”
Calm, collected Liam. Ruby wanted to punch him in the jaw. No, he didn’t. Liam was too good a friend. He wanted to punch something though, a wall or a punching bag, or the asshole responsible for the stressed look on Petra’s face.
“The police said not to engage, so I was trying not to engage,” she said.
Liam pursed his lips and looked back at the screen. He clicked a few times, his frown deepening.
“I really screwed up, huh?” said Petra in a wavering voice. “I just didn’t— I didn’t want to deal with him. I’d almost forgotten about him until he c-called this morning. I picked up because I didn’t know who it was.” Her phone pinged. Another text, the tenth so far this hour. She looked at Liam. “What do I do now? I don’t know what to do.”
Ruby crossed to take her in his arms. “Is not your fault, okay?”
He could feel her scrunch her eyes shut against his cheek. If she started crying he didn’t know what he’d do. He shushed her and petted her hair until she pulled away from him. Liam was still clicking and frowning at her computer.
“I don’t think you should read these,” said Liam. Her phone pinged again. Liam stopped and squinted at the screen, and sighed. “These emails and texts...this barrage...this is not rational behavior. How did he act when you saw him in New York? Did he seem like a normal person?”
“I guess he seemed normal. Even kind of nice. It only got weird when he started showing up wherever I was, even at my apartment. Almost all my mail came from him, but he never did anything bad enough that the cops could get involved.”
Liam took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “This guy’s convinced himself he has some personal connection to you. He’s being protective and possessive when no relationship exists.”
“I don’t understand why he latched on to me,” said Petra. “I don’t get any of this.”
“There’s nothing to understand. He’s delusional. From what he writes, he thinks someone is conspiring to keep you apart.” He flicked a glance at Rubio before he looked back at the screen.
Ruby narrowed his eyes. “Me? He talks about me in those emails?”
“Yes. He doesn’t like you very much.”
Petra paled and walked over to stand behind Liam. “What does he say? Is he threatening him?”
Liam ignored her question, turning to her with a kind but frank expression. “I need to have someone look at all these emails. I need another opinion, but what I sense is, this is a frustrated and jealous guy. He’s angry you’re not honoring whatever fantasy relationship you have. Judging from the amount of emails and his tone, he’s putting a lot of energy into this, and he’s not going to stop until he gets what he wants.”
“Which is what?” Her voice trembled on the question. “A phone call? An apology?”
You. He’s not going to stop until he gets you.
The word pounded in Ruby’s brain, along with the knowledge that he was one of the people standing in this psycho’s way.
“It’s hard to know what he wants, just from glancing over these.” Lies. Liam was flat-out lying to her. Rubio locked eyes with his friend.
Later
, his expression said.
Not now.
Liam looked back at the computer screen. “I need to do a deep background check on this guy, take apart these emails and see what’s going on. If you don’t mind, I’ll change your filter to have all his future emails forwarded to an Ironclad server.”
“You can do that?”
Liam nodded. Ruby stood with anxious energy and moved to Petra’s bookshelf, poking through novels and non-fiction while Liam showed Petra what he was changing, as well as the Ironclad email address he was forwarding them to.
“We’ll need to have all this evidence backed up,” said Liam, his fingers clicking over her keyboard. “For when we start putting a case together. But I’ll take care of that. I’ll let you know what I find, but it’s time to start documenting every call, every text. Every email. Don’t delete anything. Any suspicious packages, call me first. I want you to document every single point of contact to show the judge.”
Petra let out a quick breath. “The judge? We have to go to court?”
“We might,” said Liam. “If it escalates into—”
Rubio spun and silenced him with a look.
“If it escalates into something that crosses the lines of legality,” said Liam carefully. “With the scope of his behavior, and the content of the emails, I think you could at least file for a harassment notice. A restraining order. I’ll take care of that too.”
Ruby turned back to her bookshelf, because he couldn’t bear to see her beleaguered expression. So many Russian language books. What was that all about? Her father was Russian, but he never talked to her. And at the end of the row—a Portuguese language book. For him?
Petra’s cell phone rang. “It’s not him,” she said with relief. She excused herself to her bedroom to take the call, leaving the two of them alone. Rubio slid into her chair.
“So, he’s threatening me in those letters?” he asked his friend. “Be honest.”
“He holds no love for you. I’ll put it that way.”
“How soon can you make him stop this?”
Liam closed down Petra’s email and rested his elbows on the table.
“I’m going to work on it. Get some good investigators on the case. I need to learn more about him, see if there are angles we can tweak. If he has a spouse or an employer, we can threaten to out his activities if he doesn’t leave Petra alone. Sometimes that can discourage stalkers, provided they’re not complete psychos.”
Ruby watched Liam’s fingers tap, tap, tap on the table. “But he’s a complete psycho, isn’t he?”