It was a viciously demanding solo. Fast, lightning fast and wildly flamboyant. Her muscles responded, her feet flew. She ended with a snap, in precisely the same spot and in the same position where she’d begun.

Heart pounding from the effort, she shot Davidov a defiant, and unscripted look, then pirouetted offstage as her partner leaped into his cue.

He’d never seen anything like it. Hadn’t known there could be anything like it. She’d been…magic, Brody thought and was still trying to process this new aspect of her when she flew back onstage.

They danced together now, Kate and the man in white. He hadn’t realized ballet could be…sexy. But this was, almost raw, certainly edgy, a kind of classic mating dance with arrogant male, defiant female.

He didn’t see the small balancing steps, the sets, the releases. Didn’t see how she helped her partner lift her by springing with her knees, or how the muscles in her legs trembled with the effort to keep them extended in midair.

He only saw the speed, the dazzle. The magic. And was jerked rudely out of the moment by the shout.

“Stop! Stop! Stop!” Davidov threw up his hands. “What is this, what is it? Do you have hot blood, do you have passion or are you strolling through the park on Sunday? Where is the fire?”

“I’ll give you fire.” Kate whirled on him.

“Good.” He grabbed her at the waist. “With me. Show me.” He hoisted her up even as she cursed him.

She came down like a thunderbolt, hearing the music only in her head now, soaring into a series of jetés. He caught her again, spun her into a triple pirouette, then lifted her, lowering her until her head nearly brushed the stage. Sharp moves, challenges, and she was back en pointe, her eyes firing darts into his.

“There, now. Do again. Stay angry.”

“I hate you.”

“Not me. Him.” He flicked a hand and brought the music back.

“What the hell does he want?” Brody demanded, forgetting himself. “Blood?”

The woman in the row ahead turned, gave him a dazzling smile. “Yes. Exactly. He always has. A difficult man, Davidov.”

“Daddy says he ought to be shot,” Jack added, helpfully.

“Your father isn’t alone in thinking that.” She laughed, turning farther in her seat as the dancing, and the cursing continued onstage. “He’s harder, much harder, on the dancers who are the best. I used to dance with him myself, so I know.”

“Did he yell at you?”

“Yes. And I yelled right back. But I was a better dancer for it, and for him. He still made me very, very angry, though.”

“What did you do?” Jack’s eyes were big as saucers. “Did you punch him in the nose?”

“No. I married him.” She grinned at Brody. “I’m Ruth Bannion. You must be a friend of Kate’s.”

“Excuse me, I’d like to get my foot out of my mouth.”

“No, no.” She let out a low, delighted laugh. “Davidov brings out the best, and the worst. That’s what makes him what he is. He adores Kate, and is still mourning she’s left the company.” Ruth glanced back toward the stage. “Look at her, and you can see why.”