Third Position

  The Dirty Dancing Series:

  First Position

  Second Position

  Third Position

  Dirty Dancing #3

  Third Position

  BY

  Melody Grace

  Copyright © 2014 by Melody Grace

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owner.

  All rights reserved.

  Photo credit copyright Regina Wamba

  Cover design by Louisa Maggio

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  Table of Contents

  Raphael

  1.

  2.

  3.

  4.

  5.

  6.

  7.

  8.

  9.

  10.

  11.

  12.

  13.

  14.

  15.

  16.

  17.

  Excerpt from Unexpectedly Yours

  Acknowledgements

  Raphael

  When you’re wrapped in your lover’s arms, you think the dance will last forever. The feel of their body surging above you, the slow grind of your hips, moving as one. The look in their eyes as they drive deep inside of you; the taste of their sweat-slick skin shuddering beneath your tongue.

  Time stops. The world fades. Nothing exists but heat and motion and desire.

  But what happens when the dance is over? When you’re laying breathless and naked, your limbs aching from bone-deep pleasure, the memory of their touch burned deep into your skin?

  What happens when you have to choose? Give it up and walk away, or risk it all for another glimpse of passion?

  I thought I knew for sure what my future held. Nothing in the world could keep me from my dreams; the ambition that beat like a heartbeat in my chest, demanding I push harder, reach higher, achieve it all.

  But that was before Annalise.

  Every step we dance together gives me a taste of perfection. Every night that I explore her luscious body shows me a desire that cannot be ignored. She has possessed me, claimed me, and now, I crave her surrender beyond anything on this earth.

  Loving me will destroy her dreams, but to end this now is unthinkable. Impossible. I won’t let her go without a fight.

  Will she pick her passion for dance—or me?

  1.

  Annalise

  “Annalise Taylor.” The voice rings out, stopping me dead in my tracks. “Where on earth have you been?”

  I freeze. Just moments ago, I was on top of the world, walking back through the moonlit streets of Rome from Raphael’s apartment—the memory of his kisses still spinning in my head, and all the wicked, wicked pleasure he brought me with his hands, and mouth, and tongue…

  But my happiness crashes into pieces when I see the group waiting for me in the lobby. The program Director, Gilbert; our chaperone, Mademoiselle Ninette.

  And my mother.

  My blood runs cold.

  “Mom…?” I stutter, hurrying forwards. My cheeks flush, and I swear that anyone looking at me could see the illicit, sexy things I’ve been doing all night. “What are you doing here?” I struggle to keep my voice calm. “I thought you were in New York.”

  “I was, darling. I came to surprise you.” My mother steps forward and kisses me on both cheeks. To everyone else in the room, it looks like a loving greeting. Only I can see the barely-concealed rage glinting in her blue eyes.

  She turns back to the Director and Ninette. “As you can see, Annalise is fine. And in time for curfew,” she adds, her voice light. “I told you, this Lucia girl didn’t know what she was talking about.”

  “Lucia?” I echo. I see the other ballet student on the couch by the stairs. She’s smiling smugly at me. She probably thought ratting me out to the staff would cost me my solo in the big performance—and let her take my place.

  “See? It’s all just an innocent mix-up,” my mom says loudly. “Lucia told us you were out running around with some boy, but of course I said, she has to be mistaken. My daughter would never do something so stupid, isn’t that right, Annalise?”

  She gives me a fierce glare.

  “I…no, of course not,” I stutter.

  The Director frowns. “Where have you been?” he demands. “Your roommates didn’t know where you’d gone.”

  I think fast. I haven’t technically broken any rules, but if they knew I’d been sneaking around to see Raphael, it could jeopardize my whole career. They wouldn’t understand that he’s helping my dance, not hurting it. “I was just…out for a walk. Rome is so beautiful at night,” I say, only half-lying. “I love to explore.”

  Mademoiselle Ninette makes a tutting noise. “By yourself? It’s not safe to be walking the streets alone so late.”

  “I know, I’m sorry,” I apologize quickly. “I lost track of time.”

  My mother laughs, a bright jovial sound. “Probably thinking about her performance. I swear, Annalise forgets everything when she’s thinking about her dance. But it is getting late, so we should really be going. My daughter needs plenty of rest for rehearsals tomorrow.”

  The Director gives me another suspicious look, but like everyone else in the world, he’s no match for my mother.

  “It’s so good to see you again,” Mom sidles closer and rests a hand on Gilbert’s arm. She gives him an intimate smile, tossing back her long blonde hair. “We’ll have to have dinner and catch up, it’s been too long.”

  He blinks, distracted by the full force of her charm. “Ah, of course. I’d like that.”

  “Perfect,” she coos. “Annalise has been singing your praises. Now, don’t you have to check on the other girls? We shouldn’t keep you.”

  Gilbert and Mademoiselle say goodbye and go upstairs for the curfew bed-check. The minute they’re out of sight, Mom turns back to me. “Go pack your things,” she snaps.

  “What? Why?” I protest, confused.

  She stops me with a look. “Don’t act the innocent with me,” she says, her voice as cold as ice. She straightens her Chanel jacket and looks around at the group dorm rooms with disdain. “We may have managed damage control on your useless chaperones, but clearly you need better supervision. I’ve rented an apartment near the studio. You’ll be living with me for the rest of the trip.”

  My heart falls. “But I don’t want to—”

  “What you want doesn’t matter anymore. God, Annalise, what were you thinking?” she bursts out.

  “I lost track of time!” I say again, but she doesn’t buy it for a second.

  “What’s his name?” she demands, lunging forward and grabbing my arm.

  “No one. There’s no one!” I try to pull away. She gives me a shake, and I yelp.

  “Mom, you’re hurting me!” I cry. />
  She releases me, scornful.

  “For Christ’s sake, I can smell him all over you.”

  Her scathing words ricochet through me. I gulp back tears, feeling guilty and shameful. “I’m sorry,” I mutter.

  “Sorry didn’t just save you from getting kicked out of the program—I did.” Mom’s lips press together in a thin line. “You should be grateful I came all this way to support you. I arrived just in time to catch that Lucia girl running around, telling everyone about your wild affairs, and how we needed to call the police before you wound up lying dead in a ditch somewhere.”

  “Lucia doesn’t care about me, she’s my understudy,” I point out. “The only thing she cares about is taking my slot.”

  “You think I don’t know that?” Mom sneers. “What I don’t understand is why you would give her any excuse. This is what we’ve been working at for all these years. How could you do this to us? To me?”

  Guilt crashes through me as I think of everything Mom has done to support me, all the sacrifices she’s made. When I was born, it cut her career as a prima ballerina short: she gave up all her dreams for me, and now this is how I’m repaying her?

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper, hugging my arms around myself. “I didn’t mean to let you down. I just...”

  “What? Couldn’t keep your hormones in check long enough to think straight? And Lord knows what this is doing to your body and training.” She casts a critical eye over my body and sneers. “Is he feeding you pasta as he whispers sweet nothings in your ear?”

  I fold my arms over my chest defensively. “It’s not like that!” I protest. “Raphael is for real—”

  I stop, realizing just in time what I’ve let slip. But it’s too late. Mom’s eyes flash with anger at the confirmation. “So I was right. This is about a boy.”

  But Raphael is no boy. He’s all man.

  “He cares about me,” I add stubbornly. “And I care about him. More than anyone,” I admit, hoping desperately that she could understand. That she’ll put herself in my place for just one minute, and try to see how happy he makes me.

  But Mom is stony-faced. “You won’t see that boy again,” she declares. “End of discussion.”

  I turn, defeated, to the stairs, but she catches my arm. “And don’t think for a second you can get away with sneaking around anymore,” she tells me, her voice steely and low. “It’s over, do you understand?”

  I clench my jaw, feeling a spark of rebellion.

  “Do. You. Understand?” Mom demands.

  There’s no way out of this tonight, and right now, I’m so exhausted I could lay down right here in the hallway and sleep, so instead of arguing, I nod.

  “That’s my girl.” Mom gives me a sharp nod. “Now get your things and go. I want to run your routine with you before bed. I need to see exactly how much you’ve been slacking off without me.”

  2.

  With Mom breathing down my neck, I spend the next two days on total lockdown. From the moment my alarm goes off in the morning to the second I fall asleep at night, she doesn’t let me out of her sight. She’s there with fruit and protein bars when I get out of the shower¸ lecturing me on conditioning and technique as she walks me to the ballet studio for rehearsals. At lunch, she’s over in the corner of the cafeteria, eating with Gilbert and Mademoiselle, and the minute I’m done with my final session of the day, she’s waiting at the studio doors to accompany me back to the apartment. I spend evenings watching old ballet footage, until finally she gets tired or pops an Ambien and we both go to bed.

  I miss Raphael so much it hurts.

  A rebellious part of me wants to tell her everything: how I’ve been secretly training with him to dance as his partner for his big audition next week. That being with him makes me feel so alive, more than any ballet solo ever made me feel. That our passion is indescribable, awakening feelings I’ve never known before.

  The scene plays in my imagination, tempting me. I could just walk out: tell Mom I won’t follow her crazy rules. I could be free to see him, whenever I want.

  But every time, I think about what Mom’s given up for my career. She could have been one of the greats, but instead, she had me. And now it’s up to me to continue her legacy, for both of us. She’s been there supporting me every step of the way: from my very first toddler dance class, to my big auditions and performances. She’s poured her skills and talents into helping me, and I’ve become the dancer I am because of her.

  Ballet isn’t just a hobby to me, it’s in my blood. I want to be great, I want to make her proud, but that yearning is at war with my desire for Raphael. He’s shown me a joy that comes from freedom, from dancing for the love of it, not to meet the perfection of someone else’s standards.

  But Mom would never understand. To her, ballet is the only thing that matters, and everything else is a distraction. It makes you weak.

  And she raised me to be stronger than anyone.

  So I bite my tongue, and follow her rules, throwing myself into rehearsals for my Swan Lake solo. This big gala showcase is my last shot, my chance to prove I can be a professional dancer and rise through the ranks. It’s why I came to Rome at all, to have the chance to dance the big roles I can’t win back home in New York.

  But even as I go through the motions, a part of me is far away from the ballet studio, across the city with Raphael. Exploring each other’s bodies, learning the most erotic dance of all.

  He texts me in the morning again, as I’m in the locker room getting changed. I sneak my phone from my bag.

  Are you still under lock and key?

  I sigh as I text back. Yup. I’m sorry, I can’t get away tonight.

  How about right now?

  I wish.

  After that wistful reply I’m about to turn off my phone, but then I get another message.

  Rehearsal Room B.

  I jolt up like I’ve been shocked. Karla gives me a weird look. “You OK?”

  “Yes!” I yelp. “I just need…my shoes.”

  She looks down at my feet, and the ballet slippers already laced around my ankles.

  “My other shoes,” I say quickly. “Be right back.”

  I duck out of the locker room and slip down the hallway. Studio B is in the back of the building. It’s had a leak dripping from a busted pipe all week, so nobody is around as I open the door and close it quickly behind me.

  My heart stops. Raphael is waiting in the shadows. Even just pacing back and forth, there’s a grace and power to his movement: lean muscle in motion. He looks up, his expression changing when he sees me standing here.

  “Raphael—” Before I can even get the word out, he’s striding forward, taking my face in both hands and pushing me back against the wall. He claims my mouth in a fiercely passionate kiss.

  Oh God.

  Something ignites in my bloodstream, the craving I’ve almost forgotten since being away from him for so long.

  I kiss him back hard, reaching to loop my hands around his shoulders, running my fingers over the dense, muscular planes of his back, clutching greedy handfuls of his shirt to yank him closer to me. As the kiss deepens, his tongue slides hotly into my mouth and I lose track of everything in the world but this.

  Just this. His body, pressed hard against me. My legs, giving way as I sink into his embrace. The electric touch of his hands roving over me, grasping at my ass and hips, driving his hips insistently into mine.

  Blood pounds in my ears and I drown in the sensation. The heat, rising, threatening to consume us both. I don’t know how long we’re here, kissing passionately against the wall, but then the sound of laughter and a door slamming far away pierces my haze of desire.

  I pull back, gasping.

  “You can’t be here! If they find us…” I trail off, ill at the thought. It would be a scandal, and worse, it could mean the end of my solo performance.

  “I’m sorry.” Raphael closes the distance between us again, this time to tenderly cradle my cheek. “I couldn’t
go another day without seeing you. Touching you…” His fingers trace down my neck and along my collarbone.

  I shiver, feeling his touch spiral through me, all the way to the tight ache that’s coiled inside, needing him.

  “We can’t…” I murmur weakly. I drink in the sight of him, his dark hair falling long over his piercing dark eyes. I rest my hands on his chest, not sure whether I want to push him away or drag him back in for another kiss.

  “Would it be so bad if they knew about us?” Raphael asks, his dark eyes full of worry.

  I bite my lip. “My mom would freak. I’m supposed to be completely dedicated to my work. They would question my commitment, if I deserved to be dancing lead at all.”

  “Then I’ll find another partner,” Raphael declares.

  I gasp. “The audition is three days away! There’s not enough time.”

  He shakes his head. “I won’t be the cause of your misery, mia cara. You’ve worked too hard for this. I can’t stand in your way.”

  “No,” I tell him again, louder. “I want to dance with you.”

  Raphael looks unsure, but my certainty grows. Just being here with him, touching him again, I’m reminded of all the reasons I agreed to partner with him in the first place. This audition could change his life—I can’t wreck it for him now.

  “We’ll find a way,” I insist. “My mom has people everywhere here, watching me, but maybe…”

  “Maybe?” he lifts an eyebrow and I brighten, struck by inspiration.

  “Between her jet-lag and how early she goes to sleep,” I tell him, “I could meet you later, to practice. We couldn’t go far though, somewhere close to the apartment…”

  “Does it have a basement? Or a garden?” Raphael asks.

  “The roof!” I grab his hands, smiling. “There’s a roof garden, it’s private, nobody goes up there. I could tell Mom I was practicing if she found out. And it would be true.”