Chapter 2

Mason let out a frustrated growl at the empty room in front of him. It was too easy to get turned around in the huge practice facility located on Santa Monica Boulevard. At one time, it’d been a warehouse now converted into separate dancing studios. The building was situated on the back lot of the auditorium where Dancing With the Celebrities was filmed. Parking lots were positioned on each side of the buildings. In between the two structures was a veritable trailer park. The long trailers were split down the middle, with entrances at each end. The celebrities were assigned to one side, their partner the other. A wall separated each unit for privacy, and they featured a seating area as well as a bed if someone wanted to take a nap between rehearsals and a bathroom for showers. Two side-by-side bungalows housed hair and makeup in one and wardrobe the other. It was like a small town surrounded by a ten-foot fence topped with razor wire.

One of the parking lots was reserved for executive staff and celebrities, the other for ticket holders for each performance. A fence separated that parking lot from the trailers and practice facility. Another lot two blocks away was where most of the support staff parked and rode a bus that regularly made trips between the two. Anyone who entered had to stop at a guard booth and sign in. Staff and celebrity cars were tagged with a device that triggered the barrier gate so they didn’t need to stop and sign in each visit.

Mason cracked another door to find the room pitch black. No sign of Harlow or her partner, Marcus Howe, God’s gift to women. According to Marcus. Personally, Mason didn’t see it. The guy was too…over-the-top. That was the best description he could come up with. He wasn’t being prejudiced because the guy was a dancer, either. He’d feel the same way if he was a realtor or a janitor. He just rubbed Mason the wrong way. Mason’s bullshit meter was accurate, and Marcus sent the needle past the tolerable level.

Harlow had been so nervous when they arrived at the studio this morning. She’d been a huge fan of the show since its inception and she knew all the dancers. She had no idea who her partner would be, but there were two she was hoping for. Marcus Howe had been her top choice. She’d gotten her wish.

The producers kept the pairings a secret, only revealing the match by having Harlow stand in the middle of the room with her back to the door. A man balancing a bulky camera on his shoulder was positioned at her side. Harlow’s nervous gaze locked with Sawyer, who grounded her. The door opened and Harlow’s head whipped around. Her eyes had widened to saucers, and a huge grin broke across her face. Marcus Howe entered the room like he owned it. Harlow squealed and Marcus ran forward to hug her. Sawyer’s growl could probably be heard on the tape.

She’d been overjoyed with the match-up and Marcus fawned over her, much to Sawyer’s extreme displeasure. More than once, Mason had to physically restrain Sawyer from marching over and removing parts of Marcus’s body, especially the hands that kept touching his wife.

He and Sawyer watched the two get acquainted in front of the ever-present crew. Seriously, the cameras never quit rolling. They made sure to stick to a corner where they wouldn’t get caught on tape, but it was a challenge. After two hours of practice, when Harlow needed to take a break to visit the ladies’ room, the cameraman started to follow. Sawyer had jumped up and blocked his path, his arms crossed over his chest. The man had swallowed audibly and quickly retreated. He hadn’t tried to follow Harlow again.

Mason googled Marcus Howe on his iPhone. He’d been surprised to learn Howe was one of the premier dancers on the show, the top male pro since Glen Benson retired two years ago. Apparently, Benson was a legend, winning almost half of the shows on which he’d appeared. Marcus had been on the show from the first season and had racked up two wins, four second place finishes, and three top fives. The show was held twice a year, so Marcus had been doing this for ten years, or twenty seasons.

After he’d finished preening in front of the mirrors, he’d demonstrated several moves to Harlow, and Mason had to reluctantly admit that the guy was good. Then he instructed Harlow to attempt them and damn, she was fabulous. She possessed a grace and elegance that couldn’t be taught. She picked up the moves quickly and pretty soon, she and Marcus were sashaying across the floor.

Sawyer couldn’t keep the besotted look from his face, poor sap. He even had to wipe a tear or two away. Mason, on the other hand, felt a headache brewing, compliments of the severe concussion he’d suffered weeks ago when he’d been caught in a bomb blast and a building fell on top of him. They were less frequent and intense, but sometimes they crept up on him and locked his skull in a vice.

He excused himself to run to the rented SUV and grab an ibuprofen. He had no trouble getting out of the building and locating the vehicle. Once he popped the pills, he headed back inside, but he hadn’t thought to pay attention to where he was going, which is how he’d ended up lost.

He cracked the door on the next room to discover sultry music spilling from the speakers. His eyes locked onto the lone occupant, a woman in a gauzy top in a light shade of lavender and black spandex shorts. She was lost in the music, dancing in perfect harmony with the tune. Even to his unknowledgeable eye, he could tell her moves were both fluid and precise. While Harlow was good in an untrained, natural way, this woman was definitely a professional. Peppered in between the dance steps were impressive gymnastics moves. A back flip, jumping splits so high, he cringed. But she didn’t need his empathy. She flowed into another move that was graceful and elegant. She was in a word, stunning. He couldn’t look away.

After a side flip and some fancy footwork, she launched into a spin that went on so long, it made his own head whirl. But she kept going, seemingly unfazed. A front flip, more elaborate footwork and another gravity-defying leap where she landed in front of him. She looked up and gasped.

“You scared me,” she accused. Then her eyes widened in recognition. “You!”

“You!” he sputtered at the same time. His jaw literally dropped open. Holy hell, it was the woman he rescued from the runaway car two weeks ago. Back in Bloomington. Her hair had been full and flowing around her shoulders then. Now it was secured into a high ponytail. No makeup adorned her face and a light sheen of sweat glistened on her forehead. She took his breath away.

His bubble of euphoria was pierced when her brows pinched and her mouth tightened. A hand slapped her chest. “Oh my God, are you following me?”

His head jerked back. “What? No!”

Fists slammed onto narrow hips. “Then what are you doing here? We’re thousands of miles away from that sidewalk in…oh, wait.” She smiled, but it wasn’t a nice one. He instinctively took a step back. “You found out who I was, didn’t you? You saw an opportunity and you decided to hit up the celebrity, right? You probably think I’m loaded or connected with the movers and shakers of Hollywood or something. Don’t tell me…your dream is to be an actor.”

Mason shook his head slowly, disappointment burning a hole in his gut. To think he’d fantasized about this woman for two weeks. “Wow, cynical, aren’t we?” He crossed his arms and noticed her gaze landed on his biceps. He might’ve flexed, you know, just because. “I hate to dent what seems like a very, very healthy ego, lady.” Her eyes shot back to his. “But I have absolutely no idea who you are.”

“Yeah, right,” she scoffed.

“Yeah. Right,” he echoed.

Her eyes narrowed into slits and she crossed her arms, mirroring his stance. “Then what are you doing standing in my studio? What are the odds that we’d end up in the same place thousands of miles away?”

“I’m not much for statistics, but I’m guessing astronomical. To answer your first question, I got turned around.”

“That really didn’t answer it.”

He huffed out a sigh. “If you let me finish, I was about to inform you that I’m with Harlow Oldham. I needed to grab something from my car, but I got lost trying to get back to her studio.”

“Harlow Oldham…oh, you mean Duquesne.” Her arms dropped to her side and her eyes widened. “She’s the granddaughter of the President.”

“She is.”

“I didn’t know she was competing. I saw her story on the news, about her nightmare experience in Coslos. The story said her fiancé rescued her.”

“Husband, now.”

Her mouth dropped open this time. “Is that you?”

He shook his head. “She’s a friend.”

Her shoulders slumped, he’d like to think in relief, but that was probably wishful thinking. “Oh. Okay. Do you know who her partner is?”

“Marcus something.”

Her left eye twitched at the name. Most people wouldn’t have noticed, but he was trained to detect subtle tells. He wondered what the story was with her and Marcus and didn’t like the surge of jealousy that accompanied the thought.

“Then you want the next studio.” She pointed. “One door down to the right.”

“Okay, thanks. Sorry to have bothered you.” He turned to leave.

“Wait.”

He stopped and slowly rotated to face her again with a raised brow.

“I just…I mean…well…I’m sorry for jumping to conclusions, you know, earlier.” She waved a hand. “Most people want something from me. I guess I am cynical. I’m truly sorry I assumed you did, too.”

He nodded slowly, drinking in her beauty. Damn, she was stunning. “Apology accepted.” He turned once more but she stopped him, this time with a hand on his arm, which she quickly jerked away. He felt like he’d been zapped with a taser. Her eyes widened in question. She felt it, too.

Her gaze dropped to the floor. “I wanted to thank you again for saving my life. When I think about how close that car came to running me over…” She shivered and met his eyes. “Thank you.”

He nodded slowly. “My pleasure.”

“Cassidy.” At his blank look, she added, “My name. Cassidy Swain.”

“Nice to formally meet you, Cassidy.” He held out his hand. “Mason Rossi.”

She placed her smaller hand in his and he jolted again from the contact. It was as if he touched a live wire. It was all he could do to hold back from leaning down and tasting her shiny pink lips. She leaned towards him.

The door burst open and they broke apart. A woman barreled inside, followed by another woman toting a clunky camera on her shoulder, and one pushing a cart that was loaded with brushes and cosmetics.

“Cassidy, we’re ready to film your meet. Your new partner’s here, but we need to get some makeup on you for the cameras.”

“Okay.” She answered, but she was still staring at him.

“I should go.”

She nodded. “Thank you again, Mason.”

“Anytime, Cassidy.”

#

Cassidy watched the intriguing stranger stride out of the studio, her breath gone and not from her workout. She thought that maybe she’d romanticized him in her mind. He couldn’t be as tall as she remembered. As strong as she remembered. As handsome as she remembered. And she’d been right. He wasn’t as tall or strong or handsome—he was more so. He was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. He stood at least six-five, maybe six-six, with dark hair cut short and a bearing that screamed military. Her subconscious recognized that in her dreams. Even when she hadn’t known he was in the room, she’d felt his presence. An overwhelming sense of peace had blanketed her. She’d felt safe.

She followed Rose and her overflowing cart to a chair by the wall. She dutifully sat while Rose went to work making her presentable for the cameras.

Why the heck had she accused him of being a stalker? It had to be because seeing him again had thrown her completely off kilter. He was the last person she expected to see in her studio. And the one she most wanted there. The expression that crossed his face at her allegation had made her stomach cramp painfully. He looked disappointed. In her.

She’d posed the question to him, but really, what were the odds that the man who’d literally saved her life a couple of weeks ago would show up again so far away from the first meeting? Like he said, astronomical. She’d thought of him often since the event. Several times, she imagined she’d spotted him in a crowd, only to realize he wasn’t there. When she first observed him standing in the doorway, she assumed the same thing. It couldn’t be him. It was simply a figment of her imagination. But he was real. He was here. She could reach out and touch him. Mason Rossi. The name fit him.

What was his relationship with Harlow Duquesne? The woman was stunning and as close to royalty as it got in the United States. But Mason said she recently married. What was his connection? If he was with her, that meant he’d be here through the opening night at least. Maybe she’d run into him again. The thought made her happy.

“Quit smiling,” Rose barked.

With a roll of her eyes, she obeyed. Though Rose was a few years younger, she had no problem ordering people around like a drill sergeant. But she was a true Picasso with her brushes. She could transform even the ugliest duckling into a swan.

Brandi the Hairstyling Queen, as she called herself, breezed in with her big bag of products and proceeded to brush, curl and tease Cassidy’s hair into submission. Normally, all of this would happen in the bungalow outside that housed Rose, Brandi, several other technicians and all their equipment, but everything was different on the day when partners met for the first time. She had to stay inside her studio and wait her turn. As the defending champion, she was the last to meet her new partner for the season.

Rose and Brandi finished, and she knew without looking at a mirror that they had worked their magic.

“Cassidy, I need you to come here,” Shelly Moore, the segment producer said. She pushed to her feet and walked over to where Shelly indicated, standing with her back to the door.

“Are we ready?” Shelly asked into her headset. “Good. Let him in.”

Cassidy held her breath. This was the most nerve-wracking part of the whole production. Sure, the first critique after the first dance was hard, as was every single elimination, but this meeting would set the tone for the entire run of the show. If she was partnered with someone who didn’t give his full effort, it would be a long, grueling season. If she got someone like Antwaan, her last partner, the weeks would fly by. Antwaan had been a sponge, soaking up everything she taught him and then squeezing out a rousing performance. She’d loved coming to the studio to teach him moves. He was a natural.

She hoped she was lucky enough to draw someone with a fraction of Antwaan’s commitment. She knew some of the other dancers thought she was the favored one, always getting the best celebs. But that wasn’t the case. Russell Ingram and his staff were fair and didn’t play favorites. Still, that didn’t stop Irina and some of the others from complaining, sometimes vehemently.

Her second year on the show, she’d been paired with a former child sitcom star who’d been out of the business for a few years. He’d packed on the pounds and from her initial meeting, she assumed he had two left feet. But he’d worked extremely hard, taping every session so he could go home and practice. He lost weight, gained confidence and won over America and the judges for a top three performance. He wasn’t the best dancer, but he was one of the hardest working ones. In her thinking, it wasn’t just the talent of the partner, it was up to the professional to draw the best from their celeb. Irina had never finished higher than fourth. Telling.

The door opened—this was it. She spun around to find out who she’d be dancing with this season.

“OMG, I hit the jackpot! I got Cassidy! Somebody, pinch me! I must be dreaming!”

She pasted on an excited smile, not immediately recognizing the face. He was young, maybe early twenties, with a complexion that hinted at mixed heritage and curly brown hair. His green eyes sparkled and his teeth were white as snow. He was absolutely adorable. She pretended to recognize him while silently urging Shelly to hurry the heck up and make the introductions.

“Cassidy Swain,” Shelly introduced on cue, “meet your partner, Trey Holiday, the star of Disney’s hit show, Trey Chic, and lead singer of the rock band Slam.”

“Trey, I’m so happy to meet you,” she enthused as she hugged him. He was a good height, maybe six foot, with a lean swimmer’s build. She couldn’t wait to mold him into a dancer. “So tell me, Trey, do you have any dancing experience?”

“Besides the hip hop clubs?” His smile flashed. “Nothing formal.” He did a quick footwork sequence that was pretty damn good.

She smiled at him, excitement bubbling in her veins. “Well, Trey, welcome to the new season of Dancing With the Celebrities. We’re going to have so much fun.”

#

Mason found the correct room and slid inside, doing his best to stay out of camera range as he eased his way to Sawyer.

“Where did you disappear to?” His coworker didn’t even look at him, his sole focus was on his wife as she glided across the floor.

“To the SUV for some ibuprofen.”

Sawyer did look at him this time, his gaze filled with concern. “Headache?”

Mason shrugged a shoulder. “Mild one.”

“I pushed too hard, didn’t I? You should still be recovering.”

Mason scoffed. “I’m fine. It just comes and goes, nothing major. It doesn’t affect my ability to do my job.”

Sawyer studied him and then slowly nodded. “You’ll tell me if it’s too much?”

“Absolutely.”

Satisfied with the answer, Sawyer turned his attention back to his wife and Mason breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t want to be removed from the case. Not only because he knew he could handle it, but he’d just found the woman he’d dreamed of for the past two weeks. Cassidy Swain. Pulling out his phone, he did a quick search. He read the first few listings, suitably impressed. She was better than good—she was the star of the show. She’d won a couple of times and seemed to be the face of the show, making appearances and attending events. He clicked over to photos. There were several of her dancing, some posing with children and adults alike. She was smiling in each one and the others in the pictures looked awed to be in her presence.

Damn, he was intrigued.

What had she been doing in Bloomington? He navigated to the official Dancing With the Celebrities website that listed her background. His brows raised. She was originally from there. She’d graduated from Julliard, despite traveling the country and the world with her partner, Colin Rafferty, in competitive dance events. They’d won several titles. The more he read, the more impressed he was with her talent. True, he’d never considered dancing much of a sport before, but watching Harlow and Cassidy, he’d changed his mind.

Harlow came jogging over, a huge smile on her face. She launched herself at Sawyer and he caught her easily in his lap.

“This is so much fun!”

“Babe, you’re phenomenal,” Sawyer said before kissing her silly.

Mason rolled his eyes. Newlyweds.

Harlow nudged him to get his attention and he was happy to note they’d managed to separate their lips. He was beginning to think they were permanently attached. “What do you think, Mason?”

“I agree with Sawyer. You’re a natural.”

Her grin was brilliant. “Thanks. I’m lucky to have been paired with such a great partner.”

“Speaking of,” Sawyer growled. “If his hands drift lower again, I’m going to rip them off and feed them to him for lunch.”

Harlow gave her husband a stern look. “No harming my partner. You promised.”

“So I can’t shoot him?”

“No, dear. You can’t shoot him.”

“I’ll take care of it for you,” Mason whispered out of the side of his mouth. Sawyer held up a hand for a fist bump.

“Neither of you can shoot my partner,” she clarified with a not-amused shake of her head. When Sawyer opened his mouth, she cut him off with, “No stabbing, no kneecapping, no waterboarding, no harming him at all.”

Sawyer gave a disgruntled huff.

“Harlow, darling, are you ready to resume?”

“Darling,” Sawyer rumbled.

“Coming.” With one last kiss to her husband, and a command to behave, she bounded off his lap and jogged over to Marcus. He explained the next sequence and before long, they were gliding across the floor again. The ever-present cameraman followed their movements. Actually, calling the person with the camera a man was a stretch. Kid was more like it. He looked like he was still in high school. If not for the full-sleeve tats that covered both of his arms, hands and fingers, he could’ve passed for a student. Even his neck was inked. He wore a pair of faded jeans, so no telling if his legs were covered, as well. Pretty soon, all that would be left was his face and he’d have to lose quite a few piercings before he hit the tattoo parlor. For the life of him, Mason couldn’t understand why anyone would want a ring in their nose that made them resemble a bull. Or gauges in their ears that created an obscene hole and disfigured them permanently, like camera-kid. Ah, well, to each his own, he supposed. The world would be pretty dull if everyone looked alike.

When Marcus started teaching Harlow another sequence, Mason took out his phone to do some more background digging on the lovely Ms. Cassidy Swain.