Tempted by Deception (Deception Trilogy #2) by Rina Kent

My movements aren’t as fluid as I like, but it’s impossible to force myself into that headspace. Not when dread and fear like I’ve never felt before continue to shoot at me from every direction.

When I was trapped in that black box, I believed I knew what fear felt like. It was dark and tight and made me wet myself.

But that was far from what I’m experiencing right now. Fear has evolved into a tall, dark-haired stranger with terrifying gray eyes and a lethal weapon.

I try my hardest to ignore the spectators, like I always have, but it’s damn near impossible when I know he’s there, watching, contemplating, biding his time until he decides to pounce on me.

I never pay attention to the audience, because they interfere with my performance and my interpretation of the character’s emotions. The only time I look at them is once I’m done and everything is finished.

Now is different.

Now, I can feel his intense cold eyes piercing into me and peering inside my head. In a way, it feels like everyone else has disappeared and he’s the only presence I can sense. The only person who’s watching me. Just like Albrecht was watching Giselle that day and became infatuated with her.

That thought sends a chill to my bones, but my feet don’t falter. I don’t lose my footing again. If anything, I become one with the music, and as Stephanie said, I let Giselle take over me. I let her be a naive fool who’s dancing in the forest. The lone difference is that I’m well aware of who’s watching me—more than aware. I know his eyes are taking in my every movement.

Instead of deterring me, the thought allows me to completely let go. I’m free-falling like a feather, boneless and suspended from my body’s physical reality.

I stand on pointe more than specified in the choreography and give my performance of the year. I don’t even know what’s come over me. Is it the fact that this could be my last dance? Or do I want to show him my passion for what I do, hoping that he’ll have mercy and let me go?

Either way, I don’t stop or hold back. I give it my all, pushing my muscles to their limit.

When I’m finished, I stand in place in fourth position, catching my breath. A round of applause comes from Philippe and I’m immediately wrenched to the present. The spell breaks, the world and people filtering back in with a symphony of sounds and chatter. For some strange reason, I miss the state where it was only me. I turn around to find the director ready for a hug.

“Bravo, chérie! This is my Lia.” He points at his forearm. “You give me chills.”

“Thanks,” I murmur.

Stephanie rubs my arm. “You became one with her, didn’t you?”

“I think so.” I keep talking in a low tone, not wanting a certain someone from the audience to hear.

I chance a glance around the theater and find the stranger’s seat beside our producer, Matt, empty. I search for him in case he’s changed places, but he’s nowhere to be seen.

A long breath heaves out of my lungs. Maybe he didn’t come for me after all. Or maybe my plan worked and he saw how much I love ballet? Though I doubt it.

He’s the type who destroys things instead of preserving them. Why would my passion be any different?

After we finish rehearsal, I head to my dressing room to have a hot shower before I leave. I could use a cup of tea and some mindless television right now.

My limbs are still shaking from the stranger’s sudden reappearance and I’m lightheaded, as if I’m walking on the clouds.

My mind is somewhere else when I open my dressing room door and close it behind me. That’s when I sense something is wrong.

Cautiously, I turn around and gasp, hands flying to my mouth, when I find him standing next to my dressing table, running his fingers over the jewelry and makeup products scattered by the mirror.

If I thought he was intimidating when sitting several rows away in the audience, he’s damn terrifying up close. I can almost feel the muzzle of his cold gun nestled against my forehead, ready to fire and tear me to pieces.

Without thinking twice, I turn to flee, my sweaty hands grabbing the doorknob.

“I wouldn’t recommend it,” he says casually. “That will make me use violence, and I would rather not bruise that fair skin, Lia.”

The sound of my name coming off his tongue sends new tendrils of fear through me. It’s like he’s making it his mission to up the intensity of such emotions in me.

My chin quivers as I release the doorknob and slowly spin around, my ballet shoes skittering against the floor. I know I should run, but at the same time, I’m well aware that his threats aren’t idle. He killed someone—or three—what’s one more addition to his list?

He’s still in front of my dressing table, but he’s stopped going through my things and is standing upright now, one hand in the pocket of his black pants and the other by his side. I almost forgot how tall and broad he is, how his physique can eat up all the atmosphere and any oxygen that comes with it.

The scariest thing about him isn’t his gun—that I’m sure is hidden somewhere. It’s the absolute calm etched in his handsome features when he’s about to use that gun. It’s his complete composure right now while I’m trembling like a leaf in a hurricane.

He is that hurricane, wrecking people’s lives without being affected in the least.