Natasha (Little Girl Book 1) Read online

  "Did you hear me, Red?" Brandon was less than an inch from her face, his attention so focused on her he hadn't noticed that someone else was in the room. Natasha didn't answer him but, instead, craned her neck to see who it was. Brandon saw her attention shift, and he turned to look over his shoulder. It was only when he moved that Natasha was able to see who had entered the dance studio.

  Silas.

  A very angry Silas.

  Silas was like an avenging angel. All golden hair, bright eyes that glittered like the wrong side of a knife edge, and clenched fists that looked capable of ripping out every floorboard in the dance studio.

  "What the fuck is going on here?" Silas' voice sounded like a gunshot in the too quiet room.

  "Mr. Peachtree was just leaving," Natasha blurted out. Both men turned to look down at her, Brandon with a scowl and Silas with a glare that burned Natasha to her core.

  "The fuck he was," Silas growled, his eyes shifting up to the man whose fingers were still digging painfully into her arms. His eyes locked on to Brandon's hands, and he stalked forward. "Get your hands off her."

  "Red…" Brandon said, his voice trailing off in a warning that made Natasha want to scream. How dare he act as if he had a right to her body, a right to touch her?

  "Get your hands off me, Mr. Peachtree," Natasha spat, her emerald eyes flashing. She stepped to the side and finally managed to wrench her arms out of his hands. She hated that she would have bruises where he had grabbed her by tomorrow morning. Natasha shakily walked toward where Silas stood, eyes trained on Brandon, but she had only managed to take a few steps when Brandon spoke.

  "You're a fucking tease."

  Natasha preferred not to say anything. Silas was of a different opinion.

  Silas stepped in front of Natasha, blocking her from the other man's view. "And you're a predator," he said, jabbing a finger at Brandon.

  "Who the fuck are you?" Brandon scoffed, turning his attention to Silas. Natasha took a step back, watching the two men square off. Brandon wasn't a small man, but where his bulk was lithe, like a runner, Silas looked like he had been built for war. He easily had the other man by four inches and outweighed Brandon by at least forty pounds of solid muscle.

  Natasha didn't envy Brandon's current situation.

  "Mr. Peachtree, please leave. You and your daughter are no longer welcome here," Natasha said, her voice ringing in the still too quiet room.

  "What?" Brandon exploded. He took a threatening step forward, only to be rebuffed by Silas' imposing figure. "What are you saying?" he yelled at Natasha, though he had stopped his forward movement.

  Natasha crossed her arms over her chest and met Brandon's gaze with a cool one of her own, despite the fact that she was trembling. "I'm saying that you are no longer welcome here and your daughter is no longer a student of ours."

  For several moments, no one moved or said anything, and Natasha had the wild hope the man would just leave, that this night would just end and be another bad memory. But then he sprang forward, face twisted in a fury.

  "You bitch!" he yelled. "You can't just kick my daughter out!" Brandon charged forward, his hand swinging wildly in her direction, but Silas intercepted the other man's swing without so much as breaking a sweat, and before Natasha understood what she was seeing, Brandon lay flat on his back.

  "You don't touch her," Silas growled. His voice filled Natasha's ears, and she felt a sudden shiver pass over her at his words.

  "But she—" Brandon spluttered, looking bewildered at his sudden place on the floor.

  "The only reason I'm not pounding you through the floor right now is that I don't want her to have to clean up the mess your sorry ass would leave behind. Do you understand?" Silas leaned down toward where Brandon scrambled on his hands to get away from him.

  "I'll sue you," Brandon hissed, his eyes darting from Natasha to Silas. "I'll put this fucking school out of business."

  Natasha rolled her eyes at that and snorted. "And how do you propose to do that with the camera footage we have of you?"

  Brandon's face went white. "What?"

  Natasha pointed toward the corner behind him with a wave of her hand. "You should wave to the camera. Real big and nice. A smile wouldn't hurt, either."

  "You know you wanted me. You wanted this, even if your fucking cameras don't show it," Brandon said, standing up slowly and pinning Natasha with a leer.

  Natasha crossed her arms, and Silas was there again, pushing Brandon in the chest with a quick jab of his hands.

  "Get the hell out of here," Silas said, his eyes hard, his mouth pressed into a tight line.

  "Don't touch me." Brandon tried to slap at Silas' hands, but he failed to come close as the other man gave him another shove that sent him stumbling back a few steps. "Back off!" he yelled at Silas, suddenly looking like a child who had been sent to timeout for bad behavior.

  Natasha raised an eyebrow, watching the display, a smile crossing her lips when Silas backed Brandon up to the door with another well-placed jab of his hands. She hoped Brandon felt it tomorrow, that he bruised from where Silas' fingers had dug into his skin like her arms would bruise from Brandon's cruel touch.

  "Leave. Now," Silas ordered. He pointed over the other man's shoulder as he spoke and added, "If I see you here again, I'm going to take you out back and show you some fucking manners."

  "You're a thug," Brandon spat at Silas, who only lifted one shoulder in a shrug.

  "I'd rather be a thug than a pervert. What were you going to do to her, huh?" Silas asked, his voice sharp. "Touching her like that. I'll break every last one of your fingers if you put a bruise on her."

  Natasha felt that shiver sweep over her again, except, this time, it was in her belly, like the thrill that hit her right before she took the stage. And now there was no stage to take, no routine to execute; it was Silas making her feel like this.

  "Red, lo—" Brandon said, looking her over Silas' shoulder, but the blond man snapped his fingers in Brandon's face.

  "Did I stutter? Get the fuck out of here before I put you through the wall."

  Brandon opened his mouth to speak again, but Silas cut him off. "Natasha, call the police."

  Natasha gave a quick nod and wordlessly grabbed her phone. She had just started to dial when Brandon finally said, "Fine! I'll go; fine! Fucking shit." The man threw up his hands and then shoved the door to the dance studio open. "We can discuss this during business hour—"

  A growl, an honest to goodness growl from Silas, had Natasha's pulse speeding up and Brandon backpedaling out of the room. He said something, but Natasha didn't know what because she was staring at Silas, the growl in his chest all she could focus on while he pushed Brandon out of the room. She swallowed hard when the dance studio door clicked shut behind the two of them. She could hear their raised voices in the hallway for a moment before they faded away, and she knew that Silas had kicked Brandon out of the building entirely.

  It was only then that she let out the breath she hadn't realized she was holding and put a hand over her mouth to stifle the anguished moan that slipped out. Her body was shaking, and that wave of anxiety she had barely been holding at bay hit her full force, and her legs gave out from under her. She hit the floor a second later.

  Silas' growl still echoed in her head, growing in intensity until it roared so loudly that she found herself leaning forward on her hands, her phone slipping to the floor beside her. Natasha sucked in a deep breath and worked to stay upright, but it was no use; she was just so cold, so worn out. Her body felt like it was out of her control. She just needed to rest for a moment, and she would be all right. She would be strong enough to put the entire mess of the past twenty minutes behind her if she just closed her eyes for a second. She slumped forward to the floor, the wood cold beneath her cheek, and she shivered as she took in another deep breath. She tried to focus on the only thing that felt like it was grounding her—Silas' growl, that low and throaty sound she'd felt down to her toes. If she just let the r
oar in her ears be his growl, then the cold settling over her wasn't so bad, the dimming of her vision not so scary. She felt safe with Silas, and safe was something she hadn't felt in quite a while.

  It was nice, and so Natasha closed her eyes and finally let herself rest.

  Chapter 2

  Natasha wasn't sure how much time had passed, but when she awoke, it wasn't on the hard floor of the dance school. It was on an overstuffed leather couch. There was a pillow beneath her cheek and a soft flannel blanket over her shoulders, the ends meticulously tucked around her body. Natasha blinked against the light in the room and licked her lips. Her mouth felt dry, and she coughed while she took in the unfamiliar setting.

  A figure moved into her line of sight at the sound of her cough. And it wasn't just any figure. It was Silas.

  "H-hi." Natasha gingerly pushed herself up into a sitting position.

  "Hey," Silas said softly, his hands held out toward her, eyes scanning her face as if checking for injuries. "Lie back down."

  Natasha frowned but lay down as directed. "I'm okay."

  He raised an eyebrow at her statement but said nothing. Instead, he offered her a glass of water that had been sitting on the coffee table in front of her. Natasha took the water with a grateful nod. "Thank you," she murmured before taking a sip.

  When she was done drinking, Silas gently put his hand on hers and said, "More. Drink more. Ah, please." He closed his eyes briefly, running a hand over his face, and let out a quick huff of breath. "Please drink more water."

  Silas opened his eyes and gave her a beseeching look. He was worried, and no matter how silly it seemed to her, an extra sip of water seemed to mean the world to him, so she nodded and took another deep drink. When she had downed half the glass of water, he let out a hum of approval and took it from her, his big hand surprisingly gentle against her fingers.

  "Thank you," Natasha said again. She tried not to concentrate too much on how close Silas was now. He had slipped up next to her and had begun helping her to sit up, tucking the blanket around her as he did so. Natasha blushed when she realized that it must have been Silas who had covered her with the blanket so carefully before.

  He ducked his head at her thanks. "How do you feel?"

  Natasha let out a weary sigh. "I've been better, but I'm mostly just worn out." She smiled wanly at him and glanced around the living room. "I-is this your house?"

  "It is. I didn't, ah, know where to take you after."

  "After?" Natasha asked, her eyes on the blanket in her lap.

  "After I got rid of that jackass."

  "Ah, Mr. Peachtree."

  "Mister is a title he doesn't deserve," Silas said, his voice dark with a venom that startled Natasha. She glanced up from the loose thread of the blanket she had been toying with to see that Silas' face had gone hard. His eyes no longer a summer sky but now darkened with anger. Natasha swallowed thickly at the display of raw emotion. This man was a raging storm, and it filled the space around them with an electricity that made her pulse speed up.

  "Silas…" Natasha stopped speaking, unsure of what to say next, but she forged ahead as best she could. She didn't like that Silas had needed to step in like he had, that she'd swooned like a damsel-in-distress, or that the entire evening had turned into a nightmare. "I'm very sorry ab—"

  Silas' gaze snapped to her at the beginning of her apology. The hard look in his eyes only lasted for another moment before the clouds parted and she saw summer skies again.

  "You have nothing to be sorry for," he said, his voice gentle. "You did nothing wrong." His hand found hers and gave it a gentle squeeze.

  Natasha looked away from Silas' gaze, but she was grateful for his hand on hers. "I know, but that doesn't mean that anything that happened was okay. And I just passed out like I did. I'm so embarrassed."

  "Nothing that man did was okay. And there's no reason to be embarrassed. You went into shock, simple as that." Silas gave her hand another gentle touch before he pulled away from her. Against her better judgment, Natasha found herself wanting to lean into him, to chase his hands, to be closer to him than she already was, but she kept herself still. She had to get control of herself. Yes, Silas had saved her, but this urge to run her fingers through his blond hair, to press her nose to the curve of his neck, to see how his body would feel against hers...it was all too much, dizzying even for someone who had always exercised control in her relationships.

  "But I'm still so—" Natasha tried again, but Silas would have none of it.

  "S'nothing to be sorry for. The only person who should be sorry is that animal who tried to put his hands on you." He leaned back against the couch and sighed. "He won't be around anymore. If he does come around, I want you to call me."

  "Call you?"

  "Yes. I'll make sure you have my number. I was gonna have to stop picking Maddy up from dance, but I'll stick to the routine to check on you, too."

  Natasha shook her head. "You don't have to do that."

  Silas blushed, the pink color tingeing the tops of his ears before he turned to look at her again. "I want to."

  "Oh." Natasha felt a smile pulling at her lips at the words. She cautioned a look at Silas to see that he was smiling at her. Suddenly, those summer skies had a sun, and it was this man's smile. "What happened, ah, to Mr. Peachtree?" she asked, forcing her eyes away from him and attempting to regain control of both the butterflies in her stomach and the conversation. If they were talking about the other man, then Silas would have no time to give her those heart-melting smiles.

  As predicted, Silas' warm smile vanished into a thin press of lips and a clenched jaw. Natasha squeezed her hands tightly around the blanket in her lap when she realized that Silas' glaring, eyes unfocused, and body poised for a fight was something she found attractive—very attractive. Natasha delicately cleared her throat in a prompt of her question. Beside her, he shifted, an agitated breath escaping him before he stood up and began to pace slightly.

  "Took 'im outside," Silas said, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants.

  "Outside?" Natasha asked with a tilt of her head.

  "Yeah. Made sure he wouldn't bother you anymore." Silas rocked back on his heels and looked up at the ceiling, but he said no more.

  "Did you," she paused for a second before she asked, "beat him up?"

  Silas stilled and stared up at the ceiling, but at her question, he cracked a smile. "I prefer the term 'roughed him up'."

  Natasha let out a low chuckle, and at the sound, Silas looked down at her and grinned. "You're not upset?" he asked, biting his lip in a way that was so reminiscent of her younger students when they had done wrong.

  "I wish I was a good enough person to say that I was." Natasha tucked her legs beneath her and shrugged. "But I've never been that great a person."

  Silas smirked at that. "Maddy loves you, which means you're a spectacular person."

  Natasha glowed with pleasure at the mention of her student. "Maddy is a very sweet girl."

  Silas pinned her with another one of his summer sky stares. "And she has an uncanny ability to find the best people."

  Clearing her throat, Natasha looked away from him. "I can see that with you," she said in an attempt to deflect Silas' compliment.

  "Me?" He snorted and waved a hand. "I'm her uncle. She's stuck with me, but you? Maddy worships you."

  Natasha was the one to snort this time. "She does not," she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

  "Do you know how much I hear about Ms. Natasha?" he asked, coming back to sit on the couch next to her. "I think I know every major dance company and production you've ever starred in. She's got a playbill from your last one tacked up on her bedroom wall."

  Natasha's mouth fell open. "She does not."

  Silas wagged a finger at her. "Oh, but she does. She does, Ms. Natasha."

  Natasha covered her face with her hands, but she knew she was unable to hide the blush coloring her fair complexion. "Ms. Natasha? Oh, so it's goin
g to be like that?" she asked with a huff of laughter.

  Silas winked. "Certainly is."

  She crossed her arms and tilted her chin. "If I'm Ms. Natasha, then it's only fair that you're Mr. Silas."

  Silas tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Mr. Silas? That doesn't quite have the ring to it that Ms. Natasha does."

  "Oh, I don't know. I think it's very nice and proper." She grinned at him, her hands no longer worrying the blanket wrapped around her, and she turned to face him on the couch, legs still pulled close to her chest.

  "Do you?" Silas asked, his eyes zeroing in on where the blanket had fallen away from her legs, exposing her skin. Natasha caught his look and blushed, thinking of Silas carrying her from the dance studio in nothing but her scant dance attire.

  "I, y-yes, it's very proper," Natasha stammered when she saw the summer sky in his eyes had again been replaced by the storm, but this time it wasn't out of anger but, rather, something just as powerful. Lust.

  Natasha recognized it because she could feel it coiling in her stomach. It was warm like a shot of vodka on a winter night. And she decided she liked the way Silas was watching her every move with focus.

  "Yes, what?" Silas asked, his voice low. He was leaning closer to her on the couch that now seemed far too small to hold his broad, muscular frame, so close that she could smell the fresh, clean scent of him, feel the heat from his body against her legs. Being this close to Silas made Natasha feel dainty and small, like one of the Faberge eggs her grandmother collected and insisted on keeping in the front room of her home.

  "Yes, Sir," Natasha murmured. The title slipped from her lips as if she were on auto-pilot, and her eyes widened when she realized what she'd said. A low moan escaped Silas' mouth. He leaned closer to her, the couch dipping beneath his weight and his eyes taking in every part of her that wasn't covered by the blanket.