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Dance of Temptation
Janice Sims
Prima ballerina Belana Whitaker knows exactly why she hasn't found her soul mate. Her whole life has been about practice and the pursuit of perfection. Now, though, she has to admit: her jeweled tutus aren't keeping her warm at night. But when a devastating surprise sidelines Belana, a partner from her past tempts her with a whirlwind seduction. Gorgeous, wildly successful sports agent Nicolas isn't used to waiting in the wings.He's entranced by Belana's commitment to her craft and her graceful beauty. But how can he convince the reserved ballet star that they should share the sweetest dance of all? He's determined to show her step by passionate step, kiss by irresistible kiss.



They stood entwined in each other’s arms, kissing.
Their bodies sang with the need to be as one. Belana used to wonder what true sexual synchronization would feel like, because with her other lovers she had not achieved the sheer bliss that she had been told was possible between lovers who were in tune with each other. With Nick, she knew that sublime sensation.
It sounded cheesy, but it was like that old song: she was the magnet and he was steel. She pressed her hands against his hard, muscular chest and moaned with pleasure.
Nick broke off the kiss to caress her cheek and peer down into her beloved face.
“Baby, that night we saw each other again, I swore that I would have my say no matter what. You had to know how much I regretted my actions. I don’t want to regret anything about my relationship with you, so from now on I’m going to just say what’s on my mind—I love you.”

About the Author
JANICE SIMS
is the author of nineteen novels and has had stories included in nine anthologies. She is the recipient of an Emma Award for her novel Desert Heat and two Romance in Color awards: an Award of Excellence for her novel For Keeps and a Best Novella award for her short story “The Keys to My Heart” in the anthology A Very Special Love. She has been nominated for a Career Achievement Award by RT Book Reviews and her novel Temptation’s Song was nominated for Best Kimani Romance Series in 2010 by RT Book Reviews. She lives in Florida with her family.
Books by Janice Sims
Kimani Romance
Temptation’s Song Temptation’s Kiss Dance of Temptation
Dear Reader,
You cannot choose which family you will be born into. And if you could, would you? Our unique experiences are what make us who we are. All the trials and triumphs in our lives mold and shape us. This is what both Belana and Nick realize in this story. They’ve both experienced heartache but believe they have become better people because of it. To find each other and to fall in love and want to build a life together was an added bonus for these two strong-willed people. I hope you enjoy their journey.
If you’d like to contact me you can write me at Jani569432@aol.com, or visit my website at www.janicesims.com. You can also find me on Facebook. If you’re not online yet, you can write me at P.O. Box 811, Mascotte, FL 34753-0811.
Best always,
Janice Sims
Dance ofTemptation
Janice Sims


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
While I was writing this novel I realized that
Belana’s grandmother had the personality of my grandmother:
imperious to a fault, but very funny. So this book is dedicated to
the memory of my grandmother, Ester J. Long,
who left this world at the age of ninety on November 14, 2010.
Thanks to my editor, Kelli Martin, once again for her help
in making this book the best it could possibly be.
And to the rest of the editorial staff at Kimani Press.
You’re all wonderful to work with.

Chapter 1
Belana Whitaker stood backstage at the New York State Theater at Lincoln Center waiting for her cue to take the stage for the final act of Swan Lake. While she waited, she kept her muscles warm by stretching and raising her body onto the tips of the fresh pair of pointe shoes she’d changed into after the first three acts. She rarely had to change shoes between acts, but the toe box in the left shoe of the other pair had begun to break down. Well-fitting shoes were essential to a good performance.
Tonight marked the last show in which she would dance the role of Odette. Around her, other members of the ballet company warmed up as well. Strains of Tchaikovsky’s passionate score played by the symphony orchestra filled the air. The sound waves vibrated in her belly, making her jittery with excitement.
Her partner, Gideon Oliveras, who was dancing the role of Prince Siegfried, sidled up to her. Six-two and with a body whose muscular frame had been honed to perfection from years of ballet, he also had the face of a screen idol and was the sweetest guy in the company. “Ready to create magic?” he asked softly in his Spanish-accented voice.
Hearing the smile in his tone, Belana turned her face up to his and smiled back at him. “More than ready. I’m fired up! It would be nice if we didn’t have to die this time,” she joked. In the ballet, the lovers drown in the lake and their souls ascend to Heaven.
Gideon beamed. “Sorry, I can’t make any promises. Besides, when you fall into my arms, it’s the highlight of my night, every night.”
Belana laughed shortly. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”
“I do not!” Gideon replied, feigning hurt at her accusation. He was happily married to another dancer. He would never cheat on her, but he’d always had a soft spot for Belana. He saw no signs that she was aware of it, though. In times like this she was focused only on the dance. He gave an imperceptible sigh, and drank in her beauty. Underneath the stage makeup was golden-brown skin that glowed, and somewhere behind the artificial eyelashes that were so long and thick they looked better suited for a cow, were warm, golden-brown eyes that sparkled. Heavy makeup was one of the sacrifices a ballerina made in order to be seen by theatergoers in the last row.
“Of course you do,” Belana said with a grin. She smoothed a stray lock of long, wavy, dark brown hair with auburn highlights behind her ear. “We girls appreciate the attention. Although we know you’d never leave Gwen. You’re too perfect together.”
His wife, Gwen Barrow-Oliveras, was a principal dancer with another ballet company in New York City. “Because she would kill me if I cheated on her. She’s very high-strung, our Gwen,” Gideon said.
Belana couldn’t tell if he was joking or not, but the image of slender-to-the-point-of-near-emaciation, ultrafeminine Gwen overpowering her much larger husband made her giggle. Now, if she were the one with blood in her eye, she might do him some damage. She was not one of those tiny ballerinas who looked as if a stiff breeze might blow her away. She was an athlete with muscles capable of achieving onstage leaps rivaling those of her male colleagues. Twenty years of ballet plus weight training and long-distance running had made her strong. She didn’t look bulky like a weight lifter. Her muscles were gracefully elongated, giving her the kind of extension ballet dancers needed in order to perform intricate moves. None of it had been won without hours of grueling practice.
Which culminated in nights like this, she reminded herself as she and Gideon received their cues and leaped on to the stage, followed by the corps de ballet.
The audience applauded enthusiastically, and Belana couldn’t help thinking of the loved ones she had in the audience—her father, John, her stepmother, Isobel, and her brother, Erik.
She knew they were sitting somewhere in the middle of the theater, close to the front, but because of the bright lights she was unable to see them. Perhaps it was a good thing since all her concentration was needed to make certain her movements were precise.
The choreographer had taken risks and included acrobatics that had her soaring in tandem with Gideon, who was well-known for his ability to seemingly defy gravity and appear to be flying.
They executed an airborne split, Belana in her white swan costume, Gideon in his hunter’s costume, dancing to her left in such perfect timing that he could have been her shadow. The audience gasped with delight, marveling at the height the two achieved, and the ease with which they landed and promptly went into a lift in which Gideon raised Belana above his head. With her arms spread wide, back arched, Belana exulted in the moment. This was the reason she’d never wanted to be anything except a dancer—this feeling of utter elation, of time standing still, of being in sync with another human being to such an extent that you felt as close to paradise as you ever would on earth.
In the audience her stepmother, Isobel, momentarily held her breath. “Oh, dear God, don’t let him drop her,” she said softly.
Her husband, John, laughed quietly. “Don’t worry, darling, she’s in good hands.”
Farther in the back of the theater, fifteen-year-old Nona Reed sat rapt, her eyes hardly blinking as she stared at the dancers onstage. One day, she promised, she would be the one up there wowing the audience. She would be as good as Belana Whitaker.
She’d gotten so excited that she’d reached for her grandmother’s hand, something she didn’t often do anymore because she thought she was too old for those kinds of demonstrations of affection. Momma Yvonne had squeezed her hand affectionately.
Nona knew Momma Yvonne was as happy to be here as she was. She loved the ballet. “Your father’s going to be sorry he missed this,” she whispered into Nona’s ear.
Nona smiled, but mentioning her father had stuck a pin in her balloon of happiness. She doubted very much that he was even thinking of her tonight. He was somewhere in California negotiating a deal for one of his big-time sports stars. He didn’t care about her.
“I swear to God, Calvin, I will personally wring your neck if you don’t come to your senses and stop trying to ruin your life!” Nicolas Reed, sports agent, bellowed. Sitting in front of him, reeking of stale booze and holding a cold towel to his pounding head, was Calvin Pruitt, star wide receiver for the Seattle Seahawks.
Calvin raised his head. His bloodshot eyes didn’t appear to be focusing. “Could you lower your voice?” he whined.
“No!” yelled Nick. “I won’t! You need to hear me, and hear me well. You’re lucky management is not kicking you to the curb. Fighting over women in nightclubs …”
“That only happened once!”
“Driving while under the influence; showing up drunk at charity events. Come on, Calvin, that’s embarrassing!” Nick paced the floor of Calvin’s elegantly appointed living room. “As for your career, you’re lucky it’s the off-season. You still have time to get in shape before training for the new season begins. You don’t have the luxury of stretching out your bad behavior for much longer. Janet’s serious about divorcing you if you don’t stop acting like a fool. And I’ve told you this more than once, you’re getting that big paycheck because you’re delivering the goods and when you stop delivering the goods, it all goes away.” Nick paused for a deep breath. “If you don’t believe me, keep treating your body like a trash disposal and see how fast you’re fired. Frankly, I don’t want to be around to see you fall that hard. If you can’t be the man I think you are, I’ll have to stop representing you. I don’t want to watch you crash and burn.”
This time Calvin’s eyes focused and he actually looked pained to hear Nick’s threat. “You wouldn’t do that to me, man,” he said pleadingly. Nicolas Reed had taken him on five years ago when he’d been plucked from collegiate obscurity and given the opportunity to play for the Seahawks. He had been a solid college ballplayer, but not a star. He’d seen some of his fellow teammates at Notre Dame become top draft picks while he had prayed that somebody, anybody, would take a chance on him. He’d gotten his wish but was about to blow it because he hadn’t been able to handle the pressures. A salary he was certain he wasn’t worth. With the salary came responsibilities he wasn’t prepared for. His family, his friends were constantly coming to him with their hands out. And the women! Women who probably wouldn’t give him the time of day if he weren’t a millionaire were throwing themselves at him. He’d broken his marriage vows, started drinking too much and partying until he dropped. Spending money like there was no tomorrow. Spiraling ever downward. Now his wife had threatened him with divorce and the loss of custody of his three-year-old son if he didn’t straighten up.
Tears gleamed in his eyes as he stared up at his friend and agent. “Do you think I need to go to rehab?”
Nick nodded solemnly. “I’ve already set it up. Four weeks in Arizona. Physical conditioning and sessions with a psychiatrist who’ll help you face the reasons why you’re trying to throw your life away. You say you want your wife back. You’re not going to win her back with this behavior and if you’re not careful, you’re going to lose Calvin Jr., too. You’ve got to man up, my brother. Do the hard thing, and that’s to admit you’ve screwed up and do everything you can to make it up to your family. Got me? Because if you can’t find the strength to do that, it will prove to me that you’ve given up on yourself, and if you’ve given up on yourself, then I can’t represent you anymore. I know that sounds cold, but sometimes you have to face the cold, hard truth before you can change.”
Nick looked regretful but he wasn’t about to back down. Too much was at stake: Calvin’s future and his wife, Janet’s, future. She had been the one to phone Nick and ask him to talk to Calvin, try to make him see what he was doing to their son, Calvin Jr., with his irresponsible behavior. Nick admired her for wanting to fight for her family and had gotten to Seattle as quickly as he could.
Calvin cried silent tears. His head continued to throb with pain and the crying had released mucus that was running out of his nose. He grabbed tissues off the table in front of him and blew his nose. “Do you still believe in me, Nick?”
Nick paused before speaking because he knew his answer meant a lot to Calvin. He’d known from the beginning that Calvin had self-esteem issues, which led to his being so easily duped by women who were only after his money. Calvin wasn’t the first professional athlete Nick had dealt with whose ego was blown up by fame, making them believe they could have any woman they wanted and not have to suffer the consequences. Nick hadn’t seen this coming, though, because when he’d met Calvin at Notre Dame when he was a senior, he’d been a young man yearning to make something of himself; he’d been honest and hard-working, a truly good guy whom Nick was proud to represent.
One of Nick’s strengths was seeing the potential in someone and helping them reach it. “I still believe in you, Calvin.” He placed a comforting hand on Calvin’s shoulder and squeezed. “Now, get up, get showered and dressed. You’re getting on a plane in three hours.”
After Calvin had left the room, Nick sat down hard on a chair. Sighing heavily, he raked a big hand over his close-cropped natural black hair and let his bearded chin rest wearily on his chest for a moment. He had threatened to stop representing Calvin only to scare him into facing his issues. When he’d started out as an agent he hadn’t known that in his job description would be nursemaid and life coach. However, in the past seven years he’d done his fair share of intervening in the life of an athlete whose career was headed down the tubes. Sometimes he succeeded, as he felt certain he would do with Calvin. Sometimes he failed. It was never up to him, though. Each individual had to find the strength to break through whatever obstacles were keeping him down and find the winner within.
Rising, he smiled to himself, thinking of Nona. He glanced at his watch. It would be around 8:00 p.m. in New York City right now. She would be at the ballet with his mother, Yvonne. He suddenly had the urge to call her just to hear her voice, but he knew he would be interrupting and she wouldn’t appreciate it. His little girl was hooked on ballet. She lived and breathed it. She took weekly classes, and practiced every day. There were recitals he missed more often than not, but which he got blow-by-blow critiques of from his mother; and Nona’s bedroom wall was covered in posters of ballet luminaries, mostly of guys in tights with prominent packages. Nick grimaced. He hoped Nona didn’t choose guys for that reason. But she was fifteen. Try as he might to keep her his little girl, she was growing up.
He’d told her he had two stops to make this weekend, one in Seattle and the other in San Francisco, but he bet she’d only remembered the one in California. She half listened when he talked to her. Part of the reason she heard only what she wanted to hear was because she was behaving like a martyr recently. It was poor Nona this, poor Nona that, twenty-four-seven. She thought he was neglecting her because she didn’t live with him. She lived with her grandmother in Harlem while he had an apartment in Manhattan. An apartment he hardly lived in himself because he traveled so often. The agency where he was a top agent was also located in Manhattan. He kept telling her that one day soon he would be starting his own agency and he wouldn’t have to travel so much, then she could move in with him.
She’d been only five when Dawn, her mother, and his wife, had gotten killed in a car crash when she was on the way home from visiting her family in Virginia. A day didn’t go by that he didn’t miss her. She’d been the only woman he’d ever loved. Sometimes he thought she would be the only one he ever would.
Yes, he got lonely. Loneliness, however, was better than dating nowadays. He’d tried it, and it was a nightmare. Too many women wanted to get serious too quickly. They’d obviously been waiting a long time to meet their Prince Charming, and were racing against time to procreate. They wanted to jump in bed on the first date or if they were more subtle, on the second date. They scared the hell out of him. Then there were those with relationship phobias. In spite of women thinking that men were the ones who were afraid of commitment, these women took the prize. They never wanted to define what was going on between you. They wanted to keep it loose. Date and have sex, but with no strings attached. He called it intimacy without intimacy. And when you pressed them for something more than a ready date on Friday night with breakfast included on Saturday morning, they accused you of wanting someone to take care of you. Nick Reed certainly didn’t need a mother, he had one; and he didn’t need a wife, either. He did require something real when he dated a woman, though. No games for him.
He thought he had found someone he could enjoy being with for the rest of his life around eight months ago, but she didn’t know how to be honest with him. Subsequently, they had stopped seeing one another over a misunderstanding.
It suddenly struck him. Nona was going to the ballet tonight. And the woman he’d just thought about was a ballet dancer. He wondered if his daughter listed her as one of her idols. If she did, Nona had never mentioned it. Which wasn’t surprising since his daughter didn’t share her hopes and dreams with him. She reserved that for her grandmother. His heart ached because of it.
His cell phone rang. He hoped it was Nona calling but one glance at the display revealed it was another of his clients. He answered with an enthusiastic, “Joey, how’s it going?”
“Oh, man, you’re not gonna believe this,” said Joey Blake, a right fielder with the Boston Red Sox, “Lola’s expecting!”
Nick breathed a happy sigh of relief. Good news for a change. Joey and Lola had been trying to have a baby for years. “Congratulations, daddy,” Nick said, laughing.
After the performance was over, Belana was in the dressing room she shared with several other ballerinas, getting out of her costume when the door to the dressing room opened and yet another ballerina entered. “Belana?” she said, looking around the room to the back where she spotted Belana pulling on a pair of jeans.
“Yes, Suri?” answered Belana, as she zipped up the jeans and stepped into her athletic shoes.
Suri Nash, a dark-haired dancer with brown eyes smiled as she approached her. “You’ve got a fan, an adorable teen with stars in her eyes. She’s waiting for you in the lobby.”
Belana laughed softly. Suri could be talking about none other than Nona Reed, the teenager she had been mentoring for the past six months. They had met when Belana had volunteered her time and expertise at a community center in Harlem. The woman who ran the program liked to introduce neighborhood kids to people in interesting careers so they would know there was no limit to what they could aspire to. There had been a few kids in the audience who wanted to be dancers and afterward they had approached Belana as a group, led by Nona Reed, and asked her to come to their dance class. She’d done so and had been impressed with their dedication, especially Nona’s. Before long, Belana was teaching the class, along with their regular instructor, one Wednesday night per month. After class the other students hurried away, happy to be leaving the dance studio in favor of more interesting pursuits. Nona Reed lingered, practicing in front of the mirror until the community center closed. Belana stayed behind one night, too, and they began dancing together. Nona told Belana of her dreams of one day commanding the stage, traveling around the world dancing, just like her. Belana told her about the glamorous side of a dancer’s life, but made sure to give her the sobering facts, too. They’d become friends.
“Thanks, Suri,” Belana said now as she grabbed her bag and, fully dressed, headed for the door.
“Are you coming to the after party?” asked Suri, hopefully.
“I think I’ll pass,” Belana said. She rarely went to after parties. It was opening night that excited her, hearing the audience’s first reaction to the performance. Her friends Elle and Patrice and their husbands had attended opening night three months ago. The ballet had been the longest-running of Belana’s career, eight performances per week for twelve weeks. She simply wanted to rest for the two months the company would be on hiatus, and come back refreshed.
“There will be guys there,” Suri said, still trying to entice her. “Guys who aren’t dancers. When was the last time you went out on a date?”
It was true. Belana had been experiencing a dry spell. After getting her heart stomped on eight months ago, she had decided to take a break from men. She had recently met a nice guy, though, and was attending a fundraiser with him next Friday night.
“Don’t waste your pity on me,” she told Suri with a sly smile. “I have a date with Eli Braithwaite.”
Elias “Eli” Braithwaite was one of the most eligible bachelors in New York City. It didn’t hurt that he was the highest-scoring player on the Knicks’ roster. Sports reporters swore the Knicks were having a good year largely because of him.
“You lucky girl!” exclaimed Suri. “I’m so jealous.”
“It’s just a date,” Belana said. “Nothing is going to happen. You know my motto …”
“Never kiss on a first date,” Suri said, laughing. “I don’t understand. How are you going to know whether or not you want to see him again if you don’t kiss him?”
“If you’re drawn to a person, you know it from the moment you meet. You don’t have to kiss to know whether he excites you or not. He can just walk into the room,” Belana avowed. “I know you’ve experienced chemistry with a guy.”
“Yes, but I like to test whether or not the chemistry is real. What if you’re attracted to him but when you kiss him he has bad breath?”
Belana laughed. “If he has bad breath, you’re going to smell it long before you get close enough to kiss him.”
Suri, walking with her to the door, wrinkled her nose in distaste. “True. I guess I just like kissing.”
“No harm in that,” Belana said. “I don’t do it because if I decide I don’t want to see a guy again after the first date, I haven’t given him any encouragement. He can’t say I led him on only to drop him.”
“You should have been a lawyer instead of a dancer,” Suri said with a smile. They hugged again at the door. “You’re still going on vacation with your girlfriends?” she asked as she held the door open for Belana.
“Oh, most definitely,” Belana said. “Elle and Patty and I are going to Greece for a girls-only getaway. What are you planning to do over the break?”
“I can’t tell you,” Suri said in a whisper. “It involves that guy you warned me about.”
Frowning, Belana stepped back into the room and shut the door. She could spare five more minutes for a friend. “Look, Suri, I know you’re young and carefree and you think dating a married man is daring and you’re having the time of your life. But married men rarely leave their wives, especially rich men who have so much to lose. His wife is going to take him for everything he has and ever will have if she finds out about you two. If she still wants him, she’ll bring him to heel. And the first thing he’ll do is drop you.”
Suri shrugged nonchalantly. “I’m having fun. I’m not in it to break up his marriage. It’s just nice to be pursued by such a rich, powerful man.”
Belana dropped her bag on to the floor, grabbed Suri by the arm and dragged her over to a mirror. “Look at yourself!” Suri smiled at her reflection. She was a brunette beauty with wavy hair that fell to her waist, a perfect dancer’s body with long, shapely legs. “There are so many men out there who would treat you just as well as Mr. Moneybags, without the inevitable heartache. Get a grip. Drop him before it stops being just fun and turns into love.”
Suri sighed deeply and stopped smiling. “He says I’m the best thing that ever happened to him.”
“They all say that!” Belana cried vehemently. She turned Suri around and looked her in the eyes. “Has anything I’ve said gotten through?”
Suri lowered her eyes shamefully.
Belana knew when she was beaten. Suri would have to learn the hard way. She threw her hands up and turned and walked away. “Just be careful,” she said in parting. She was gone before Suri could say anything else.
As she quickly walked through the mostly abandoned backstage area and headed to the front of the building where the lobby was located, Belana wondered if anyone actually listened to advice from well-meaning friends when they were involved in illicit love affairs. She supposed the excitement of an affair was simply too hard a thing to resist. To say nothing of the forbidden sex and the subterfuge needed to meet for their assignations without being caught. It was too much drama for her, which was why she avoided married men. Let a married man come on to her and she was quick to cut him off at the knees.

Chapter 2
“I’m sorry your father couldn’t make it,” Belana said to Nona after they’d hugged hello.
Nona, who was five-six, two inches taller than Belana, shrugged her slender shoulders regrettably. “We invited him, but he had to travel for work.”
Belana had once asked Nona about her father’s occupation and the girl had told her he was a lawyer. She had then quickly moved on to another subject, which made Belana think her father was a sore topic of conversation. To further make her suspicious that things were not going well between Nona and her father, one day, when they were practicing in the studio at the community center, Nona had mentioned that she didn’t live with her father. She lived with her grandmother, while he had an apartment in the city. Belana wondered why that was, but didn’t ask. She only knew that if she had a daughter as wonderful as Nona, she wouldn’t palm her off on her mother.
Belana smiled at Nona’s grandmother. “I’m glad you could make it, Mrs. Reed.”
Yvonne Reed was a petite, golden-brown-skinned beauty with silver, naturally wavy hair that she wore cut short and tapered at the nape. She was sixty-eight, but looked years younger. “I wouldn’t have missed it,” she said, dark brown eyes sparkling with excitement. “You were wonderful!”
“Oh, thank you,” Belana said with a warm smile.
“There you are!” Belana heard her brother, Erik, call behind them. She spun around and there he was hurrying toward her and the Reeds. When he reached her he hugged her tightly. “Great job, sis!”
“Thanks, Erik,” Belana said after he’d let her go. She gestured to the Reeds. “I’d like you to meet Nona Reed and her grandmother, Mrs. Yvonne Reed.”
Erik, six-one and athletic, was dressed in a black tailored suit, white shirt, dark gold tie and black wingtips polished to a high shine. He and Belana shared the same dark golden-brown skin tone and coppery brown eyes. He wore his black natural hair shorn very close to the scalp and was clean-shaven. Belana often told him he was ugly as sin, but that was simply a sister bringing a too-confident brother down a peg or two. He was a handsome devil, as both Nona’s and her grandmother’s reaction to his presence attested. They were smiling widely and gazing up at him with open admiration.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, ladies,” Erik said as he smiled down at them.
“Did Mom and Dad already leave for the airport?” Belana asked Erik. Her stepmother, Isobel Jones-Whitaker, whom she called Mom, had phoned her to tell her she and her father would have to fly to Zurich for a scientific symposium right after the performance, but wouldn’t dream of missing her final bow as Odette.
“I’m afraid so,” Erik answered, still smiling at the Reeds. “I told them I would wait around and take you to a late dinner.”
“That sounds good,” said Belana. “I’m starving.” She looked at the Reeds. “Would you like to join us? My treat, it would give us more time to chat.”
“I’d love …” Nona began. But her grandmother grasped her arm, stopping her. Smiling, Yvonne turned to Belana. “You’re very sweet, but we should be getting home.”
Nona sighed with regret. She would’ve loved to share a meal with Belana and her gorgeous brother. How often did she get to dine with a ballet star? Better yet, how often did she get to practice her flirting skills, which needed a lot of work since she had just discovered she had flirting skills, on a real man? The guys she went to school with were no challenge at all. However, her grandmother delivered meals to elderly shut-ins on Saturday mornings, a task Nona helped with and it was more important to her not to disappoint her grandmother than socializing with one of her idols.
“Yeah, we have to get up early in the morning,” she said to Belana. She gave Belana another hug. “Thank you for inviting us tonight, we really enjoyed it.”
Belana hugged her back, thinking that even if her father couldn’t be with her as often as she wished, he had certainly chosen a good substitute in his mother. It was obvious Yvonne Reed was a good influence on her granddaughter.
“You’re welcome. I’m glad you enjoyed yourself,” said Belana. “See you at the center in a couple of weeks, okay?”
“I wouldn’t miss it,” Nona assured Belana, and she took her grandmother’s proffered hand. They bade Belana and Erik good-night.
As they walked away, Erik said softly, “What a nice kid.”
“Yes, she is,” agreed Belana with a wistful tone to her voice.
Erik put an arm around her shoulders and they began walking toward the exit. Most of the two-thousand-plus theatergoers had left the theater so the lobby was fairly deserted now.
“You sound like you want one of those,” Erik joked.
Belana knew he was referring to her desire to have children one day. But that meant putting her career on hold and Belana, at twenty-eight, still felt she had a lot of years left in her body. Some dancers continued to perform well into their forties. Occasionally, you found one who was still dancing in their fifties, but they were the exception. The human body wore out. Joints became arthritic, muscles lost their tone, and bones became brittle with age. Dancers were constantly fighting to stay healthy.
“Someday,” Belana said softly. She looked up at him, “You’re the one about to turn thirty-three. You need to get on the ball!”
“I don’t need that from you and Gran,” Erik complained good-naturedly. Their father’s mother, Drusilla Whitaker, was on his case quite often. She said she wanted to be around to see at least one great-grandchild born. A mischievous smile crinkled his face. “Of course, if Ana Corelli were interested, I could be persuaded to procreate.”
Belana laughed. “Why don’t you just ask the girl out? You’ve been salivating over her for the past two years.”
“Because whenever I’m free, she’s involved with someone, and whenever she’s free I’m involved with someone.”
“She’s not involved with anyone right now,” Belana told him. “That pretty-boy actor she was dating was caught cheating.”
“What kind of fool would cheat on her?” Erik asked incredulously.
“A fool who believes the hype about his being the sexiest guy in America,” Belana answered.
“She was dating him?” Again, his tone was disbelieving.
Belana frowned, thinking of the flavor-of-the-month actor who had recently trampled on Ana Corelli’s heart. Ana, the sister of her friend Elle’s husband, Dominic Corelli, was a highly sought-after model living in New York City. She was exquisitely beautiful, her Italian and African-American heritage producing an exotic look that made anyone seeing her for the first time do a double take. As beautiful as her visage was, though, Ana Corelli’s spirit was even more beautiful. She was a sweet girl who was genuinely nice, sometimes a rarity among beautiful women. And she had talent, not just posing for the camera. She was a painter who, when she gained confidence, Belana was sure, would quit modeling and turn all her attention to her art where it belonged. That’s how strongly Belana felt that Ana’s true calling was not modeling but painting.
“I put a curse on him,” Belana told her brother as they stepped outside of the building and began walking toward the street. Friday night in Manhattan was crowded as usual. People were not in as big a rush as they were during daylight hours, though. They strolled down city streets going to the theater, in this district, going out to dinner, or just meeting friends for drinks. “The next time he has sex with some trampy starlet his thing is going to fall off.”
“Ouch!” Erik laughed. “Must you be so Lorena Bobbitt?”
“He deserves it,” Belana said with emotion. “You’re a man …”
“Oh, no, when a sentence starts with those words, I know I’m in for it,” said Erik.
“Seriously,” his sister persisted. “Why can’t a man be satisfied with one woman? Why does he need to have sex with as many women as possible?”
Erik, whose nature was to joke around when presented with an uncomfortable situation, cracked, “Where are all those women they’re having sex with? I’m lucky if I have a date on a Friday night. Look at me, taking my sister to dinner.”
Belana gave him her dead-eyes look. Erik hated that look. It meant she was fed up with joking and wasn’t going to put up with his mess. He swore she got it from Grandma Drusilla who was the only woman who could make him shake in his boots.
“If we’re going to have a serious conversation about the state of the male/female relationship, I’ll need sustenance,” he said. They stood in front of a small restaurant that theatergoers frequented and which was a favorite of Belana’s. Erik held the door open for Belana.
Inside, the hostess, a tall leggy redhead with green eyes cried, “Belana, I heard you killed tonight. Bravo, my sister!”
Belana gave Julie Banks, an actor working as a hostess until her big break came along, a warm hug. “Thanks, Julie.” Julie in turn kissed her on both cheeks. The two were invariably supportive of one another, as was often the case in the huge artistic community in New York City.
“Table for two?” asked Julie, her attention now on Erik. Belana hadn’t brought Erik in here before.
“Yes, please,” Belana said, smiling at Erik who was blushing from the intensity of Julie’s stare. “This is my brother, Erik,” Belana told Julie. “Erik, Julie Banks. She’s an actor.”
Julie held out her hand. Erik took it and covered it with his other one. “Nice to meet you, Julie,” he said.
“Any brother of Belana’s is a friend of mine,” quipped Julie, her pale cheeks turning a bright pink.
Erik let go of her hand and Julie led them through the packed dining room to a private booth in the back of the room. Julie took the reserved sign off the tabletop and gestured to the table. “I hope this is all right.”
“Perfect,” said Erik. “Thank you, Julie.”
“My pleasure,” said Julie, giving him a high-wattage smile. “A waiter will be with you shortly. Enjoy your evening.”
She walked away, her hips swaying sexily.
When she was gone, Belana laughed softly. “Oh, my God, I thought she was going to throw you on the table and have her way with you.”
“She was just being friendly,” Erik said modestly. He picked up a menu and pretended to be immediately engrossed in it.
Belana reached up and lowered the menu in his hands. “Don’t worry. I know you’re faithful to your infatuation with Ana. Back to my earlier question, why can’t men be faithful?”
“To be fair, sis,” Erik said, putting the menu on the table, “women cheat, too. Who do you suppose the males are cheating with? The straight males, I mean. We are talking about heterosexuals?”
“Of course,” said Belana with a touch of impatience.
“Don’t get snippy, baby sis, or I’ll have to remind you why you’re really upset about Ana’s boyfriend’s infidelity.”
Belana flashed him a belligerent challenge with her eyes. “Go on, Dr. Phil,” she said through clenched teeth.
“Nicolas Reed.” After Erik had said the dreaded name he instantly regretted it. His sister’s eyes filled with tears and she started sniffing to hold them at bay. He snapped up a white cloth napkin from the table and handed it to her. “Sorry,” he said simply, his tone pleading for forgiveness. Belana took the napkin and dabbed at her wet face.
She attempted a weak smile. “Damn, why do I still do that?”
“Because you were in love with the guy and you don’t want to admit it,” Erik said as if the explanation should be obvious to her.
“That can’t be it,” Belana denied emphatically. “I did the right thing by breaking up with him. He showed his true colors after only two months together; once a cheater, always a cheater.”
“Yeah, but you said you two hadn’t had the commitment conversation yet. He didn’t know you wanted an exclusive relationship. You told me he looked shocked when you told him why you didn’t want to see him anymore. You can’t punish a guy for breaking the rules if the rules aren’t even in place.”
“I instinctively knew we belonged together,” said Belana, knowing she sounded unreasonable. “Why didn’t he?”
“Come on now, sis, you know how you’ve held men at arm’s length for years because you were the one afraid of settling down. And no wonder. You were abandoned by your mother when you were barely two and she hasn’t made any effort to be in your life ever since. Yes, you would wonder if you’d inherited her lack of commitment. Now, though, you know you’re not like our mother. You have the capacity for long-term commitment. You just need to find the right guy. And you cry at the mention of Nicolas Reed because you think you might have missed your chance due to a case of miscommunication. Sounds to me as if he was hoping you wanted to be exclusive, but you weren’t honest with him.” Erik paused, waiting for Belana’s response to his accusation. All he got from his sister was more silent tears.
She rose. “Excuse me.”
Erik rose too, his hand on her elbow. “Are you all right? Should we go?”
Belana shook her head and picked up her bag. “I just need to wash my face. If the waiter comes before I get back, order for me. You know what I want.”
Erik sat down, feeling helpless. Why hadn’t he kept his big mouth shut this time? He and Belana had always been close. Their parents divorced when Belana was two and he was seven. He remembered the fights between his parents as vividly as if they had occurred yesterday. Their mother, Mari Elizabeth Whitaker, known as Mari Tautou today, accused their father, John, of hindering her career, of trying to keep her barefoot and pregnant. Mari was a dancer. Belana had inherited that much from Mari. That’s where the comparisons ended. Mari had never wanted to be a mother. The housekeeper, Mrs. Kent, got Erik up for school every morning, made his breakfast, saw him off to school. When he returned, she was there to give him an afternoon snack, make sure he did his homework, give him dinner and put him to bed at night. Belana was too young to remember the neglect by their mother, but he hadn’t been. Mari couldn’t even fake affection. He had felt loved by their father, but he had felt like an inconvenience to his mother. Those were not warm memories. He thanked God he had Mrs. Kent and his grandmother, Drusilla, as mother figures. Drusilla was kind enough not to deride his mother in his presence, even though he was quite sure Drusilla didn’t like her. Now that he was an adult, Drusilla no longer held her tongue on the subject of Mari. She’d told him he had better not marry a woman simply because she was beautiful. His choice had better have something wonderful going for her other than her looks. “Your father was blinded by your mother’s looks,” Drusilla said of Mari. “If he had bothered to look deeper he wouldn’t have had anything to do with her.” Then she had smiled and gently rubbed his cheek. “He did get two good things out of his marriage, you and Belana.”
Erik sighed deeply. The reason he had made Belana face her feelings for Nicolas Reed was because if she had dropped him because she feared commitment, and the misunderstanding that broke them up was not as monumental as Belana had described it, then she was allowing her mother to win. Allowing Mari to have an adverse affect on her life, when Mari never wanted to be a part of her life made no sense to Erik. By no means should Mari have that much influence. He would do everything in his power to prevent it.
The waiter arrived. He cleared his throat because Erik was still deep in his own thoughts. “Good evening, sir. Would you like to hear the specials?”
“No,” said Erik. “Just bring me two cheeseburgers, fries and vanilla milk shakes.”
Belana liked comfort food after a show closed. Something in her was in mourning whenever a show ran its course. Carbohydrates gave her an emotional boost. Plus, she only splurged a few times a year; every other day of the year she stuck to a healthy diet.
“Right away, sir,” said the waiter, a thin, middle-aged black man with a thin, graying mustache and absolutely no hair on his head. He wore the customary uniform consisting of a white shirt, black slacks and black comfortable shoes.
When Belana returned, looking refreshed, she sat down to a meal that had just been brought to their table. She smiled at her brother. “You’re an angel.”
Erik smiled knowingly. “Running an extra five miles is worth it.” He, too, liked to stay in shape.
They both said silent prayers before beginning to eat. Erik watched Belana attack her burger and smiled. “So what did you decide in the bathroom? To continue our conversation or ignore it altogether?”
Belana swallowed. She wiped some burger juices away from the corner of her mouth with the cloth napkin. “I’m not going to ignore it. But what can I do? It’s been eight months, he’s probably moved on. He was dating someone else when I ran into them, remember?”
“That doesn’t mean he’s dating her now,” Erik said around a mouthful of burger. Belana frowned at his poor table manners. When they were kids he used to gross her out by showing her the food in his mouth while he was eating. At least he’d stopped doing that.
Seeing her expression, Erik swallowed and took a sip of his milk shake while he awaited her response. When she still didn’t say anything, he said, “Chicken?”
“I would be humiliated if I phoned him to try to get back together with him and he’s involved with someone else,” she admitted. She took a big bite of burger and chewed slowly, very slowly, letting her brother know that she would not be replying to any antagonistic questions any time soon.
Erik knew her, though, and decided to eat in silence. When her plate was clean, she would have no excuse not to answer his questions.
Halfway through their meal, Julie sauntered over to their table. “Is everything to your satisfaction?” she asked, smiling at Erik.
Erik was pleased to be interrupted. His sister wasn’t making an effort to be a pleasant dinner companion. “Hi, Julie,” he said, giving her the benefit of his sexiest smile. “Yes, thank you, everything’s great.”
Julie sighed and tossed her long, wavy red tresses over her shoulder. “Okay,” she said, drawing out the word as if she were reluctant to have to go. “Let me know if you need anything, and I mean anything.”
Belana noticed the stress she’d put on the word “anything” and had nearly choked on a fry. Her brother, charming devil, smiled suggestively at Julie, and said, “I surely will.”
Belana kicked him underneath the table.
When Julie had gone, Erik frowned at his sister. “That hurt.”
“I meant it to hurt,” Belana told him. Finished eating, she pushed her plate aside and pulled her milk shake forward to concentrate on it. “If you’re serious about Ana, you can’t go around flirting with waitresses. You see? That’s what I mean about men. I thought you loved Ana, and yet you can’t resist toying with the affections of an innocent bystander.”
Erik laughed shortly. “Who said I was in love with Ana? I am in fantasy-love with Ana. There’s a difference. And there’s no harm in a little flirting.”
“Until you take it to the next step, and believe me, Julie wants to take it to the next step. If you’re serious about Ana, I’ll help you. But I’m not going to help you get a date with Ana if you insist on behaving like a hound. She’s been hurt enough by men who didn’t know how to be faithful to one woman.”
“She has?” Erik asked.
“Don’t you know it’s the bane of the beautiful woman’s existence? Men want to be with beautiful women because they look good on their arms and make them the envy of other men. But beautiful women have a very hard time finding that one special guy who’ll love them for what’s inside, not for how they look.”
“Ana told you she’d been hurt before pretty-boy actor broke her heart?”
“A couple of times,” Belana told him. “So if you’re going to win Ana’s heart, you need to be unimpressed by her looks and get to know who she is on the inside.”
There was a contemplative expression on Erik’s face. He twirled his straw around in his milk shake, thinking. Then he looked across the table and met his sister’s eyes. “I’d never do anything to hurt her.”
Belana smiled, satisfied. “I’m glad to hear it. She’s going to be back in town in about three weeks. I’ll invite you both to dinner.”
“No,” said Erik.
“No?” cried Belana, surprised he would object to her fixing him up with the woman of his dreams.
“No,” her brother repeated. “A dinner designed for us to be in the same room at the same time, and it’s just the two of us invited, will look contrived. I’ll wait until one of the family dinners during the holidays when there will be lots of people around. I don’t want her guard up before I can even begin to plead my case.”
“It’s your call,” Belana said, resigned. “But it’s August. There are three months before Thanksgiving. What if she meets someone else?”
“She won’t,” Erik said confidently. “We’re meant to be together, I feel it.”
“I felt that way about Nick,” Belana reminded him. “But he apparently didn’t.”
“That you know of,” countered Erik. “You’re too chicken to ask him.”
“Yes, I am,” said Belana.
“Then you’ll never know,” said Erik with a sad note to his voice. “Look, Belana, I can’t force you to do anything, but I have to say this. If you can’t get over your cowardice and go after Nicolas Reed if you really want him, then Mari wins. Even though she has managed to stay out of your life all these years, she will have ruined it.”
The arrival of their waiter saved Belana from having to reply to that. “Can I get you anything else?” he politely asked.
“No,” Erik told him. “Thank you.”
The waiter promptly placed the check on the table. “Thank you for your patronage. Please come again.” He smiled faintly and walked away.
Erik picked up the check, put a nice tip on the table, and rose. Belana picked up her bag. She sensed her brother’s mood. He was disappointed in her. She hated it when he put her on a pedestal, behaving as if she couldn’t have flaws in her character like normal people. So, she was being a bit of a coward and protecting her heart when it came to Nicolas Reed. Did that make her a bad person? No!
Erik turned his back on her and began making his way to the front of the restaurant where he intended to pay the bill.
“I’ll think about it,” Belana blurted.
He stopped, turned and smiled at her. “Come here,” he said.
She went into his outstretched arms and they hugged. “You’ve got to stop manipulating me with emotional blackmail,” she complained.
“What are brothers for?” he asked with a smile.

Chapter 3
“Mykonos,” Belana repeated into the cell phone’s receiver.
On her end, Patrice Sutton-McKenna said, “Yes, Mykonos. I’ve made arrangements for us to stay at a resort there. Didn’t you get my email? I sent you the resort’s website so you could check out the accommodations.”
“When did you send it?” asked Belana. She was fastening a diamond bracelet around her right wrist as she talked with the phone held firmly between her left ear and her shoulder. In less than ten minutes Eli Braithwaite was supposed to pick her up for their first date. “I haven’t been online all day.”
Patrice sighed. Belana was one of those people who actually preferred phoning everyone instead of emailing them. “I sent it this morning. Check your mail. Elle and I will meet you at the ferry.”
“Elle’s going to get there before I do? She’s bringing Ari with her, right? I haven’t seen my niece in months.”
“Yes, she’s bringing the little princess with her,” Patrice said. “But it’ll still be just us girls, no boys allowed.”
“That’s cool,” Belana said. “I just want to be pampered. I will be pampered, won’t I?”
Patrice laughed shortly. “Yes, your highness, you will be in the lap of luxury. Anything your heart desires will be at your disposal.”
“Just so there’s a masseuse on the hotel’s staff,” Belana said. “My poor body could use a good massage.”
“No worries,” Patrice assured her. “So, what time do you think you’ll be here?”
“I should be there around eleven in the morning, your time,” Belana told her. “Hey, do you have any news for us?”
“What kind of news?” Patrice asked, suspicious.
“Baby news?” said Belana expectantly. A glance at the alarm clock on the nightstand in her bedroom told her she didn’t have time for word games.
“I’m scheduled to shoot two films in the next six months,” Patrice said with a laugh.
“That never stopped Angelina Jolie,” Belana persisted.
“You’re asking me, how about you?” Patrice said, turning the tables. “You’re the same age as I am. When are you going to have a baby?”
“I’d like to catch a man first.”
“What are you using for bait?”
“My usual exceptionally talented self,” Belana replied jokingly.
“Any interesting prospects?” asked Patrice.
Belana told Patrice about her date with Eli Braithwaite. “We’re going to a fundraiser that the Knicks throw every year to raise money to send inner-city kids to college.”
“How old is he?” Patrice wanted to know.
“He’s twenty-five.”
“Three years younger than you.”
“That doesn’t make me a cougar.”
“No, not at all, but let’s hope he’s a mature twenty-five. You know you get bored easily.”
“I’ve improved in that department. I’m determined to find my soul mate, get married and have a child or two.”
“You sound so convincing,” Patrice intoned, sounding unconvinced.
Belana laughed. “As one of my oldest and dearest friends, you’re supposed to show support instead of deriding me.”
“As one of your oldest and dearest friends, I’m supposed to tell you the truth. Call me when you get back from your date. I’d like to know how that twenty-five-year-old boy held up to your adult sensibilities.”
“He seemed mature when I met him at a fashion show. Ana introduced us.”
“How much time did you spend with him?”
“About thirty minutes and then he asked me out.”
Patrice harrumphed. “You’ve never been attracted to boys. You might think they’re pretty and flirt with them but when you date, you prefer really strong, highly confident men. They’re the only kind who can put up with you.”
“Put up with me?” Belana cried, laughing. “You make me sound high-maintenance.”
“You are,” Patrice said, telling it like it was. “Just call me later and we’ll finish this conversation then.”
The doorbell rang. “Okay, talk to you later,” Belana said hurriedly.
“That’s Eli, huh?” said Patrice.
“Yeah, got to go,” said Belana, in even more of a rush.
“I bet he brought flowers and candy. Oh, and a teddy bear,” Patrice joked. “Little boys always overcompensate because they want to be liked.”
“Bye, Miss Smarty Pants,” said Belana, and hung up on Patrice.
In her bedroom, Belana quickly shoved her cell phone into her clutch and stood in front of the full-length mirror one more time. She wore an off-white sleeveless dress that had a square neckline, which revealed a hint of cleavage, and whose hem fell two inches above her knees. It was well-made, but not a designer original. She spent money sparingly on designers, preferring instead to go with quality clothing she could find at any major department store. She did have a weakness for designer shoes, however. She bought them when they went on sale. Even though her father was a millionaire many times over, and she and Erik would never lack for money, they had been brought up not to be wasteful. Money, their father taught them, was to be used for a purpose, not simply to satisfy your whims. She had favorite charities she contributed to on a regular basis, and she liked spoiling friends and family on occasion with gifts that were unexpected and truly appreciated.
She peered down at her Jimmy Choos, a pair of strappy, off-white sandals. With the extra three inches their heels provided, her head might be even with Eli’s shoulders.
When she opened the door, she silently gave Patrice her due. Eli, all six feet seven inches of him, was wearing a beautiful black tuxedo and highly polished dress shoes. He was carrying a bouquet of red roses, a box of Godiva chocolate truffles and a huge, fluffy, white teddy bear with a red velvet ribbon tied around its neck.
Belana smiled broadly and asked him in. His Calvin Klein for Men preceded him into the room, but it wasn’t overpowering. She had been right about their heights. She had to tiptoe to briefly hug him hello. Then he was pressing the gifts into her arms. “You look beautiful,” he said in his deep baritone, his eyes raking over her.
“Thank you. You look very handsome tonight,” Belana said as she clutched his offerings to her chest. She glanced at them a moment, then raised her eyes back to his. “You’re too generous. But I love roses and chocolate’s one of my guilty pleasures.”
She squeezed the teddy bear. “And he’s just adorable.”
“I’m glad you like them,” Eli said, giving her a boyish grin. He was a good-looking guy with dark-chocolate skin, chiseled facial features that reminded her of Tyson Beckford’s. The two men had the same sort of dark brown eyes with an Asian aspect to them.
“Have a seat while I put these in water, then we can go,” Belana suggested. She turned and fled to the kitchen. Once in the kitchen, she took a deep breath and set everything on the counter next to the sink. Reaching up into the cabinet over the sink, she retrieved a crystal vase and ran a little water into it.
“Patrice doesn’t have to be right,” she muttered as she put the roses into the vase one at a time. “He’s sweet.”
Because she lived in midtown Manhattan, it didn’t take them long to reach the St. Regis on Fifth Avenue. The affair was held on the twentieth floor. The huge room was beautifully lit by crystal chandeliers and sheer, white curtains hung at the floor-to-ceiling windows.
About two hundred people sat at tables with white linen tablecloths where their names had been handwritten on tiny placards and put at their place settings. Belana and Eli were seated at a table with three other couples. Introductions were made after which Belana made polite conversation with a matronly woman with white hair who wore a vintage Chanel suit in a pale pink, pebbled fabric. Belana was fond of vintage clothing and complimented the woman on her suit.
“Oh, darling,” said the woman in a thick New York accent, “this thing has seen me through every presidency since Kennedy. I bought it when Jackie was First Lady. I so admired her style. This suit has outlasted three husbands.”
Belana smiled at the woman’s analogy. It seemed a good suit was more reliable than some men. A cynical view, but an amusing one.
“Well, it has definitely held up over the years,” Belana said.
They chatted throughout the meal which was delicious: prime rib, twice-baked potatoes, broccoli and cauliflower florets, and for dessert, New York cheesecake with fresh strawberries.
After the meal, several of the players got up and told jokes about their coach. It seemed that the fundraiser doubled as a roast. Following the roast, even though there was a band and a dance floor, everyone stood around and conversed over after-dinner drinks. The topic of conversation was invariably basketball. Belana tried her best to look interested, but she was almost relieved when her bladder started complaining and she had to excuse herself to go to the ladies’ room.
She took her time freshening up. Just before leaving the powder room, she looked into the mirror to make sure her upswept hairdo had not bowed to gravity too much over the course of the evening. She rearranged tendrils of her long auburn hair, applied more lipstick, then rejoined Eli and the others.
As she approached the group of men Eli was conversing with, she noticed the back of a man she hadn’t noticed before. He wore his suit well, and although he wasn’t as tall as some of the players, he was otherwise physically their match. There was something awfully familiar about those broad shoulders and the confident manner in which he carried himself.
When she got closer she noticed that he had a beard, one of those very short, neatly trimmed beards that amounted to little more than a few days’ growth. On some men it looked sexy, as it did on this man, or maybe it was the whole package. From this angle he was utterly masculine-looking. He had a classic profile with a strong, square-shaped jaw, high cheekbones, a rather large nose, and full lips. Plus, he had the kind of rich, dark-chocolate skin she was attracted to in a man. Belana moved around so that she could see his face, then she raised her eyes and nearly gasped out loud.
Nicolas Reed. What is he doing here? she screamed in her head. Eli put a possessive arm about her shoulders. She was grateful to have someone to lean on.
Her brain made the connection: Nicolas was a sports agent. This event had a lot of athletes in attendance. Oh, Lord, don’t let him be … she was thinking when Eli cleared his throat and said, “Belana, I’d like you to meet my agent, Nicolas Reed.” He proudly said this as if Nicolas were someone he greatly admired. “Nick, this is my date, Belana Whitaker. Belana’s a principal dancer with the New York City Repertory Dance Theatre.”
Belana tried to smile as she raised her hand to shake Nicolas’s. “Mr. Reed,” she said coolly.
“Miss Whitaker,” Nicolas said, equally coolly. Their eyes met and Belana could see he was just as shocked to see her as she was to see him. Good, she thought, at least I’m not the only one with a racing heart and sweaty palms.
In the ensuing silence, Eli tried to break the ice with, “I think ballet dancers have to be good athletes to perform the way they do.” He smiled down at Belana. “I know I couldn’t do what you do.”
“We definitely wouldn’t want to see you in a tutu,” quipped Nicolas. The other four men laughed uproariously at this, while Nick’s dark brown eyes raked over Belana in a sensual caress that made her heart beat even faster. “Really, Eli, ballet is admittedly beautiful to watch but you couldn’t refer to it as a sport, or the dancers as athletes. It’s an art form. Wouldn’t you agree, Miss Whitaker?”
Belana held her irritation in check. So that was how he wanted to play it: go along with her apparent desire to pretend they didn’t know each other. It would be uncomfortable for her to have to explain their association to Eli, and he knew it. He would have his fun, though, by sending subtle digs her way.
“All I know is,” Belana said very deliberately, “that after twenty years of ballet, I’ve sustained numerous injuries, have often worked myself to exhaustion, my body drenched in sweat, and I have a chiropractor on call.”
“Sounds like an athlete to me,” said one of the gentlemen standing in their circle. Belana thought she’d heard someone say he was the team’s chiropractor. His comment elicited a chuckle or two from everyone.
“Of course she’s an athlete,” said Eli, smiling down at Belana with something like worship in his gaze. Belana groaned inwardly. That’s all she needed, having to deal with a smitten date and an angry ex simultaneously. Maybe she could find some excuse to leave, or at the very least a way to get out of Nick’s presence.
She smiled up at Eli. “Dance with me?”
The band was playing a very nice version of Norah Jones’s “Come Away with Me.”
To her surprise, Eli blushed, and ducked his head. “I’d love to dance with you, Belana, but I’m sorry to say I’ve got two left feet.”
Another of his friends laughed good-naturedly. “Big men rarely have any rhythm. Our feet are too big.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Belana said, smiling at all of them. “I’ve seen the fancy footwork you use on the court!”
She grasped Eli’s hand. “Come on, I’ll teach you.”
He was putty in her hands. He let her lead him on to the dance floor and show him how to hold her while they attempted a simple two-step. He stepped on her toes four times inside of three minutes. With each misstep he looked more embarrassed. Belana, not wanting to put him through the agony any longer, didn’t protest when he said, “We’d better stop before I injure you.”
She got up on the balls of her feet and kissed him on the cheek. “It was sweet of you to try.”
“Anything for you, Belana,” he said, smiling shyly.
Belana felt terrible as they walked back to his group of friends. She had put him through that bit of humiliation all because she hadn’t wanted to face Nick.
As if she’d conjured him up by thinking of him, Nick was suddenly standing in front of them. He glanced at her, but addressed Eli. “I’ll dance with Miss Whitaker if it’s all right with you, Eli.”
Eli looked relieved and grateful all at once. He smiled down at Belana. “If it’s okay with Belana,” he said.
Belana didn’t see how she could refuse without appearing rude. Nick was Eli’s agent and obviously his friend, too. “I’d be delighted,” she said with convincing politeness.
Nick took her by the arm and led her back on to the dance floor. The band had finished the Norah Jones number and had begun the standard, “When I Fall in Love.”
As soon as he pulled her into his arms she knew she was not dealing with an amateur.
His waltz was impeccable. She relaxed a bit in his arms. She hadn’t known he could dance. For the first few minutes they didn’t say anything, simply let their bodies move to the music. Then Nick said, “You colored your hair.”
Belana lifted her head and looked him in the eyes. “You grew a beard.”
Nick’s expression was tender as he met her gaze. His emotions had run the gamut for the past few minutes. Upon seeing her enter the room and then be introduced as Eli’s date, he had been outraged. Anger had rushed through him so rapidly and with such force that it had rocked him to the core. Why was he still angry with her after eight months? Her presence here was unexpected, but that shouldn’t have elicited such a reaction from him. New York was a big city, but it wasn’t unusual to run into people you were trying to avoid. It happened.
Earlier, while they stood talking to several other guests, he had been analyzing his emotions, and he’d come to the conclusion that he still felt anger toward Belana Whitaker because he’d never had the chance to have his say after she’d dumped him. She’d run out of the restaurant and climbed into a waiting taxi. He’d been unable to hail another one fast enough to follow.
Repeated phone calls had gone unanswered, messages not returned. Short of stalking her, he had been helpless to communicate with her. And he was not the stalking type. Nor the begging type. She had made the decision to stop seeing him and he had not forced the issue. However, the fact that she had not even stuck around to hear his side of the story when she’d caught him having dinner with another woman stuck in his craw. He wanted his chance to explain.
“Is this thing with Eli serious?” he asked before he really got down and dirty.
Belana’s eyes met his. “It’s our first date. We haven’t even …”
“Kissed,” Nick finished for her. “I remember you don’t kiss on the first date.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “At least not a real kiss. You just gave Eli a kiss on the cheek.”
“Jealous?” Belana asked, smiling at him.
“A little,” said Nick nonchalantly. “As I recall, I didn’t even get a handshake on our first date.” He gave her an inquisitive look. “So, you’re dating younger men these days? Eli’s barely legal.”
“He told me he was twenty-five!”
“He lied,” Nick stated bluntly. “What twenty-two-year-old wouldn’t lie to date you?”
“Still,” Belana said, casting a glance over her shoulder in Eli’s direction. He was engrossed in conversation with his boys. “That makes me six years older than he is.”
“Don’t be mad at him,” Nick said. He pulled her a little closer. “Now that I have your undivided attention, I’ve got something to say,” he whispered in a steely voice.
Belana’s first reaction at hearing the menace in his tone was to push out of his embrace, but he held her firmly.
“Don’t make a scene,” Nick said. “This won’t take long.” He tried not to be moved by the panicked look in Belana’s big brown eyes. “Calm down,” he said softly. “Nothing’s going to be hurt but your pride, although mine will get a much-needed boost.”
Belana continued to stare up at him, speechless. But she exhaled and relaxed a little.
Sensing that she was willing to cooperate, Nick continued. “Good. That night you caught me having dinner with another woman was the first time I’d seen her. And witnessing the way I ran after you convinced her that it should be the last time.”

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