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Our First Dance
Judy Lynn Hubbard


All the right moves for falling in love… Bad boy impresario Damien Johnson lives to capture the spotlight and play the field. Dancing too close to the flame got him burned once before, so a relationship definitely isn’t in his master plan. But the beautiful newcomer to his ballet company has all the right moves—and is proving to be a challenge he’s not sure he can resist…Natasha Carter is committed to becoming a prima ballerina. So Damien Johnson is the kind of temptation she doesn’t need, no matter how dazzling his technique. She’s sure she can keep the unexpected passion between them strictly professional and achieve everything she’s worked so hard for.But every step, every caress, and every tantalizing kiss is making Natasha question if a forever without Damien is really a dream worth achieving…







All the right moves for falling in love...

Bad-boy impresario Damien Johnson lives to capture the spotlight and play the field. Dancing too close to the flame got him burned once before, so a relationship definitely isn’t in his master plan. But the beautiful newcomer to his ballet company has all the right moves—and is proving to be a challenge he’s not sure he can resist....

Natasha Carter is committed to becoming a prima ballerina. So Damien Johnson is the kind of temptation she doesn’t need, no matter how dazzling his technique. She’s sure she can keep the unexpected passion between them strictly professional and achieve everything she’s worked so hard for. But every step, every caress and every tantalizing kiss is making Natasha question if a forever without Damien is really a dream worth achieving....


“You have to learn to enjoy yourself more.”

“You may be right.”

“I’m always right.”

She laughed. “I’ll remember that.”

“Are you too tired for more?”

“No way.” She took his hand and followed him back onto the ice.

They skated hand in hand, and he twirled her around expertly before bringing her into a pair spin at such a high rate of speed that she was dizzy when they stopped. She leaned into his hard body for balance. Her hands were pressed against his chest and his rested on her waist. They stared deeply into each other’s eyes—each knowing they should move away, yet unable to do so. The smiles on their lips died.

Natasha’s heart skipped several beats as she waited for Damien’s next move. Never releasing her, his face moved closer to hers. One of his hands left her waist to cup her jaw, drawing her nearer. His thumb caressed her smooth cheek. They gravitated together centimeter by centimeter until their lips touched lightly in butterfly kisses at first, but then the dam quickly broke and his mouth demanded and hers surrendered.

They quickly forgot everyone around them and lost themselves in each other.


JUDY LYNN HUBBARD

is a native of Dallas, Texas, and has always been an avid reader—particularly of romance. Judy enjoys well-written, engaging stories with characters she can identify with, empathize with and root for. Judy believes reading and writing are emotional experiences. She loves to write and her goal is to leave each reader completely satisfied when they finish one of her books. When writing, she honestly can’t wait to see what happens next; she knows if she feels that way, she’s created characters and a story that readers will thoroughly enjoy—and that’s her ultimate goal.


Our First Dance

Judy Lynn Hubbard






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Dear Reader,

I’ve always loved the grace and beauty of the ballet, so it’s natural I would write a book about it.

My original plan was to write a reunion romance about a ballerina (Natasha Carter) who had chosen her career over her true love (Damien Johnson); however, through the collaborative editing process, the story evolved into a tale of two people brought together by chance, who grow to know, like and eventually love each other.

I hope you enjoy Natasha and Damien’s journey to true love as much as I enjoyed writing it.

As I completed Our First Dance, a sequel featuring Marcy and Nathan (Natasha and Damien’s siblings) began running rampant through my mind—so, I think I’ll have to tell their story soon.

Watch my website for further news and, in the meantime, curl up with Our First Dance and enjoy!

Judy Lynn Hubbard

www.JudyLynnHubbard.com


To my sister, Norma,

who instilled in me a love of reading,

and to my cousin and best friend, Trina, who instilled

in me a love of the arts. Thanks for believing in me.


Contents

Chapter 1 (#u585164a1-5124-5107-bcc6-88f985665658)

Chapter 2 (#udb642d3c-8463-59e1-84c1-8ae6641af9f1)

Chapter 3 (#u9b85f6e9-1678-5b3f-83ad-59abc99c5883)

Chapter 4 (#u8455107c-d760-5542-8e3c-bb4dbd20fe3e)

Chapter 5 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter 1

Natasha Carter’s slender frame huddled deeper into her black leather jacket against the brisk mid-September wind, feet hurriedly walking through downtown Manhattan on the way to the most important audition of her career. How many lead auditions had she gone to in the past frustrating years only to come away disappointed? She sighed audibly. She had been surprised and thrilled upon receiving an invitation from the Johnson Ballet Company to try out for the part of Juliet. She was determined things would be different this time.

Shivering, she continued resolutely toward what she hoped would be a turning point in her career. She had to have the part of Juliet! She was tired of being cast in secondary roles or as part of the background dancers because she “wasn’t quite right” for the lead. She deserved her chance in the spotlight, but up until now, no one had been willing to take a chance on her, an African-American ballerina. Also, because she came from a wealthy family, no one took her dedication and drive seriously—believing instead she was merely toying with a career in dance.

Glancing both ways, she hurriedly crossed the busy street and entered the performance hall building she had been trying to reach for the past thirty minutes. A grateful smile perked up the corners of her brown lips as the blessed warmth inside greeted her. She looked at the signs that pointed the way to the auditions. Taking off her leather gloves, she stuffed them into her jacket pockets and absently ran fingers through her wind-tossed, shoulder-length dark brown hair before tucking strands behind her ears.

She nodded curt hellos to several fellow ballerinas as she entered the tryout hall to check in. For a moment she wished she had allowed Erina, her coach, to accompany her, but she had firmly dismissed her offer. She was a first-rate ballerina who didn’t need anyone to hold her hand. She could and would do this alone, and she would come out victorious.

“May I help you?” A man behind the table was looking at her expectantly.

“Yes. I’m…”

“Natasha Carter.” A woman smiled and stood.

She was tall and thin, obviously an ex-dancer. Her black hair was cut very short and framed her smiling face and happy brown eyes. She was, Natasha would guess, in her early forties.

“Yes.” Natasha smiled slightly. It was nice to be recognized.

“We’re so glad you could make the auditions, Miss Carter.” The woman offered her hand. “I’m Rachel Weston. I’ll be coproducing and codirecting this little extravaganza, along with taking on the responsibility of casting director.”

“It’s very nice to meet you, Ms. Weston.” She briefly shook her hand.

“Rachel,” she corrected.

Rachel’s eyes traveled over Natasha. She looked perfect for the lead. But Rachel knew that looks alone were not enough for Damien. Over the years, she had learned how by the book and fanatical he was about his ballet company—only the best talent could work for him, no exceptions. She sighed inwardly as she recounted the numerous hours they had spent scouting for dancers to audition for them before sending out invitations; it had been exhausting, but Damien had insisted they personally sit through entire performances for every dancer being considered for his production.

“Room number three is set up for Miss Carter.” Rachel walked from behind the desk. “Damien is around here somewhere.” She glanced around the crowded room before refocusing on Natasha. “Let me show you to your dressing room.”

“Thank you.”

Natasha eagerly followed her out. Her heart somersaulted in her chest; she was in no shape to meet Damien Johnson yet. She needed a few moments to compose herself before coming face-to-face with the legendary owner of the company she hoped to join.

“I’ll have someone call when we’re ready for you.” Rachel held open a door for her.

“Thank you, Ms. Weston.” She smiled briefly while placing her bag onto the floor.

“Rachel,” she reminded with a smile.

“Rachel,” she said corrected and returned her smile.

Once alone, Natasha placed hands to her burning cheeks. She was a mass of quivering jelly. She silently commanded her nerves to subside and rolled her shoulders, shaking out her arms and legs to relax, but to no avail.

Damien Johnson was here! Of course, she had known he would be, but still the fact that her idol was somewhere in the same building was unreal. He was only thirty-two, but he owned one of the best ballet companies in the world. His meteoric rise had inspired her, and she clung to the hope that he would give her a chance where others had not; after receiving her invitation to audition for him, she felt certain that he would, but only if she performed flawlessly, which she intended to do.

She quickly shed her street shoes and sweats and donned much more appropriate prima ballerina attire of pale pink leotards, matching jagged-edge wraparound chiffon skirt belted at her tiny waist and expertly laced-up pale pink satin ballerina slippers. Finally, she pulled her hair away from her face, securing it at her nape in a flawless knot.

After taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly, she purposefully walked over to the ballet barre and began to warm up.

* * *

“Damien, there you are.” Rachel reentered the audition hall and spotted her partner onstage.

A teasing grin lit up his brown eyes. “Was I lost?”

“Oh, you!” She laughed and tapped his cheek playfully. “Natasha Carter is here.”

“Good, that makes everyone—” Damien rubbed his lightly hair-covered chin “—doesn’t it?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Rachel said and nodded.

“Okay, I have a few calls to make.” He glanced at his watch. “We’ll start in about thirty.”

“Right,” Rachel said with a nod. “I’m going to check the music.” She turned and asked, “Do you want to do the introductions, or should I?”

Damien sighed. “You do them. The last thing I need today is a bunch of ballerinas fawning all over me thinking it will improve their chances of making the cut.”

Rachel laughed. “You’re just too handsome for your own good.”

Damien chuckled. “Or just too rich and powerful.”

He winked at Rachel before turning to go to his office. As he exited the auditorium, for some reason, his mind drifted to Natasha Carter’s arrival a short while ago; she had breezed in looking breathtakingly beautiful. He knew the dark brown hair that had curtained her oval face would be swept up or back when he saw her next, and she would be dressed in classic ballerina attire—sheer, sexy leotards that would mold revealingly to her slender yet womanly curves like a second skin.

He had watched her from the stage as she had smiled politely to Rachel and had intended to join them, but his feet had been rooted in place by her utter beauty. He had mentally scolded himself to stop staring at her like some lovesick schoolboy; however, feelings he hadn’t had in a long time had bombarded him, causing the formation of a hard knot of desire in the pit of his stomach.

Taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly, he attributed his reaction to the fact that she was an extremely beautiful woman, and as a man, he naturally took note of that fact. However, he was here to cast his ballet; she was here to audition, and he would objectively judge her by her performance and nothing else.

* * *

Thirty minutes later, the four auditioning ballerinas took the stage and waited for instructions. Rachel and Damien entered the back of the auditorium. Damien stopped at a pair of high stools a distance from the stage, and Rachel continued toward the stage to give instructions.

“Welcome, ladies.” Rachel smiled at the four ballerinas as she ascended the stairs. “The Johnson Ballet Company is a world-renowned, medium-sized classical ballet company. We perform about sixty to seventy ballets a year in the U.S. and abroad. This holiday season, we are performing a traditional yet original version of Romeo and Juliet. You all know the order of your performances?” When she received nods, she continued, “Good. Let’s have the first dancer, please.”

Rachel smiled and nodded to her assistant to begin the taped music of Tchaikovsky’s Symphony No. 4 before leaving the stage to join Damien. She took the packet of resumés he handed her and pulled out the first one.

The first ballerina walked center stage and danced adequately, as did the second and the third. Natasha was the last to dance. She assumed the fourth position, hands held elegantly at her sides, patiently waiting for the music to begin.

Natasha mentally fought for composure and concentrated with all her might on the dance at hand. Her heart had begun beating erratically the moment she had stepped onto the stage, because she knew this was the moment of truth for her. If she couldn’t make it in a black-owned ballet company, then she wouldn’t be able to make it anywhere, and that scenario was unacceptable to her.

Though she could no longer see Damien Johnson because of the bright light shining in her eyes, she knew the pair of piercing eyes she felt following every move, every line and curve her body made as she floated across the stage belonged to him. She silently willed herself to be perfect; she refused to allow nerves to destroy this chance for her. She beat down her anxiety and poured all her energy and talent into her performance.

A smile of admiration tugged at the corners of Damien’s mouth as his appreciative eyes followed every seamless movement of Natasha’s lithe body. He looked briefly at her resumé then looked at the stage. She danced ethereally. Even at twenty-six, she danced circles around the five-to-eight-years-younger ballerinas who had come before her.

He watched with satisfaction as she performed a series of pirouettes and came effortlessly to a fast stop, holding and maintaining her ending position—back arched, arms held high, legs extended and toes pointed without faltering. She came out of her pose to sighs of envy and a small applause of admiration and praise, which she acknowledged with a cool smile and a nod of her head.

“Thank you, Miss Carter. That was beautifully done. We…” Rachel’s praise was cut short as Damien touched her arm. “Um, Miss Carter, I wonder if you would mind performing the courting dance for us.”

“Not at all,” Natasha agreed even as her body groaned. Part of her wanted to go somewhere private and collapse, but she couldn’t refuse—it was a wonderful sign this request was being made of her. She frantically ran through the dance in her mind, visualizing steps and combinations, praying she wouldn’t forget any of them.

“I’ll need a partner,” she reminded.

“We haven’t cast the male lead yet,” Damien said as he stood and slowly walked toward her, “but I’m at your service, Miss Carter.”

As he neared the stage, Natasha was quickly cognizant of the fact that Damien Johnson was even handsomer in person. His black hair was cropped close to his head, and a very light goatee accentuated his medium brown skin. His cheeks were chiseled and strong, and his full lips were smiling slightly. His body was magnificent—muscled, hard and completely masculine. He was dressed in black pants and black short-sleeved shirt stretched taut across his broad chest, which showed off his muscled arms. Lord in heaven, had she ever seen a more perfect man?

After an eternity, he finally reached her. Her tongue escaped to wet her suddenly dry lips. When his eyes darted to and fixated on her mouth, she let out her breath on an audible sigh. Trembling fingers smoothed an imaginary piece of hair away from her slightly flushed face, and she waited for him to speak because she couldn’t; her tongue had suddenly become glued to the roof of her mouth.

“Shall we?”

Oh, Lord, his voice! It was deep, sexy and created very inappropriate visions in her mind of them pressed close, and not in preparation for dancing—at least not ballet dancing. Goodness, she had to get a grip on her runaway hormones where this man was concerned—a man she hoped would soon be her boss. His outstretched hand sent her into motion.

“Of course.”

She forced the words through her constricted throat and took his hand—a hand that almost engulfed hers, a hand that she suddenly envisioned sliding caressingly down her trembling body. An electric shock went through them at that first contact. Their eyes darkened perceptibly as they silently stared at each other.

After interminable seconds, he nodded to the man sitting in the cave, and the music began. Before his disturbing eyes refocused on hers, she took a deep breath and released it slowly, silently reminding herself why she was here and to remain professionally cool and calm and to stop thinking like a woman when it came to Damien Johnson and behave like a dance partner instead.

The first strands were soft and sweet as they danced around each other, never coming too close, testing, teasing and tempting. She prayed she wouldn’t miss any steps or embarrass herself by clinging to his hard, tempting body longer than their dance necessitated. Her heart was hammering loudly in her chest. Damien’s focused eyes and expression were unreadable; she had no idea what he was thinking or feeling. They moved well together; she knew he hadn’t danced professionally in years, but he was still very good. She came within an arm’s length and then flitted away on the tips of her toes as the dance called for before twirling back into his waiting embrace.

What in reality took only several minutes to conclude seemed to stretch out endlessly. Finally, the music ended and they stopped close together. Her hands rested on his shoulders, and his were on her waist. Their bodies were touching lightly, and their lips were within centimeters of contact. Thunderous applause broke the spell that she was sure would have led to an inappropriate but very passionate kiss between them in a few more seconds.

“The best ballerina I’ve ever danced with.” Damien’s voice was for her ears alone as he reluctantly released her.

“You’re too kind.”

She told herself the breathlessness in her voice was a result of the dance, but she knew it had more to do with being held so close to Damien than anything else. She took a few necessary steps away from him, willing her heart to stop its frantic thudding.

“Just speaking the truth, Natasha,” he said with a smile.

Her skin tingled at the sound of her name on his lips. It was as if no one else had ever spoken it correctly until him.

“Thank you.”

“We’ll let you know our decision in a few days.” He abruptly turned and left her alone on the stage.

She stood there in a daze, not fully comprehending what had just happened before realizing she had been coolly dismissed. When no more requests were made of her, she turned and exited the stage, quickly making her way through her congratulatory peers and seeking the solitude of the changing room. Once there, she put cool hands to her burning cheeks and stared at her distressed expression in the full-length mirror.

So she had auditioned for and had danced with Damien Johnson. Her heart was still racing from the memory of being held close to his hard, masculine body and staring deeply into those expressive brown eyes of his. She felt completely raw, vulnerable and exhilarated in a way she never had before. She suddenly knew without a doubt her career and life were about to change in ways she had never imagined.

* * *

Two days and she still had not heard any news about her audition. Surely Damien Johnson had made a decision by now. A short while ago, she had ordered a pizza with the works, deciding to indulge herself in tons of calories and gooey cheese to soothe her nerves.

Sitting on her sofa, she absently surfed the web on her tablet before deliberately typing Damien’s name into the search box. Her eyes widened at the plentiful results yielded, and she clicked on one link, followed by another and then another still. She came across multiple pictures of him with starlets and businesswomen, but none with dancers. Apparently he didn’t go for ballerinas, which was reassuring; she had fought off more than her share of bosses who thought she would gladly trade sex for the lead, and she had no intention of going through that again. Whoa, she was getting a little ahead of herself; she hadn’t even been offered the part—yet.

She clicked another link and began reading about an accident ten years ago in Atlanta—a bad one. That’s when Damien had stopped dancing professionally. A woman had been driving, and he had been severely injured. As she scrolled down the page, she felt like a voyeur and glanced over her shoulder as if she would find Damien watching her disapprovingly. After investigating a few more links, her uneasiness about eavesdropping on his life intensified, so she quickly closed the page on her browser and sat her tablet aside.

She would hate to have her privacy invaded the way she was prying into Damien’s past. Technology made it much too easy to snoop these days. She wasn’t a nosy person; she was simply understandably curious about the man she prayed would soon offer her the chance of a lifetime. Of its own volition, her hand reached for the tablet again, but she determinedly pushed it away and instead picked up her iPod.

She scrolled through her playlists, bypassing her usual classical choices and choosing a rock and roll one instead before replacing the instrument in its dock. She plopped down into the middle of the tan-and-white sofa and stared out the glass balcony doors at the gorgeous Manhattan skyline—a scene which usually soothed her, but not tonight.

Taking a sip of Bordeaux, she reclined her head onto the back of the sofa but quickly snapped up again as the frenetic music she had chosen wafted through the air. Without hesitation, she moved her head to the beat and tapped her sock-covered feet in synch with the song.

She opened her mouth to sing along when the doorbell sounded. Picking up the remote, she turned down the volume, set down her wine, stood and walked over to greet the pizza man. No need to primp for him; she was sure he’d seen worse than her faded jeans, black T-shirt and hair in a ponytail. However, upon opening the door, cash in hand, the faint smile froze on her lips as her eyes encountered a smiling Damien.

“Mr. Johnson,” she gasped.

“Hello, Natasha,” he said.

“This is a surprise.”

“A pleasant one, I hope.”

“What are you doing here?” She couldn’t process why the head of the ballet company would come to her door. No one got a job by having the boss come to the door.

“Is this any way to treat someone bringing good news?” He walked past her, inviting himself in.

“Good news?” Her eyes widened expectantly as she closed the door.

He glanced around the room that was a reflection of her personality—white carpet, pale tan-and-white furniture. She had hoped her design was elegant, yet cool.

He cocked his ear, listening. “I like your choice in music.”

“Mr. Johnson…”

“Damien,” he smilingly corrected. “This is a nice apartment for a struggling ballerina.”

Her shoulders stiffened visibly. “Thanks.”

He frowned at her frosty tone. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No.” She shook her head, sighed and then decided to be blunt. “My father’s a famous artist who owns a string of galleries, so technically I’m rich, but that doesn’t mean I’m not completely dedicated to dancing.”

“Of course it doesn’t,” he readily agreed. “Your financial status has no bearing on your talent—and you are talented.”

His simple, honest words overwhelmed her until all she could manage was, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He removed his jacket and folded it over one arm. “Now to the reason for my visit. I came to offer you the part.”

Her heart pounded furiously in her chest. A brilliant smile lit up her face. She didn’t know how it happened, but the next thing she knew, her body was pressed against his, her arms wound tightly around his neck while his rested lightly on her waist.

“Thank you!”

“I take it you’re happy.” He laughed at her exuberance.

Suddenly she realized the inappropriateness of her actions and self-consciously removed her arms from his neck and stepped back. Even though he was smiling at her, she was embarrassed. Lord, what he must think of her.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean…”

“No apologies necessary, Natasha.” He smiled. “It’s nice to know you really want the part.”

“I do, very much.”

“So—” his smile turned teasing “—I guess you’re accepting my offer.”

She stared at him, dumbfounded. Did he even have to ask that question?

“Of course I…”

Her voice trailed off as the doorbell sounded again. She excused herself to open it, but this time first looked through the peephole, revealing the pizza deliveryman.

“Hi.” The man pulled a medium box from his red carrier. “That’ll be $15.70.”

“Hello.” She briefly smiled, and held out the cash. Before the deliveryman could take the money, Damien had handed the man a twenty-dollar bill, took the pizza, thanked him then closed the door without collecting his change.

“You didn’t have to buy my pizza.”

“I did if I wanted to share it with you.” He sat down on the sofa, placing the box, which he quickly opened, onto the coffee table.

“Damien…” She walked over and deliberately sat akimbo on the immaculate white carpet beside the glass table.

“Yes?” He smiled as he sniffed appreciatively at the loaded pizza. “How do you stay so small eating like this?”

“I’m blessed with a high metabolism, and I just felt like indulging myself tonight.”

She fought to suppress a smile. He looked as happy as a little child on Christmas morning. His unexpected silliness was making her feel the same way—that and the knowledge that she was going to dance the lead in his ballet.

“Mmm.” He picked off a mushroom and plopped it into his mouth, closing his eyes as if he were sampling a rare delicacy. “Lucky for me.”

“Would you like some wine?” she asked with a laugh, unable to resist any longer.

“Love some.” He tossed his jacket carelessly over the back of the sofa.

She stood to retrieve another glass and the wine bottle from the bar before pouring him a drink. Walking back to where he sat, she handed him the glass, resuming her seat on the floor in front of the sofa.

She picked up a slice of pizza and took a tiny bite, too excited to eat. Damien Johnson was in her home, and he was offering her the part of a lifetime; she was going to dance Juliet!

Suddenly, he took her hand, pulling her up onto the sofa beside him. She started to protest but decided against it.

“Tell me about yourself, Natasha.”

“There’s little to tell.” She swallowed with difficulty. She couldn’t breathe when he was this close to her.

“I doubt that.” He took another drink of his wine. “How long have you been dancing?”

“Since I was five.”

“You were brilliant in Swan Lake.”

“Thanks.” She sipped her wine. “I’m surprised you could pick me out of the ensemble.”

“You danced the lead in a matinee performance,” he reminded.

“How do you know that?”

“I was in the audience. Your performance was the reason you received an invitation to my tryouts.”

“I only danced the lead in one performance when the lead was sick. It’s lucky you picked that showing to attend.”

He smiled. “Luck had nothing to do with it.”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I asked Ted Levy—” he dropped the name of her ex-director “—to let you dance that performance so I could see you onstage before an audience.”

She nearly choked on her wine. “You what?”

He chuckled. “You heard me.”

“I wish I had known I was auditioning.”

“Why? You would have been too nervous had you known my intentions. My way was better.”

She supposed he was right. Anyway, what did it matter now? Everything had worked out for the best.

“I tried out for the lead in that ballet and a lot of others.”

“You didn’t get it,” he softly finished for her.

“No.”

“And that bothers you?”

“No…yes.” She paused and continued, “I don’t want to sound conceited…”

“You don’t.” He touched her cheek tenderly. “Let’s face it, Natasha. We both chose careers that are extremely hard for African-Americans to excel in.”

“That’s true,” she agreed on a sigh. “But I never wanted to be anything else.”

“You shouldn’t be anything else. You’re meant to dance.”

She smiled at his genuine praise before admitting, “This is my chance, Damien.”

“I know.” He nodded his head.

He was so understanding—so genuine. She wasn’t used to having anyone like him sympathize with her plight—except her family, of course. In a few minutes, he had made her want to open up in ways no one else ever had. That realization unnerved her and prompted her to switch the focus of conversation onto him.

“How long since you stopped performing?”

His eyes clouded a little. “Ten years.”

“Don’t you miss it?”

“Some.” He shrugged. “But I’m much more fueled by the creation and execution of the dance than actually performing.”

“You’re excellent at it,” she praised. “All of your ballets received rave reviews. Everyone is expecting great things from this one, as well.”

He winked at her. “And I don’t intend to disappoint them.”

“You won’t.”

“We won’t.” He squeezed her hand lightly.

From his reputation, she had expected him to be full of himself, but he was kind and utterly likeable. He didn’t laugh at her, try to trample on her dreams, or expect anything from her as so many others had in the past. He seemed to genuinely believe in her talent—that she could dance the lead—and she wasn’t going to disappoint him.

Unable to stop himself, he lightly fingered her cheek before moving down her jaw. He smiled when she gasped softly. His eyes lowered to inspect the pulse beating erratically at the base of her slender, graceful throat before his hungry gaze returned to her uneasy one.

She pulled back slightly, and his fingers fell away from her soft flesh. He leaned forward and picked up another slice of pizza. She took a drink of her wine and watched him silently for a few minutes. There was no denying the sexual tension between them was as thick as suffocating fog, but they were going to spend months in each other’s presence and would have to come to an understanding of what their relationship would be.

“Damien, I don’t want anyone to think that…” She paused, unsure of how to continue.

“What?”

She exhaled before continuing. “I don’t want anyone to think that I didn’t earn this part.”

He stared at her silently for several seconds. She tried to discern what he was thinking. Had her unspoken worry been communicated to him? When understanding blossomed in his eyes and he smiled, she knew he appreciated her concern.

“People will think what they will, Natasha, but we both know the only reason you’re going to dance Juliet is because you earned it, don’t we?”

She returned his smile. “Yes, we do.”

“Good.” He stood and placed on his jacket. “Rehearsal starts tomorrow at 5:30 a.m. sharp.”

“I’ll be there,” she assured while walking him to the door. “Thank you again for this opportunity, Damien.”

“You don’t owe me anything except a flawless performance.” He touched her arm lightly before leaving.

Once alone, Natasha’s smile turned into jubilant laughter. She pirouetted around the room before plopping happily down onto the sofa. She had done it; she was going to dance the part of Juliet! Snatching up the phone, she tried to decide who to call first—her parents, her sister or Erina, her coach. Tucking her legs underneath her, she dialed her parents’ number. She couldn’t wait until morning; tomorrow was going to be a fabulous day.


Chapter 2

At 4:05 a.m. Natasha made her way into the rehearsal hall. She was early purposefully; the extra time would allow her to warm up and be limber and ready to go when formal rehearsal started. She wanted to blow Damien Johnson away with her dancing and dedication—to show him she intended to give everything she had to Juliet.

She didn’t see a soul, except the guard who let her into the building, as she made her way to an empty rehearsal room. She tugged off her leather jacket and sweatshirt, throwing them into a corner. Her shoes followed, being replaced by black ballet slippers. She twisted her hair back into a knot and decided to leave her white sweatpants on over her black leotards until she warmed up. She clipped her iPod onto her waist and pushed the earbuds into her ears, and without further ado she sat down on the cold hardwood floor to begin her workout.

Damien walked down the deserted hall on the way to his office and frowned when he spied a light coming from a rehearsal room. He glanced at his watch; it was a little after four. Who besides himself was here at this hour? As he approached the doorway he stopped, and the frown on his mouth turned into a smile when he spotted Natasha sitting on the floor stretching. His prima ballerina was ready to go. Good. He would have been disappointed if she hadn’t taken the initiative to come in early. She was ready to work hard, and he was more than willing to accommodate her.

He watched her for a few minutes as she went about her warm-up routine. She bent and contorted her body the way only a ballerina could before standing with her back toward him and walking over to the barre. Not wanting to interrupt, he took a step back until he was half-hidden by the door frame. She was so focused she didn’t realize she was being observed. She effortlessly raised one leg even with the barre until it rested against it and then stretched both arms over her head, arching her back; the movement pressed her firm, round breasts forward, drawing his eyes to the perfect globes.

Lord, she was spectacular! She had the perfect ballerina form—tall and slender with graceful legs and arms, but she also possessed womanly curves. He remembered how good her soft, yielding body had felt when she had thrown herself into his arms last night when he had offered her the part; he had been pleased by the impulsiveness and pure joy she had exhibited. There was sweetness and vulnerability to Natasha that appealed to him. He knew he had made the right choice for Juliet.

He had read her resumé and talked to some of her former employers, who had stated part of the reason she had never achieved lead status with them was because she was simply too nice and unwilling to do what it took to win and keep the lead. Damien had read between the not-so-subtle lines, understanding that Natasha had been unwilling to buy the lead with her body, which he respected and admired.

He felt he understood her struggle for success; Lord knew he had undergone his own when he had started his company ten years ago. He had come up against one roadblock after another. But he had persevered, and with encouragement from Rachel and his family, he had kept plodding, dreaming and working until he now owned a world-famous company that a number of people said would never make it. Success really was the best revenge. He wanted that for Natasha. She was talented, hungry and dedicated; he was glad to offer her the chance she deserved to achieve her goals.

As he continued to watch her, he suddenly imagined those elegant limbs wrapped around him, holding him close while that perfect body trembled in passion against his—whoa, boy, where had that come from? She’s your prima ballerina and your number one rule is to never get involved with dancers—especially those in your own company. Yes, she’s beautiful. Yes, she made him feel something he hadn’t in a long time, but they were here to work—nothing more, nothing less, and that’s all he intended to do with her.

He turned from the door and nearly collided with a tall, thin woman with salt-and-pepper hair that was pulled back into a bun.

“Excuse me.” He placed a steadying hand on her arm.

“It is quite all right,” she responded in a slightly accented voice. “You are Damien Johnson, no?”

“Yes, I am, and you are?”

“I am Erina Deneuva, Natasha Carter’s coach.”

“Oh, I see.” He nodded. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“You too.” She shook his outstretched hand. “I hope you do not mind my presence. When Natasha called me last night with the wonderful news, she asked if I would come and work with her during this production.”

“No, that’s fine, as long as you understand I don’t reimburse dancers for personal coaches.”

“Of course.” Erina smiled. “Natasha pays me as always, but even if she could not I would be here for her.”

“That’s an admirable thing to say.”

“It is true. She is like a daughter to me.”

“How long have you coached her?”

“For twenty-one years,” she proudly answered. “We have been through a lot together.”

“She’s lucky to have someone so loyal.”

“Thank you, Mr. Johnson.”

“Call me Damien.”

“Damien.” Friendly hazel eyes met his. “Thank you for giving Natasha the chance she has long deserved.”

“She earned it.”

“She will not disappoint you.”

“I know she won’t.”

“Can you tell me where I may find her?”

“She’s in there—” he pointed behind him “—warming up.”

“Excellent.” Erina smiled. “If you will excuse me.”

“Of course. It was nice to meet you, Erina.”

“And you too, Damien.” She smiled before entering the room where Natasha rehearsed.

After a few seconds he heard Natasha exclaim, “Erina, I did it!”

“Yes, you did. I am so proud of you.”

“Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

“Nonsense, child, where else would I be?”

“I still can’t believe Damien Johnson came to my house to offer me the part.”

“That is very unusual.”

“Isn’t it? I wonder why he did it.”

“Who knows, but the main thing is that you got the part, no?”

“Yes.” Her voice was bubbly with excitement. “I’m going to dance Juliet.”

“Yes, you are. Now let us get down to work so that you will be brilliant, shall we?”

“I’m already warmed up.”

“We will see.” Erina’s teasing voice elicited a laugh from Natasha. “Come, first position.”

Outside in the hallway, Damien’s smile turned to a slight frown. Rachel had also questioned his insistence on telling Natasha in person she was their choice for Juliet. He hadn’t explained it to her satisfaction because he really hadn’t understood it himself; telling Natasha in person had just been something he had wanted to do, and so he had. No big deal.

Shaking his head, he started down the hallway in the opposite direction. He had a million things to do before rehearsal started, and standing around contemplating his uncharacteristic behavior regarding Natasha wasn’t one of them.

* * *

An hour and a half later, Natasha along with the other dancers stood in the main auditorium listening to Damien welcome them to the troupe.

“Good morning, everyone.” Damien received echoing responses from the occupants of the room and continued. “First let me congratulate all of you on beating out stiff competition for your respective parts.” He glanced at Natasha. “You are all here because you are the best and for no other reason.”

He placed an arm around Rachel’s shoulders, and hers went around his waist. “You all know Rachel Weston, casting director,” Damien continued, “who is responsible in large part for your jobs.”

“I’m highly susceptible to bribes—preferably chocolate.” Rachel smiled, causing a round of laughter. “I’m glad to be working with all of you, and if this guy gives you any trouble, I’ll do my best to get you out of it.”

“I believe in hard work, and you may even come to think of me as an ogre.” He paused, allowing his words to sink in.

“Truer words…” Rachel promised, causing another round of laughter, including Damien’s.

“You keep me out of this.” Damien affectionately scowled at her before continuing. “But I promise you once it’s all over, the finished product will speak highly for itself.” He glanced at his dancers, focusing on Natasha. “I’m going to drive you hard—probably harder than you’ve ever been driven before,” he promised. “I apologize now for anything I might do to anger or offend anyone, because in two minutes when rehearsal starts, I’m sorry are two words you will never hear from me.” He walked back center stage and his facial expression hardened slightly. “I’m a perfectionist, and I’ll demand perfection from each of you. I’ll receive it, or you won’t be here,” he sternly promised. “Any questions?” When none was forthcoming, he clapped his hands. “Okay, let’s get to work.”

“Let the fun begin.” Rachel laughed as Damien joined her in front of the stage.

“Let’s start with the ensembles.” Damien began organizing groups. “The lead dancers should follow Ron and Carla, our assistant choreographers.” He waved the group, including Natasha, away.

* * *

Natasha and fifteen other dancers entered a large white room whose walls were lined with brown wooden benches and ballet barres. She tightened the belt of her white wraparound skirt, glancing up as a male dancer approached her.

“Hi.” He extended his hand. “I’m Dennis, your partner.”

“Hi.” She shook his hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“You too.” His appreciative eyes traveled over her face and body.

Natasha smiled tolerantly into his wolfish smiling eyes. It seemed she would have to put him in his place as she had numerous other partners in the past. He was tall, about six feet, with short black hair and dark brown skin. He definitely had a dancer’s body. She couldn’t help comparing him with Damien, who was a few inches taller and much more muscled and oh so more appealing.

“I can’t wait to dance with you.”

“We’ll have plenty of opportunity for that.”

“Hmm.” He bobbed his eyebrows. “That suits me just fine.”

“Dennis.” She shook her head in remonstration. “We’re here to work.” She paused for emphasis before concluding, “And that’s all I intend to do with you.”

He sighed dramatically. “A guy can dream, can’t he?”

She laughed. “Just make sure you can distinguish between fantasy and reality.”

He grabbed her hand. “You’re gonna give me an inferiority complex.”

She chuckled. “I don’t think there’s much chance of that, Romeo.”

He brought her hand to his lips. “You know, Juliet, I think I like you.”

“I like you too, as a friend. Got it?”

“Got it,” he echoed, kissing her cheek lingeringly. “But it’s your loss.”

“I think I’ll survive.” She playfully tapped his cheek, and he covered her hand with his before bringing it to his lips.

Damien chose that moment to stick his head in, and his eyes narrowed at the apparent intimate scene between Natasha and Dennis, though he made no comment. He couldn’t blame the guy for being attracted to Natasha, but it seemed he would have to set Dennis straight about his strict no-fraternizing rule for his dancers; they were here to work, not engage in romance.

“Dennis, Natasha, let’s try the courting dance.”

Their heads turned in unison at his voice, and they moved to the center of the room. With Damien watching attentively, they performed the entire dance. “That was good, but I need it to be snappier and sexier.” Damien walked over to them and took Natasha’s hand. “Let me show you what I mean.”

An effortless tug of his hand twirled her toward him and they began to dance. She vaguely registered the females were all swooning over him, and frankly she couldn’t blame them. They didn’t perform any strenuous moves, just teasing, testing, dancing close and moving away. They danced seductively, performing the same moves she had just done with Dennis; however, what had seemed tame with Dennis was positively scandalous with Damien. He touched her possessively as if it was his right, and their bodies were the perfect complements moving in complete sexy synchronization.

He suddenly pulled her to him tightly before almost throwing her away again. She pirouetted back en pointes on the top of her toes elegantly before darting away. She leaped toward him, and he caught her midair and then allowed her to slide ever so slowly down his hard muscled body, ensuring that she felt every wonderful inch of his unbending strength against her giving softness. Their eyes met and held hypnotically for several intense seconds that seemed like hours. The breath caught in her throat when his head levitated toward hers slightly as if he was going to kiss her.

He held her close for earth-shattering seconds before reluctantly releasing her. “See what I mean?”

“Yes, I think so.” Dennis nodded in agreement.

“Yes,” Natasha softly echoed.

She moved into Dennis’s arms and noticed the immediate difference between the two men. Damien’s powerful touch diminished Dennis’s still-capable hands. She and Dennis mimicked the dance over and over again to perfect it. Damien fought down rising jealousy as they danced, as he had instructed and silently shouted at himself that this was about business; it wasn’t personal. They were giving him and, more important, the dance what was required, and he had to remember that. Forcing himself to watch them objectively, he made them repeat the dance until he was satisfied with their performance.

“That’s it.” He smiled triumphantly after they had performed the full dance eight times in a row. “Take a break, you two.”

Natasha and Dennis both heaved sighs of relief at his words. Dennis leaned against a nearby wall before sliding to the floor, and Natasha gratefully walked over and took a seat on a wooden bench to catch her breath for a few seconds. Damien was a perfectionist—good. So was she, and she would rehearse the dance one hundred times if that was required to perfect it. She stood and walked over to Dennis, taking his hands and pulling him to his feet to practice with her.

“Come on, Natasha, let me rest for a few minutes,” Dennis complained.

“You can rest tonight at home.” Natasha twirled into his arms. “Now, let’s dance.”

“All right.” He sighed. “But if I step on your toes or pass out, you have only yourself to blame.”

She laughed. “I’ve been warned.”

Before Damien turned his attention to another pair of dancers, he glanced her way and smiled briefly in approval. She returned his smile before focusing on Dennis and their dance.

* * *

The day flew by and before she knew it, it was a little after 8:30 p.m., but she still wasn’t ready to call it a night. She had never been so tired, nor felt so alive. She had thought Erina was a taskmaster, but she had nothing on Damien. He was a perfectionist, and she vowed she would be perfect for him.

Sounds of music echoed in the quiet as she rehearsed her first dance alone. She had tried to get Dennis to stick around, but he had moaned that a hot bath was calling to him. She smiled as she pirouetted around the room, improvising when she came to the part she would be dancing with Dennis.

“You need a partner.”

She gasped and turned toward the door, where Damien leaned against the frame watching her.

“Damien, you startled me.”

“Sorry.” He walked over to her. “You still have energy left after rehearsals. That’s admirable.”

“This ballet is everything to me. I can rest after the performances are over.”

“I like your attitude.”

“I’m going to give you—the role of Juliet—everything I have, Damien. I won’t fail you.”

“I know.” He smiled. “I sensed the drive in you. I’m glad you’re not disappointing me.”

“I won’t, ever.” Her eyes were deadly serious. “I promise.”

That was a promise she intended to keep. This wonderful man was giving her the chance of a lifetime, and she would always be grateful to him for that. She wasn’t used to having someone of Damien’s caliber treat her with such respect and courtesy. She had other bosses in the past who had blatantly dangled the lead in her face in exchange for unlimited access to her body; vile offers that she had rejected. Damien had offered her the lead without even hinting that she repay him with anything other than hard work and brilliance. He possessed integrity—a trait she had started to believe no longer existed in the executive branches of the world of dance.

“I know you won’t.” He extended his hand. “Shall we?”

She hesitated for a second before taking his hand, allowing him to pull her close. She knew this was a mistake, but masochist that she was, she wanted to feel his arms around her. She had to stop thinking about him like this; he was her boss, and his offer to dance with her wasn’t emotionally motivated—it was business.

“Where do we start?”

“At the beginning.” He released her and walked over to select the appropriate music before returning.

When he placed both hands on her waist and maneuvered until her back was pressed against his muscled chest, every logical thought quickly fled from her mind, being replaced with inappropriate desire instead. The music began and they started dancing very close, yet bodies never intimately touching again; she always stayed just out of his reach.

They danced together for about fifteen minutes and he deliberately changed their steps so that they ended close together as they had begun, her back to his stomach—instead of an arm’s length apart. He twirled her around to face him so that their lips were nearly touching and his arms were around her waist. Their rapidly beating hearts echoed the same intense rhythm—in part due to the dance, but in bigger part due to the obvious attraction that sprung to life when they touched that neither seemed capable of controlling.

After a few minutes, by silent mutual consent, they released each other and took a step backward away from temptation.

“I could use some water,” Natasha spoke, simply to fill the uncomfortable silence.

“Me too.” He walked to the door. “Let’s see what’s left in the break room.”

She should refuse and leave, but she didn’t. Instead she followed him out. Once in the deserted kitchen, she found a bottle of water and he opted for black coffee. They sat at a small table.

“So what do you think of the ballet?” He chose a nice, safe topic of conversation.

“It’s wonderful.” She smiled. “Romeo and Juliet has always been one of my favorites. I can’t wait to perform.”

“Nothing is more exciting than opening night,” he agreed.

“Especially when you’re dancing the lead.”

“I’m glad you tried out for Juliet.”

“So am I.”

“Not to pat myself on the back, but my company is internationally known and many of my ballerinas are world famous. Why didn’t you attend any of our open auditions?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I was busy working with other troupes.”

She sensed he knew she was lying. She had wanted to prove she could make it in any troupe—not just an African-American one. That had been important to her, but now after years of frustration, she simply wanted to dance the lead.

“I’m glad the opportunity finally presented itself.”

“So am I.” She smiled at him, grateful for his obvious tact.

“You don’t wear a lot of makeup, do you?”

“Excuse me?” She nearly choked on her water. “Do you think I need to?”

“Definitely not.” He smiled and trailed a finger lightly down her cheek. His smile widened as he felt the shudder that passed through her at his actions. “You have the softest, smoothest skin.”

“Thank you.” Her voice was whisper soft.

His finger lingered maddeningly before eventually, reluctantly ending contact with her flesh. She felt bereft the second it did.

“Tell me what drives you, Natasha.”

She shrugged, willing her heart to slow its frantic rhythm. “Work is my passion and my life.”

He smiled in understanding. “A fellow workaholic.”

“Definitely.” She echoed his smile.

Suddenly for reasons he refused to examine, he wanted to know more about her, her life, her past. “Do you have a large family?”

She hesitated for a second before answering, “Average. My older brother, Nathan, is a lawyer. He lives in Washington. My younger sister, Nicole, dreams of being a famous fashion designer. She lives with our parents in Rochester. What about you?”

“Marcy, my sister, is a stockbroker like my dad,” he said with some pride. “She lives here in the city, and our parents stay most weekends in the Hamptons. My mom’s a partner in her law firm.”

“Are you and your sister close?”

“Very.”

“So are Nathan, Nicole and I.” She sipped her water. “I can’t wait to see them.”

“You love them very much,” he said with approval.

“Yes.”

Her feeling toward her family pleased him because it echoed his and also because her genuine affection for them showed she could care about someone other than herself. She seemed steady and reliable and, thankfully, grounded—so unlike the psychopath he had the misfortune to get mixed up with ten years ago, Mia; her dysfunctional relationship with her family should have been his first clue that she wasn’t playing with a full deck. But, Mia had been very good at pretending. When he remembered all the pain he had endured because of that maniac…

“Damien, are you all right?”

“Yes.” He pulled himself out of his unpleasant memories. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” At his nod, her frown nearly disappeared. “Okay. Well, I think I’ll head home. I’m beat.”

“I don’t doubt it. You put in a brutal day.”

She sighed contentedly. “I loved every second of it.”

“Good, because tomorrow will be just as long,” he promised around a smile.

“I’ll be prepared.” She stood and he followed suit. “Good night.”

“May I walk you home?” Why had he said that? It was the gentlemanly thing to do. That’s why.

“No, thanks. I’ll be fine.”

“It’s late. You shouldn’t be walking the streets by yourself.”

“I’ve lived in the city my entire life, and it isn’t that late.”

“All right.” He shrugged as if it didn’t matter. “See you in the morning.”

“Good night.”

Leaving her nearly untouched water on the table, she quickly left. She felt Damien’s eyes boring into her back. She wanted to turn around but didn’t. Instead she walked faster until she was no longer in his sight. She had to do something about her feelings for him, which were completely inappropriate and unexpected. She wasn’t going to destroy this chance by lusting after her boss—no matter how handsome and kind he was, and the sooner her contrary body realized that fact, the better off she would be.


Chapter 3

Several nights later, Natasha walked into the Grand Ballroom of the Plaza Hotel on Dennis’s arm. She wished her parents and sister were here, but her father’s newest gallery was opening in Boston. They had wanted to postpone it, but Natasha had insisted they go since Erina would be with her and she would see them all in a few weeks.

She couldn’t believe she was finally on the receiving end of a party introducing her as a prima ballerina. She glanced around the brightly lit ballroom, her eyes widening farther in awe. There had to be several hundred people in attendance. She had expected a much smaller event, but Damien had spared no expense—champagne fountains littered the room, exquisitely stacked buffet tables lined one side of the wall and elaborate ice sculptures were placed strategically throughout the ornate room that housed a multitude of sculpted stone pillars and sparkling crystal chandeliers.

Some of the hottest names in the ballet world were present, and they were here to see her. She felt like a princess and though the evening had just begun, she knew it was one she would never forget.

Her fingernails dug into Dennis’s arm, causing him to wince slightly. “Hey, release the death grip.”

“I’m sorry.” She eased the pressure on his arm. “Can you believe all of this?”

“Relax,” he whispered in her ear. “It’s just a party. You’ve been to parties before.”

“Not ones held to introduce me as a prima ballerina,” she whispered back excitedly.

He glanced down into her overwhelmed face. “You’re not going to faint on me, are you?”

“I hope not.” Her grip tightened on his arm again.

“I know I have that effect on women.” He smiled wryly. “But please don’t.”

She laughed as he intended, and her features relaxed somewhat. “I’ll try to contain my pleasure at being your date.”

“I’m surprised you asked me to escort you.”

“Why?” She stared up at him. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“Of course, but I thought your boyfriend would bring you.”

She shrugged. “I’m not seeing anyone currently.”

“We could remedy that.” His hand covered hers as it lay on his arm.

“Dennis, don’t start that again.” She shook her head in rebuke. “We work together, and it wouldn’t be wise for us to date while we do.”

His eyes twinkled. “Do you always do what’s wise?”

“Always,” she firmly informed him.

“What about when we’re not working together?”

She smiled sweetly. “I hope that day never comes.”

“I suppose I can’t be mad at you for thinking that way.”

“No, you can’t. Now stop hitting on me and let’s enjoy the party as friends, all right?”

“Deal.” He kissed her cheek.

“Good evening, Natasha, Dennis.”

Natasha glanced up to see a slightly frowning Damien standing in front of them. A tall slender woman was clinging to his arm as if she never intended to let go.

“Good evening, Damien.” Natasha smiled at him. He looked wonderful dressed in a black tuxedo that accentuated his muscled physique.

“Hello, Damien, nice party.” Dennis shook his hand.

“Thanks.” Damien returned the other man’s handshake. “This is Shelia Reynolds. Shelia, may I introduce Natasha Carter and Dennis Brown.”

“Nice to meet you.” Dennis and Natasha spoke simultaneously and then laughed.

“You too.” Shelia coolly shook their hands.

Natasha noticed the woman’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes and appeared phony—much as she did. Natasha was certain that her long straight hair was a weave and her red nails were false, as were a few of her body parts—particularly her buxom breasts that were straining against the revealing confines of the white gown she wore. She was pretty, if one leaned toward the dramatic.

“You look familiar.” Dennis focused on Shelia. “Have we met before?”

At Dennis’s innocent question, Shelia suddenly acted as if he had insulted her. Her lips thinned and she let out an audible disgruntled sigh.

“Well, I should. I’m the main character on Today’s World,” she indignantly named a top-rated reality show.

“Oh, well I don’t watch the show, but good for you.”

Natasha forced herself not to laugh at Dennis’s perfectly aimed jab. As if sensing her struggle, he chuckled and placed an arm around her waist, a move she noticed seemed to intensify Damien’s frown.

“Darling—” Shelia glanced at Dennis pointedly while pressing closer to Damien’s side “—I could use a drink.”

“In a minute.” Damien extricated himself from his date and took Natasha’s hand. “I need to introduce my prima ballerina to everyone.”

Without another word, he pulled her away from their respective dates, both of whom were staring after them, flabbergasted at being deserted.

“Should we leave Dennis and Shelia like that?”

“They’ll be fine,” he dismissively replied. “I didn’t know you were coming with Dennis.”

“Is that a problem?”

“I hope not.” He grabbed two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and handed her one. “I don’t allow romances between members of my troupe.”

“Dennis and I aren’t involved romantically.”

“No?” Intense eyes bore into hers.

“No, we’re just friends.” At his raised eyebrow, she felt compelled to elaborate. “I didn’t have a date for tonight, and he offered to escort me.”

“I don’t believe you couldn’t get a date other than a fellow dancer.”

“I didn’t say I couldn’t get a date. I said I didn’t have one.” She took a sip of her champagne. “I’m surprised you’re not here with Rachel.”

“She’s here, but why would you think we’d come together?”

“You two just seem—close.” She watched him furtively over the rim of her glass.

“We are, very.”

“Oh, I see.”

He arched an eyebrow. “What exactly do you see, Natasha?”

She glanced away from his penetrating gaze without answering, offering him the opportunity to appreciate her appearance unobtrusively. Her black floor-length gown was simple yet sexy with its sheer sleeves, high neckline and daringly low-cut back. The material clung to her curves in all the right places; she was, in a word, delectable. Never before had he been more aware of how beautiful she was than now seeing her all dressed up.

Diamond teardrop earrings hung from her ears, and her hair was pinned back into a flawless chignon. He had the ridiculous urge to release it and run his fingers through the soft strands. That’s not all he wanted to do—her full, burgundy-colored lips begged to be kissed, which was an invitation he almost accepted.

“Come with me,” he tersely ordered, taking her hand again and leading her onto the stage. They stopped in front of the orchestra, which at Damien’s nod played an introduction, causing a hush to settle over the room.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. I would like to thank all of you for coming tonight to help me celebrate and welcome a new prima ballerina to my troupe who will be dancing the lead in my next production, an original version of Romeo and Juliet. I look forward to great things from this exquisitely beautiful and supremely talented ballerina.” He turned to Natasha and raised his glass. “May I present to you all, Natasha Carter.”

Applause rang out. Natasha curtsied to the audience and clinked her glass with Damien’s. They drank their champagne, eyes never leaving each other’s. Her heart was thudding, not from the adulation being bestowed on her, but rather from the way he was staring at her. Before she could contemplate exactly what she had seen in his eyes, he took her hand and helped her down from the platform and took her around to introduce her to some of the elite guests.

Natasha was blown away by the guest list; everyone who was anyone in the ballet world was present and seemed enthralled with Damien. The guests treated her to the kind of admiration she had always dreamed of receiving, but had begun to think she would never achieve.

“Thank you for this, Damien,” she spoke when they were relatively alone again. “This is fabulous.”

“It’s no more than you deserve.”

His easily uttered, sincere words touched her heart. She felt close to crying from the utter happiness she felt at the moment—due in large part to Damien. She suddenly wanted to grab him, pull him close and never let him go. For the life of her, she didn’t know how she resisted.

“Shouldn’t you get back to Shelia?”

“Trying to get rid of me?”

“No, of course not.” She glanced across the room, where Shelia stood with her arms crossed, glaring at them. “It’s just that she doesn’t seem very happy.”

Damien chuckled. “Don’t worry about Shelia. I’m not.” To prove his point, he took her glass, deposited it along with his own onto a nearby table and pulled her into the center of the room, where various couples were dancing.

“What are you doing?” she whispered in shock.

He pulled her close. “I’m dancing with my prima ballerina.”

“I don’t think this is wise.”

“Why not?”

She glanced around the room; a lot of eyes were glued to them. “People will talk.”

He shrugged. “It’s expected that I dance with you. Besides, it’s not as if we’re naked, rolling around on satin sheets.”

His words conjured up forbidden images, which she fought mightily to dispel. Why did he have to say that? Now she would have that not-unpleasant idea in her head for the remainder of the night.

“You’re the one who said you don’t allow dating between troupe members.”

“We’re not dating.” His hand pressed against her bare back. “We’re dancing.”

“I know, but…” Her voice trailed off as his fingers lightly strummed against her spine.

“Besides, I’m the boss, I make the rules.” He smiled at her roguishly. “But I don’t have to follow them.”

“Oh.” She wasn’t quite sure how she should take that statement. Was he teasing her, or was he hinting at something forbidden?

He twirled her around the floor, pressing her body tighter against his unyielding one. She fought to maintain her composure. They had danced before, but not like this. Maybe it was because parts of their bare flesh touched or because here and now they were a man and a woman instead of two dancers rehearsing. She didn’t know, but whatever the reason, this dance was systematically destroying her second by wonderful second. She contradictorily found herself praying for it to both end and go on and on. She was in trouble, and she had no idea of how she had fallen into peril or how to extricate herself from it.

“Damien, I’m tired. I’d like to sit down.”

“You spend fourteen hours a day every day dancing strenuously, and a few minutes of slow dancing with me have worn you out?”

Put like that it sounded ridiculous, but she couldn’t help it. If she didn’t get out of his arms right now, she was going to do something foolish and embarrass both of them.

“People are staring,” she lamely informed.

He glanced pointedly around the room. No one was paying them any undue attention. When he gazed back into her distressed eyes, he smiled slightly. “No they’re not.”

“Please.” She pulled against his hand. “You don’t want to be the subject of gossip, and neither do I.”

“One thing you’ll learn about me, Natasha, is that I don’t live my life by other people’s rules,” he promised before releasing her suddenly. “Thanks for the dance.”

Before she could respond, he had walked away, leaving her in the middle of the dance floor. She tried not to feel abandoned, because he had done as she had asked. She slowly walked over to pick up another glass of champagne and silently cursed herself for missing Damien’s company.

As Damien slowly walked back to his date, a smile played about his lips. He had enjoyed his brief time with Natasha and would have prolonged it, had he not been fighting a strong urge to kiss her tempting lips. How had someone so pure survived in the cutthroat world of dance for years as she had? She made him feel alive in ways he hadn’t in years; she was so fresh and, frankly, naïve, and he was completely intrigued by her.

“So you finally remembered me?” Shelia said when he stopped by her side.

“How could I forget you?” Damien’s suddenly bored eyes drifted over his date’s angry countenance.

“I don’t appreciate being abandoned for Bambi,” Shelia made her displeasure known.

His eyes narrowed. “First of all, this party is for Natasha, not you. Secondly, you don’t now nor will you ever own me. I do what I want when I want. Thirdly, if you’re not having a good time, no one’s forcing you to stay.”

“Damien.” She grabbed his arm as he turned to walk away. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I was all alone.”

“I’m sure you weren’t traumatized for the few minutes I attended to the guest of honor.”

“Don’t be too sure.” She placed a hand on his chest and pressed close. “Now that you’ve done your duty, why don’t we get out of here and go back to my place?”

“Maybe later. I still have a lot of mingling to do.” He disentangled his arm from her fingers. “Are you coming, or do you want me to have a car take you home?”

His demeanor made it crystal clear he was fine with whichever option she chose. Shelia was a readily available date when he needed one. She wasn’t the type of woman he could ever be serious about, which he supposed was her appeal. She had used some of his contacts in entertainment to further her career. In fact, he had gotten her the audition for her current job, so she couldn’t complain about their casual on-call arrangement.

“I’m coming with you.” She walked over and linked her arm through his.

“Suit yourself,” he said and shrugged.

As they walked toward the buffet tables, his eyes automatically scanned the immense crowd for Natasha—the woman he really wanted at his side for the remainder of the party.

* * *

“Congratulations, Natasha.”

“Thanks, Rachel.” Natasha scanned the crowd. “Have you seen Dennis?”

“A few minutes ago. I think he was heading toward the buffet.”

“I should go find him.”

“He’ll keep for a minute.” Rachel placed a halting hand on her arm. “You and Damien looked good together on the dance floor.”

“He was just being polite.”

“I doubt that.” Rachel laughed. “There’s no law against you two dancing.”

“I know, but his date didn’t seem too happy about it.”

“Shelia?” Rachel shrugged dismissively. “She’s overly melodramatic. I think it stems from her acting career.”

“You don’t sound like you like her.”

“Oh, she’s all right.”

“Why didn’t you come with Damien tonight?”

Rachel smiled. “Damien and I are good friends. We don’t date each other.”

“Have you ever?” Natasha didn’t know why she was feeling so bold, but she couldn’t seem to stop the questions from exiting her mouth.

“No.” At Natasha’s obvious interest, Rachel decided to elaborate. “We met about eleven years ago when I was choreographing a ballet he was dancing in. We hit it off and have been friends ever since.”

“Oh.” Natasha smiled brightly. “That’s nice.”

“That information pleases you.”

“No, not at all.” Natasha quickly denied. “I just…”

“Are you interested in Damien?”

“Damien has a no-dating policy for his troupe,” Natasha sidestepped her question. “I had to assure him tonight Dennis and I are just friends.”

“Really?” Rachel raised an eyebrow.

“His concern was professional, of course,” Natasha quickly added.

“Of course.” Rachel didn’t look convinced. “But you still didn’t answer my question—are you interested in Damien romantically?”

Natasha chose her words carefully. “Rachel, I like Damien. He’s been kind to me. But I’ve worked too long and too hard for this opportunity to jeopardize it.”

“All that’s true, but…”

“There you are.” Dennis touched Natasha’s arm. “I was beginning to feel ditched.”

Natasha could have kissed him for interrupting Rachel’s inquisition. She was quickly running out of ways to deny that she did have inappropriate feelings for Damien.

“I’m sorry.” Natasha took his hand. “I promise to be a perfect, attentive date for the remainder of the evening.”

“I’m going to hold you to that one.” He pulled her toward the dance floor. “Excuse us, Rachel?”

“Of course. Have fun.”

Rachel watched the two leave with mixed emotions. Natasha appeared to be honest and focused on her career, but she also was interested in Damien. She couldn’t blame her, but she had no intention of standing idly by again the way she had ten years ago while Damien got hurt. She intended to keep an eye on Natasha, just in case she wasn’t what she appeared to be.

* * *

As Natasha danced with Dennis, she found herself wishing she was being held in Damien’s strong arms again. Of their own volition, her seeking eyes found Damien, who stood several feet away with Shelia close by his side. Natasha suppressed a shudder as Damien’s intense gaze held hers for several moments before Dennis innocently led her away. She steeled herself not to seek out Damien’s gaze again, but she felt his burning eyes on her several times through the remainder of the evening, though he never physically sought her out, much to her dismay.

It was the best night of her life; it was also the most revealing, because seeing Damien with another woman made her realize that despite her good intentions, despite the inappropriateness of it, despite the innumerable reasons why she shouldn’t, she was developing feelings for her boss—feelings that she silently vowed to keep in check, somehow.


Chapter 4

The next morning at 4:00 a.m. Natasha walked into work, stifling a yawn behind her hand. After a night of merriment, she had somehow dragged herself out of bed at her usual time. She performed her morning workout and, humming music from the ballet, entered the rehearsal hall promptly at 5:30 sharp. Once rehearsal began, however, she quickly realized this was going to be a long, difficult day.

“No, no, no!” Damien shot out of his chair and walked toward the stage and quickly up the steps. “Natasha, what are you doing?”

“I’m dancing.”

“Is that what you called it?” An eyebrow rose mockingly as he reached her side.

She bristled at his insult, even though it was justified. She wasn’t at her best today; her mind had been wandering to the wonderful party last night.

“I’m…” His angry look cut her words short.

“This is the passionate part of the dance, and you’re not doing it right. You’re not crisp enough! You’re being stilted, careless and cold!” He screamed the words at her.

“I’m sorry.” His criticism stung all the more because it was warranted.

“I don’t want your apology.” He folded his arms across his broad chest as he glared at her. “I have to have passion from you. Passion! Do you know what that is?”

She bit her lower lip hard to stem the tears that wanted so desperately to escape from her eyes. She would not cry in front of him. She was a prima ballerina and she could take stinging criticism—especially when it was justified. He wanted passion, and she would show him passion.

“May I try it again?”

“You’d better.” He scowled as he walked off the stage.

She took a deep breath and released it, glanced at Erina, who gave her thumbs up for encouragement, and then began to dance. She must have done better, because this time Damien didn’t interrupt her, though when she finished he was still frowning.

“Again,” was all he said.

She performed the dance for the third, fourth and a fifth time before he allowed her to stop. She was breathing hard from exhaustion, but she was prepared to perform again until Damien was satisfied.

“That was adequate.” Some of the bite left his voice. “But it still needs work.”

She took heart in his words. At least he wasn’t screaming at her anymore, and in her book that was major progress.

“I’ll give it special attention.”

“Yes, you will.” He nodded curtly. “Dennis, try it with her.”

“Yes, sir.” Dennis took her hand and whispered in her ear, “You’ll get it.”

Natasha offered him a slight smile. “I will.”

“All right, you two, let’s go,” Damien ordered impatiently.

“Yes, sir,” they echoed in unison and began to dance.

The other dancers breathed a collective sigh of relief, glad Damien’s anger wasn’t directed at them. This was the first time they had seen him lose his temper, and it wasn’t a pretty sight. Once lunch came, everyone was overjoyed for the break.

* * *

Natasha stood in front of her coach in a small rehearsal hall occupied by only the two of them. She chewed on her lower lip as Erina sternly lectured her.

“You are a prima ballerina now, Natasha,” Erina reminded. “More is expected of you than just being good. You must be great.”

“I know.”

“You were sloppy in rehearsal.” Erina touched her shoulder. “And you know it.”

“I guess I was distracted,” she admitted.

Erina frowned. “By what?”

“I was thinking about my party last night.”

Erina allowed her expression to soften. “It was a spectacular event, no?”

“It was better than I ever dreamed.” Natasha beamed. “Damien went overboard, didn’t he?”

“Mr. Johnson appreciates your talent, and you deserved every heap of praise you received.”

Natasha hugged her coach close and kissed her cheek. “Oh, I love you, Erina. You know that, right?”

“Of course I know that.” Erina returned her hug for a few seconds. “Now, we must put that type of emotion into your dance. Come now, let us practice, and when you return to stage, you will, how do you say, knock Mr. Johnson’s socks off.”

“Yes,” Natasha smilingly agreed.

“Let’s begin. First position. Now stretch,” Erina instructed. “Good. Bend more, more. Good.”

Erina ordered one difficult exercise after the other without hesitation, challenging Natasha’s strength and resolve. Natasha performed each maneuver without complaint; she was intent on being perfect when rehearsal continued, and hard work was what it took to be perfect.




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