by Jayce Ellis
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By Jayce Ellis
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The Carpenter’s Prince
By Jayce Ellis
Sean Edwards would do anything for his nephew, including designing the props for a children’s version of the Nutcracker. He’s ready for the long nights and weekends in the workshop—they’re part of the job, especially given the short notice. The insanely sexy head ballerino is completely unexpected, however.
All principal danseur Keni Jackson wants is to surpass last year’s performance, blow people’s socks off, and cement his place in the studio. The last thing he needs is something to shatter his carefully held control—like a cuddly carpenter who favors jazz over Tchaikovsky.
Sean and Keni are drawn to each other, but not everyone is a fan of their relationship. When Keni’s position is threatened, they have to decide whether to walk away for good, or if what they’ve found is worth fighting for.
To my parents, who dragged me to ballet for nine years when I wanted to do absolutely anything else. And to my husband, who helped me rediscover my unbridled love for it.
ALLISON WILLIAMS stamped her foot on the ground and sighed heavily, her slim hands landing on her hips. “God, what is wrong with these floors? They promised they would wax them over the weekend.”
Keni Jackson cut his eyes to Timothy Balencourt, his second, and grimaced. The ballet studio had polished the floors. It was clear to anyone paying attention that they had retaped the lines, the marley flooring smoothed to a pristine finish. Allison should have nailed that triple pirouette combo, and they all knew it. As prima ballerina, Allison’s attitude, while mostly okay, lived up to the name when it came time for the big performances. This year’s Nutcracker was no exception.
And Keni was tasked to play the Prince to her Snow Queen. Again. Things had gone well last year, with none of the problems they were having now. When he’d gently suggested that she might have an injury that was preventing her from getting fully on pointe, she’d blown her stack. He backed off, not willing to go down that road with her.
“It’s okay, sweet pea. Let’s just try it again. You guys can do it.” Keni bristled. It was an open secret Timothy was gunning for his job, livid at being passed over. Last year they’d split the role, alternating performances. This year it was all Keni, and Timothy was not shy about making his displeasure known.
Keni crossed the studio to the stereo system, bracketed against the wall by the door, and paused. Someone was playing… jazz, at—he checked the wall clock—ten o’clock at night? The rest of the studios were dark, but there was a light filtering out past the last door, which was an open workspace. Sometimes the youngest kids used it to put together art projects to play with while learning ballet fundamentals. Other than that, it was pretty much for storage.
“What are you doing? We’ve got work to do.” Allison’s voice drifted behind him, equal parts frustrated and concerned.
Heaven help him. Keni closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath. She would be the death of him. He shook his head and turned to face them. “Someone’s playing music in the back.”
Allison paled, highlighting the contrast between her fair complexion and burnished red hair, but Timothy seemed nonplussed. “There’s no way anyone would be here without Naveed’s say-so. Don’t worry about it. Shut the door if it bothers you.”
Asshole or not, he was right. Naveed, the creative director for the small company of fifteen, was a standup guy. Keni was curious about who would choose such a soothing, melodic, decidedly nonclassical tune to play in a ballet studio, but decided to take the other man’s advice. He shut the door and skipped back to the beginning of the track. “All right, let’s try this again.”
And it happened again. Allison nailed the triple pirouette but caught Keni right under the chin with her arms while pique-ing into her arabesque. He stumbled, and it was only the decades of training that kept them upright.
“Jesus fuck, Keni. What the hell did you do?”
Keni looked up at her. “Maybe next time don’t flail your arms like that and we won’t have this problem.” What was happening here?
Allison spun on him, her eyes flaring, splotches of red coloring her cheeks, and took two steps forward. And Keni fought not to laugh, because walking in pointe shoes always looked ridiculous to him. Like walking on skates, only clunkier.
“Children! Again.” Keni cut his eyes to Timothy, who raised a brow and smirked as if to say Do you need me to show you how it’s done? He bet Timothy’d love that.
Fine, then. Keni closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, consciously unclenching his jaw, then took his position. They’d just begun the sequence again when the unmistakable sound of a buzz saw cut through the straining sounds of Tchaikovsky.
“Okay, what the hell is going on?” Keni asked, throwing his hands in the air.
“Can’t you practice through it?” Timothy’s infamous impatience was starting to bloom.
Keni did consider turning up the volume, but Allison was prone to migraines and loud music could trigger her pretty badly, especially when compounded with stress. Besides that, Keni’s curiosity was getting the better of him, and he needed a break.
“I’m going to check it out, tell them to knock it off.”
“But what about—”
Timothy cut Allison off. “Let him go, dear. You and I can practice, see if we can’t figure out what’s wrong.”
Keni turned back at the door and caught Timothy’s sly grin, saw the way even Allison recoiled and took a minute step back, which was almost enough to change his mind. Then she rolled her eyes and Keni grinned. She had this. He walked down the hall toward the back. Rich, warm sounds rose as he approached. The butterflies in his stomach rose too, while his frustration with this impromptu rehearsal and irritation at the interruption slowly faded, though Keni couldn’t figure out why. Surely nobody listening to Wynton Marsalis was a threat, right?
Keni paused at the end of the hall and took a breath before pushing open the door. A man was hunched over, his back to the door, buzz saw working furiously. Keni winced as a piece of wood fell and hit the floor, but the man nimbly stepped around it to continue his cutting. It was a large piece, of what he couldn’t tell, but as he stood there, watching, it began to take shape. It looked like a little group of mice, and Keni frowned. What the hell was this guy doing? He started to call out to him but thought better of it. The last thing he wanted to do was startle a man with machinery in his hand.
The buzzing stopped, and the man set the machine down and stood back, staring at his work. Keni rapped lightly on the door, but there was no response. Louder. Still nothing. The man was now busy sanding the corners of whatever he was making. Keni walked over, trying to get into the man’s peripheral vision so he wouldn’t startle the guy, and reached out a hand to tap him on the shoulder.
The stranger chose that moment to stand straight and take a step back, brushing into Keni’s front and jumping remarkably high for man with presumably no training in doing so.
“Good Lord, you startled me.” The man sucked in a harsh breath, a hand over his chest, safety goggles and ear protectors still over his head. Well, that explained why the guy hadn’t heard him earlier. He took the goggles off, lowered the headset around his neck, and stared at Keni.
And Keni stared back. He was a big boy, like thicc thick. Black, six-one, maybe six-two, broad shoulders, solid thighs, and just enough softness around the middle that Keni wanted to snuggle. A veritable teddy bear. The shaved head and full beard did nothing to dissuade him. He itched to touch, to climb h
im and wrap his legs around him and nuzzle into his neck.
Except the man was frowning at him. “Who are you?” he asked, his voice a little hoarse. Keni wondered if it was always like that, or if it was the sawdust. Probably the latter, but it still sounded sexy as hell.
Keni raised a brow. “I’m the principal danseur.” God, he sounded like a pretentious douche. He tried again. “I mean, the lead male ballerina. My partner and I are rehearsing for the Nutcracker. Who exactly are you?”
The man’s eyes widened; then he dipped his head and rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to be harsh, but Naveed told me no one would be here. He asked me to design some set pieces for the kids’ ballet.”
Keni frowned, wracking his brain before it clicked. The company did what they called a petite ballet performance, a shortened version of the Nutcracker for families with small children who wouldn’t sit through the full thing. Keni was dancing in that one too. The original designer’d had some sort of hissy fit with Naveed, destroyed his half-ass work, picked up his toys, and gone home. Naveed had been scrambling to find a replacement, difficult because the show started in less than two weeks.
“Of course, that makes sense. I… we were practicing and heard the jazz and the buzz saw and got a little concerned,” he finished breathlessly.
“Scared you wandered into a horror flick?”
Keni laughed at the humor in the other man’s voice. “Not quite but, well, maybe.” He smiled, and the man took a step forward.
“Sean Edwards.” He held out his hand.
“Keni-with-an-i Jackson,” Keni said as he returned the handshake.
Sean’s hands were big, nearly engulfing one of Keni’s in his own. And rough, the calluses on his palms indicative of a man who used his hands constantly. The thought of those hands on Keni’s frame would fuel fantasies for weeks.
Sean dropped his hand and rubbed it up and down his paint-splattered and worn jeans. “Sorry about that,” he said, gesturing to Keni’s now sawdust-covered one. “Didn’t mean to get you dirty.”
And whoo-boy, didn’t that bring up all sorts of delightfully naughty thoughts.
Before he could say anything and put his foot in his mouth, Sean continued. “I’m sorry for interrupting. I thought I’d have the place to myself, and I’d hoped the music would cover the sound if someone was here. My bad. I’ll try to stay out of your way, but Naveed sounded like he was in a rush.”
Keni was shaking his head before Sean finished. That was the last thing he wanted. “Nothing at all to be sorry about, and Naveed is panicking a little, so it’s good that you’re here. This isn’t a normal rehearsal night, and we were almost done anyway.” He paused and tilted his head, considering. “As a matter of fact, we are done, and I’m famished.” For more than food. “Would you like to grab a bite to eat?”
It sounded like a capital idea. He couldn’t deal with Allison or Timothy anymore, and he wanted to know more about this beautiful man.
Sean dipped his head again, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth before he shook his head. Good God, the man’s dimples were so deep Keni could see them even through his full beard. That just wasn’t fair.
“Umm, well, I mean I—” he stammered through a host of beginnings before blowing out a breath.
He was shy too? It was like this man had been created for him. Keni took another step forward before a much stronger knock sounded against the door. Timothy.
“While you were off doing… whatever—” Timothy broke off to look Sean up and down, his nose curling before refocusing on Keni. “—Allison and I executed the scene to perfection three separate times. Would you like us to show you how?”
Sean watched the exchange, coughed gently, and took a step back. Damn. “Thanks for the offer, but I want to get some of this finished up before the weekend. The detail work takes more time.”
Keni pasted on a smile, pointedly ignoring Timothy and giving Sean his full attention. “Of course. Maybe next time, then?”
Sean looked up at him, his hand hovering over the saw now back in his grasp. “Sure, next time.”
“I’ll be looking forward to it.” Keni smiled at him and waited until Sean gave him a slight grin in return, just enough to pop those dimples, then left the space. He ignored Timothy’s questioning glance and Allison’s obvious surprise, gathered his belongings, and stepped out into the frigid air.
SEAN BENT over his worktable, using the 220 grit sandpaper to smooth down the edges of the prop he was designing for his nephew Cameron’s ballet studio. A triple-stacked piece of little rats, meant to replicate the Rat King’s army. For the shortened kids’ production, only the actual Rat King and Head Toy Soldier would fight. The full performance used the younger dancers as soldiers and minions, and Cameron was Team Rat in all things right now. Sean had painted each rat differently, in homage to the Rat Pack, because why not, but kept it a little cheeky so the younger audiences would enjoy it.
A sharp thud, strong enough for him to hear through his noise-canceling headset, made him turn. Cameron stood in the doorway. Good. He remembered not to come inside the studio until Sean acknowledged him. Heaven forbid Sean not hear him while he was working with tools.
“Hey, Uncle Sean, Mom asked if you could take me to rehearsal tonight. She said she sent you a text message but you haven’t responded.”
Crap. That was probably true. He tugged off his safety goggles and grabbed his phone from the dust-covered counter. Sure enough, he’d missed two phone calls and three text messages. He winced. It’d honestly been easier being solely responsible for transporting Cameron to class, but he was glad Shayna wanted to be more involved.
“Of course I’ll take you. What time you need to be there?”
Cameron was leaning over the piece now, his finger poised to touch. Sean coughed loudly. “I know you know better,” he said, making sure to keep his voice light.
Cameron grinned cheekily and stood. “I know, but this is mad cool, Unc.” He sighed. “We’re supposed to be there at six.”
Hell, it was five thirty now. With traffic, they’d be cutting it close. “You ready?”
Cameron nodded, and, after Sean washed his hands to get the grime off and switched his dust- and paint-splattered shirt for a clean one, they took off in his truck.
The parking lot at the studio was a madhouse. Which was to be expected in the evenings, which was why Sean liked to get there early. Cameron maintained he was old enough to go inside by himself and check in, and at eleven, he was. Still, Sean insisted on walking him in, and had deftly ignored Cameron’s grumbles about being treated like a baby. But there was no spot tonight, so Sean pulled up to the front, threw his hazards on, and climbed out.
“I can do this myself, Uncle Sean. I don’t need an escort.” God, preteens could be grumpy.
“And you know that doesn’t mean a thing, right?”
Cameron huffed in annoyance but didn’t argue.
They stood in the back of the line, Sean shifting to let parents and dancers pass. He deftly ignored the wide eyes and startled looks from the people while they did so. He knew he was a big guy and probably looked intimidating, but he’d long since decided their apprehension around him was a personal problem. Theirs, not his.
The line moved quickly and Cameron checked in, and Sean walked with him down the hall toward the men’s dressing room. Keni was on his way out, and his eyes brightened when he saw them. A grin pulled at the side of his mouth, and Sean’s heart stumbled over itself. He’d thought Keni was flirty before, but convinced himself he’d imagined it. What would a guy like that see in him? Keni had a classic dancer’s body, tight and compact, but Sean could imagine the underlying strength it harnessed. A man who could take all of him. Paired with that tan skin and black hair, close-cropped on the back and sides, and eyes so dark they might be black as well, and Sean was a goner. But his track record with guys was poor, and Sean’s faith—in himself—was admittedly low.
“Sean, it’s good to see you again.” Keni’s voice rolled down Sean’s spine. He held his hand out to shake, and Sean took it. Those fingers were long, slender, but 100 percent man, and Sean had had a devil of a time getting the sensation of them against his palm out of his head over the weekend.
“You know my uncle Sean?” Cameron asked, his voice a little awestruck. Keni’d mentioned that he was the principal… whatever word he used. The head guy ballerina. The younger dancers probably looked up to him big-time.
Keni smiled down at Cameron. “I didn’t know he was your uncle, but I met him last weekend.”
“Oh, cool. Uncle Sean,” Cameron said, practically bouncing on his toes, “Keni’s playing the Nutcracker Prince this year. He’s so awesome. I’m going to be like him when I grow up.”
Sean couldn’t help the smile that broke out across his face, grateful his sister had never discouraged Cameron’s love of dance. “I’m sure you will be, and I can’t wait to see you.”
Keni smiled at them and cocked his head to the side. “Would you like to watch the rehearsal? It’s not open, but you’d be welcome as my guest.”
That idea was far too tempting for any one man’s sanity. “Oh, thanks but that’s okay. I’m double parked and I’ve got some work to do.”
“What work?” Cameron asked. Way to put me on the spot, kid.
“I have to sketch out the rest of the props so I can cut them later this week.” And get away from the vision of Keni leaping through the air, which was sure to be seared into Sean’s brain for time immemorial if he saw it even once.
Thankfully, mention of the props was all it took for Cameron to go off about how cool the rat piece Sean had started was. Sean couldn’t tell if Keni was actually interested or simply polite, but when he said, “I can’t wait to see it,” Sean actually thought he might be telling the truth.
“Where were you planning to work?” Keni asked, his eyes light with laughter at Cameron’s exuberance, a grin tugging on his cheeks.