‘You don’t get ahead in AFL by being a softy.’
‘I don’t know. I reckon you might be a big softy on the inside.’ She laughed, poking him in the ribs. ‘You’re like one of those mean-looking dogs that rolls over for a tummy scratch.’
‘I’m at the top of my profession, sweetheart.’ He wanted to come across as controlled, but the words sounded hollow to his own ears. Defensive. ‘I’m not in it for the belly scratches.’
‘So what are you in it for?’
‘I’m in it for the game.’
‘You like to win?’
‘Hell, yeah, I like to win.’ He laughed. ‘Don’t you?’
‘Depends on your definition of winning, I guess.’
A dark shadow passed over her face and for a moment he caught a glimpse of something beneath the surface of her warm brown eyes.
She moved on before he could probe deeper. ‘Why weren’t you always in charge?’
Of course she’d latched on to that little statement. Memories flickered at the edge of his consciousness. He didn’t want to talk about this. He’d never told anyone about what he’d left behind, about the guilt that racked him for abandoning his family only a year after his mother had passed away.
‘Let’s just say I was a late bloomer.’
‘And now?’
‘Like I said, I’m at the top of my game.’ His eyes flickered over to her. ‘Belly scratches not required.’
There was no way she’d understand. Her face was neutral, giving nothing away. She kept her gaze trained on the front window, her hands folded primly in her lap.
‘If you’re at the top of your game then why are you concerned with my opinion?’
‘What exactly is your opinion?’ He steered the car around a corner and forced his eyes to stay on the road. He wanted to see her expression, watch for a hint of how she really felt.
Why did he even care?
‘Like you said to me the other night—don’t take it personally... I don’t understand why football is such a big deal. I mean, you chase a ball around a field until someone kicks it between two posts. It’s not rocket science.’
‘We live the life of a dedicated athlete, we give up the things regular people take for granted.’
‘I’m sure keeping up with the constant partying and bedding groupies is a real sacrifice.’
‘Yeah, it’s hard to keep up with the groupies, but I try my best.’ He winked at her while they were stopped at a red light. ‘It’s good for building stamina.’
‘You’re unbelievable.’ She rolled her eyes.
‘So I’ve been told.’
Deflecting her away from the personal stuff with OTT arrogance wasn’t his finest hour, but it had steered her away from the dark parts of him and it had made her laugh. As far as he was concerned it was a win.
She huffed and shook her head. Grant couldn’t help but notice the pink flush that had spread from her cheeks down her neck, and she squirmed under his gaze.
He drove the car down the street that led to the ballet studio. Automatically he felt his shoulders tense as they drew closer. The feeling of dread that he experienced each time he came to the studio kicked in as he pulled into the car park. It was as if his body associated the studio with the pressure he was putting on himself—a manifestation of the fine line he walked with each game this season.
‘Thanks for the lift.’ Jasmine gathered her bag and umbrella from beneath her feet. ‘That rain would have been awful to travel in.’
‘No problem.’ He tried to keep his eyes forwards, but he couldn’t help stealing a glance as she stepped out of the car. The clingy fabric of her pants showed off one magnificently tight, toned ass. He gulped.
‘See you tomorrow.’
Jasmine practically bounced from the car to the studio, her pink sports bag swinging against her hip while her pert behind wiggled enticingly. Grant gave himself a moment to let his breath settle before he peeled out of the car park.
Don’t even think about it.
* * *
A quiet studio was not what Jasmine needed right now. The silence encouraged thinking, and sifting through the questions in her head was not productive...not when she had to focus on work. She stood at the barre, rolling her ankle around in a slow circle. The joint protested, the tendons tugging sharply as she pushed herself to flex or point a little more. If only she could push it a little farther each time...
Years of stretching had given her a perfect curve en pointe, but now she could barely rise up onto the balls of her feet. They refused to stretch, refused to flex and curve as they once had.
Gritting her teeth, she attempted a few moves from an old routine. Her feet thumped against the floor, clumsy in their poor imitation of how she had once danced. She wanted so badly to be able to go back to the way she’d been before the accident, before she’d stranded herself in this horrible place known as dancer’s limbo—where you were too broken to move forwards, too proud to go backwards and too engrained to go anywhere else.
She missed dancing with an ache that felt as if it split her chest wide open every time she failed to flex her feet properly. There were times when she feared that her soul might wither up and die if she went much longer without dance.
Voices from the waiting room pulled her out of her dark thoughts; she whipped her head around.
Grant stood in the waiting room, talking to her best friend and owner of the studio, Elise Johnson, but his eyes were undeniably on Jasmine. Even from a distance she could see the fire burning in their ice-blue depths. He nodded in response to something Elise said but he didn’t tear his gaze from her...not even for a second. Stomach fluttering, she crossed the studio. Their muffled voices became clearer as Jasmine reached the waiting room.
‘How come your girlfriend doesn’t come and watch you practise?’
Elise batted her eyelashes at Grant as Jasmine poked her head into the waiting room. She bit down on her lip to stop herself from groaning; the girl was as subtle as a sledgehammer.
‘No girlfriend.’ Grant shook his head, catching Jasmine’s eye and winking.
‘Wife?’
‘Definitely not.’
‘Interesting.’ Elise cocked her head to one side and smiled at Jasmine conspiratorially as she turned to grab her coat and bag. ‘Well, I’m off. Enjoy your lesson.’
Her smile was sweet as a cupcake piled high with frosting. Jasmine stifled a laugh at Grant’s get-me-out-of-here expression. Elise was full-strength girlie—none of that watered-down diet stuff. As Grant came forwards Elise shot Jasmine a thumbs-up behind his back. Her face sparkled.
Despite the fact that Elise was single herself, she’d made it her mission to try and set Jasmine up, no matter how many times she protested.
She held open the door to the waiting room. ‘Shall we get lesson number two over with?’
‘It’s going to feel even longer if you count down every single lesson,’ Grant said, walking past her, close enough that she could smell the faint aftershave on his skin.
‘You were the one who wanted to speed up the results,’ she said, focusing her attention on the mirrored wall as they walked over to the barre. Each breath had to be forced in and out of her lungs, as though she might forget to breathe if she were near him for too long.
‘Do I need to wear these stupid things every lesson?’ He pulled at the fabric of his sports tights and allowed it to snap against his thigh. ‘At least at footy I can wear shorts over the top.’
‘Are you worried about your modesty?’ She raised an eyebrow.
‘It’s not me I’m worried about.’
She put on her most serious teacher voice. ‘I need to see how your muscles work while we’re going through the exercises.’
Heat crawled up her neck and she forced her eyes to
stay on his face. She would not look down. She would not look down.
‘My muscles? Right.’ He drew the last word out, barely containing his laughter.
‘I think you should consider taking these lessons a little more seriously, Grant. Preventing injury is no laughing manner.’
‘God, you sound like an insurance commercial.’
He was pushing her on purpose, and he seemed to be getting an immense amount of pleasure out of it. Since this was her lesson, she could pay him back.
‘Why don’t we get started with some calf raises?’
He rolled his eyes and groaned, as though she’d told him he needed to climb a mountain with one hand.
‘Suck it up, Grant. If there’s one thing you should know about people who’ve studied ballet it’s that we have discipline beyond anything you could imagine.’ She sounded smug, sure, but he totally deserved it.
He shook his head and laughed. ‘You’re not selling the ballet ideal very well.’
‘You don’t think you’ve got what it takes?’ She cursed herself. She shouldn’t be baiting him. No doubt he’d be the kind of guy to enjoy a little verbal sparring. But the words had slipped out before she could stop them. It was too...fun. And she needed a little fun right now.
He grinned at her, confirming her fears. ‘If I want something, there ain’t a force in the world that will stop me from having it.’
Jasmine gulped. His pointed look sent liquid fire through her veins. There was no doubt in her mind that she was on his list of things to want. She had to remind herself that this was business and—fun as it might be, she was only after a pay cheque. But that grin...the crooked, self-assured way he smiled...it was like a fist through her stomach.
No, this would not work on her. She wasn’t another airhead groupie, ready to fall at his feet.
‘You can’t have everything you want. That’s not how the world works.’ And didn’t she know it.
He raked his eyes over her. ‘Watch me.’
Awareness tingled on her skin. She could feel his gaze so keenly that it might as well have been the brush of his fingertips or the rasp of his tongue for what it was doing to her insides. She bit down on her lip, trying unsuccessfully to blank out the flickering reel of R-rated images in her mind.
‘Since you’re so strong of mind, why don’t you focus some of that energy on this lesson?’
After Grant had made his way through the warm-up she moved them on to a new exercise, facing him at the barre.
‘We’ll start the tendu à terre in first position. Watch me.’ She extended her right leg forwards until only the tips of her pointed toes touched the ground.
Looking as out of place as one would expect from a footballer in a ballet studio, Grant struck an angled version of first position with his working arm, his shoulders bunched up around his neck.
Jasmine rested her hand on the tense muscle. ‘You have to loosen up from here or you’ll never relax into it,’ she said, running her hands down his arm and shaping it into the proper position. Her fingertips brushed his hard, curved biceps. Her breath quickened while her heart bounded like an over-excited puppy. ‘Now, extend your working leg forwards slowly. Point your foot and keep it on the ground.’
He shifted as he moved his leg forwards, tipping his hips out of alignment. Her hands automatically went down to put them back into place. Her fingers fluttered involuntarily against his hipbone. Through the thin fabric of his running tights his muscular thighs were perfectly visible. The fitted garment didn’t leave much to the imagination...and, speaking of imagination, hers was running wild.
From the sharp intake of his breath and the flare of his pupils he must have felt it too. And the jolt of electricity that made her whole body feel like a live wire—could he feel that as well?
She stepped back and instructed him to complete the exercise on his own. Using her remote, she played classical music so he had timing to work with. He fought to keep his posture straight and Jasmine clasped her hands in front of her to stop herself from reaching out to touch him again.
‘That’s looking good. If we can get those hips to stay square, then you’ll master this in no time. The tendu leads on to a lot of other steps in ballet.’
She was babbling—a side-effect from the onslaught of lust. God, it had been far too long since she’d been with a man, it must be the hormones making her crazy. That’s all it was, a perfectly reasonable and natural response...absolutely nothing to do with him. She needed a break. Now.
‘Why don’t you grab a drink?’ She walked to the front of the studio where her water bottle sat next to the MP3 player and her mobile phone. ‘We’ll get started again in a few minutes.’
They had another half an hour to go—how was she going to keep herself in check for that long? She took a swig of her water and relished the cool liquid sliding down the back of her throat.
‘Did you ever think about going pro with your dancing?’ His voice caught her off guard and she stiffened.
Busying herself with the MP3 player, she grappled for a response. She tried to swallow, her mouth suddenly dry.
‘I’m not sure if any ballerinas would refer to it as “going pro.”’
‘Picking on my slang is an excellent way to avoid the question,’ he said. ‘But I’ll rephrase. Did you ever think about dancing professionally?’
‘Yes.’ Not a lie, but not an invitation either.
‘And?’
She bit her lip and sighed. The last thing she needed was for him to pity her...or, worse, want to help in some way. She always dealt with problems by herself; she preferred it that way. Dealing with things on her own meant there was no one pushing their ideas on her, no one convincing her to do something outside her comfort zone and no one controlling her.
But how could she get around this topic for the rest of their time together? At some point it would come up again and she’d have the same dilemma: lie or expose herself.
‘I was a soloist with the Australian Ballet.’ She kept her voice even, unemotional. ‘I trained in ballet my whole life and have wanted to be a professional ballerina ever since I was eight years old.’
‘Then why did you quit?’
‘I didn’t quit.’ The word tasted dirty in her mouth. She would never have stopped dancing if her hand hadn’t been forced. ‘I was injured in a car accident and now I don’t have full movement in my foot and ankle. I can’t dance en pointe anymore.’
She opened her mouth to continue but the words died in her throat. Her lips were parched and her tongue was heavy, as if physically resisting the truth. She couldn’t mention the constant pain. The mental torment. The shame of how it had happened.
She couldn’t talk to anyone about that—not even her best friend.
Grant was silent, lines forming at the centre of his forehead. His thick brows were knitted together. Out of nowhere his left hand reached out and clasped hers. Jasmine jumped at the unexpected touch. Her hand was tiny in his grip. Fragile.
THREE
He clasped the fragility of her hand between his fingers, her bones feeling tiny and delicate and perfect. She gasped, her lips opening and closing, before she clenched her jaw. She’d been hurt before, and she wore it like a warning sign that read Stay the Hell Away.
She frowned, her rich brown eyes narrowing at him as she withdrew her hand from his grip. He wasn’t even sure why he’d touched her, but something stirred deep within him. Everything about her was restrained, from her not-a-hair-out-of-place bun to her neatly filed pink fingernails. She had a carefully constructed veneer that held him at arm’s length, and while he had no interest in getting closer she looked as though she could use the comfort. Yeah, he was comforting her...it had nothing to do with the strange ache in his chest.
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘Not
as sorry as I was.... You’re here to work on your flexibility, remember?’ Her voice wobbled slightly but she retained control. ‘You’re here to work.’
The way her eyes glittered and her cheeks were stained pink told him he’d unintentionally hit a nerve. How interesting. A woman with a mystery was his personal weakness, and there was a hell of a lot more to her story than she was letting on. He was drawn in by the opportunity to uncover her secrets, to peel away the layers of complexity that shrouded her. He would pick his moment, when she wasn’t so raw, so exposed. He would find out what had hurt her more than a shattered dream.
‘I mean it.’ She walked towards him and stopped barely inches from where he stood. ‘Back to work.’
The air between them sizzled. Grant’s heart thudded an erratic beat in his chest. Her power seemed to come from nowhere. She’d frozen him on the spot with a single look. Her eyes blackened, pupils engulfing the ring of warm brown around it. She stood in front of him, close enough to touch. He could feel every damn millimetre between them and he wanted desperately to close the gap, to draw her to him with force.
But she was playing the same game he was. Testing the boundaries. Pushing to see how far they could go.
She returned to the barre, seemingly unperturbed. ‘Let’s keep working on your tendu for now.’
Jasmine settled her body into the starting position and waited while Grant did the same. She demonstrated where the turn-out should be coming from by touching the tops of her thighs where they connected to her hips, her hands inches from the place he wished his own hands were...or maybe his mouth.
Grant swallowed. She looked at him through her thick curly lashes as though she was completely aware of how difficult he was finding it not to stare. Damn her, she was doing it on purpose.
‘Extend forwards.’ She completed the move facing him, so that their feet met in the centre.
Her words counted out the beats of the music and he trained his eyes on her legs, making a poor imitation of her movements. He should leave her well alone, but something kept pulling him in. Something in the way she held him at arm’s length made his blood pulse harder and hotter in his veins.
Only the Brave Try Ballet Page 3