The Sheikh's Bought Ballerina (The Sheikh's New Bride Book 6)

by Holly Rayner

  In some ways, and on days like today, Nikolai reminded Salim of his father, and a number of his brothers to boot. And the thought led him down a path in his mind that he had hoped to leave aside when he’d boarded the plane back to New York.

  He was so lost in thought that he didn’t realize for some time what his eyes had come to rest on. And even after he did, and knew that he was staring in a way that would probably make her uncomfortable if she could see him through the glass, he couldn’t tear his glance away.

  There, standing in the alley, illuminated by the street lamp above her, was an astoundingly beautiful woman in a revealing costume, seemingly transfixed by the sight of her own breath. Standing as she was, illuminated in the darkness, she reminded him a great deal of a Caravaggio painting, not unlike the one he had won today.

  But unlike a Caravaggio painting, Salim found that he had no desire to explore the world in the darkness around her. All he wanted to do was explore her. Her hair was pulled back, and her costume was a thing of beauty, although he doubted it would look half as perfect draped around any other body.

  It was her face—something about the emotions expressed there, and lived out so coherently by every other muscle she had—that made her stand out to him. She was a dancer; that much was obvious from what she was wearing. But even as she stood still, it was as though she was dancing, expressing herself with everything she was.

  What a rare talent, Salim thought, to be able to be a work of art, even while standing still.

  There was also the question of what those emotions actually were; there was some kind of sadness there that Salim could see, even from this distance. But there was hope, too. She had the joy of victory, even mixed as it was with a clear sense of anxiety. She was at once still, focused and determined, and, at the same time, her whole body seemed poised for something, as though she were waiting for the sound of a gun to take flight.

  Salim had forgiven Nikolai for many things over the years, but in the moment when he came back to the town car and told him that their seats were ready, he felt sure he would never forgive him for taking him away from his quiet observation of the woman in the lamplight.

  When would he again get the opportunity to just sit and observe this woman, being so perfectly expressive and perfectly herself without meaning to? It was an authentic moment, in a world that, at least in Salim’s experience, often lacked authenticity.

  He mourned the loss of that moment up until the ballet began, when he saw that same woman, with that same ethereal beauty, come out onto the stage.

  Instantly, he understood why he and Nikolai were there. The ballet company was one thing—they are easily enough bought and sold, and Nikolai had shown a penchant for buying just that sort of thing. But she was the real treasure here.

  She was the diamond in the over-the-river wasteland.

  There was a part of Salim that almost felt betrayed. He’d thought that that moment with her in the alley was singular. He thought that he was getting to see something unique that no one would ever see. But here he was, in a room with so many strangers—none of whom, Salim felt, could possibly deserve the gift they were being given—and still she gave off that same purity of intention and emotion and form that she had all on her own in the alley.

  If he had to guess, he would imagine that everyone in the room felt the same way that he did. He felt alone with her. He felt a sense of connection that he had only ever felt a few times, and then with works of art. That feeling—so rare and so treasured—was what had led him to become a collector in the first place. And he was, in a way, proud of Nikolai for having uncovered something so rare and holy.

  He was proud up until the moment at intermission, when Nikolai opened his mouth.

  “Can you imagine how much I’m going to enjoy sleeping with that?”

  He had leaned in close, so that no one else could hear them, and still Salim felt embarrassed by his friend. And insulted, as though he’d said something to personally offend him. It was a strange feeling; over the course of their friendship, Nikolai had said many offensive things, but the reason they were able to stay friends was that Salim had always been able to find a way to ignore them.

  But this—that Nikolai would talk about her that way—that made Salim furious. He had to swallow his anger as he replied.

  “You think she doesn’t have plenty of better options than you?”

  Salim, in his annoyance, had backed away from Nikolai, but Nikolai leaned back in conspiratorially.

  “I hear she’s had plenty of options. But I haven’t heard of her actually taking any of them. From what I hear, she’s picky. So picky that I can’t actually find any evidence of her having dated anyone.”

  The pit of anger in Salim’s stomach was growing. Nikolai hadn’t just heard this from idle gossip. If anyone had asked, Salim was sure that no one would think Nikolai even knew who she was at all. But Nikolai’s family had ways of finding things out—mostly, for the sake of their business enterprises. And Nikolai had gone and used them to stalk this woman who had done nothing to provoke his intense interest other than exist and be extraordinary.

  But even as he was upset at Nikolai’s methods of gathering information, Salim found himself curious about his results.

  “What, no one? And you think she’s going to date you?”

  Nikolai laughed, causing a few people nearby to look over at them. He waited until they had looked away before he continued.

  “Oh, Salim. Who said anything about dating?”

  Again, the anger grew.

  “You won’t be able to,” he said, more out of instinct than intention. He didn’t believe that Nikolai wouldn’t be able to. He knew his friend too well for that.

  Nikolai looked surprised, and maybe, somewhere in there, even a little insulted.

  “What, and you think you could?”

  “More than you.”

  Nikolai seemed to consider for a moment. And then, with a grin, he leaned back in.

  “All right, then, since you seem so certain. How about you give me a chance to earn back that five million dollars that I missed out on earlier?”

  Salim knew he should probably hesitate. He knew he should think it through. He’d only put forward the five million before because he knew his friend well enough to know that that money was perfectly safe. He would have been good for it if Nikolai had been able to come up with the names, but he never would have offered it if he’d thought there was the slightest chance he’d do it.

  Salim had made a rule of not getting involved in Nikolai’s little power trips, except when Nikolai brought them to him. It was another of the things that had allowed them to stay more or less on good terms across all these years.

  And yet…

  He pictured the girl, whose name the program told him was Ophelia. He imagined her falling for Nikolai’s charms, only to be let down when he inevitably did what he would always do. You can’t blame a scorpion for doing what is in its nature; the fable was true. But Salim couldn’t stand idly by and let Nikolai inflict that nature on someone else.

  He couldn’t stop Nikolai from pursuing Ophelia. And he couldn’t, in all likelihood, prevent Nikolai from succeeding, unless he gave Ophelia some reason to turn him down. He didn’t need to win. He just needed to prevent Nikolai from succeeding for as long as it took him to give up and change his mind.

  And, with the success that Salim had had with women, he knew that filling the beautiful ballerina’s head up with a different fantasy would be perfectly within his capabilities.

  He could lead her on and keep her out of Nikolai’s orbit. And then, Ophelia—and her heart—would be safe from Nikolai’s penchant to take everything a woman had to give and leave her the moment he was done.

  Salim stuck out a strong, sure hand, ready to shake. “You have a bet.”

  Chapter 5

  Ophelia

  The lead-up to opening night might have been a mix of joyful anticipation and misery, but the cool-down was always pure
, unadulterated, exhausted euphoria. It might have been different if she’d ever had an opening night that didn’t go well, but she never had. What her parents had instilled in her so strongly hadn’t let her down yet. With enough preparation, you can ensure a result. Every time, in every circumstance.

  Even the jealous girls who had rattled her so much before the performance didn’t bother her now, as she gently stretched and warmed down. Her fellow performers, family and friends—people came and went, congratulating her on a flawless opening performance while they did so.

  But Ophelia took her time with cooling down her body. This quiet in her mind, the sense of accomplishment, was her reward for the months of intense effort that she’d put into this. For a little while, at least, she would be at peace.

  She would do her best to hold onto this peace before the little voice in her head began forcing her to start working through figuring out what she could have done better. The longer she could make it last, the better.

  She was all alone in the warm-up room, doing her best to bask in her success, when she heard a voice behind her.

  “Ophelia? They told me I would find you here.”

  At first, she panicked at a stranger’s presence, here in their inner sanctum. But then, she remembered. Yes, of course. Eliza’s little “gift.” A few hours ago, she’d been mortified by the prospect of having to deal with him, but high on her success, it didn’t even phase her enough to turn around.

  “They shouldn’t have. Look, I’m sure you’re great and all, but I’m really not interested.”

  “Not interested?”

  The voice sounded more surprised than offended, in the way of someone who is secure in always getting their way. It sounded like exactly the kind of person Eliza would be friends with, and exactly the kind of person she would foolishly try to set Ophelia up with.

  Maybe it made her a bad person, she thought, but she was going to enjoy giving this man the rejection that he likely so thoroughly deserved.

  “Not interested in dating you. I know, that’s not what you were told. Or assumed. Or something. I’m sure Eliza said all sorts of things. And I’m sorry she got your hopes up, but as you know, we’re going on tour after this week’s performances, and—”

  Turning as she spoke, the moment Ophelia’s gaze landed on the person she was speaking to, she realized she’d made a mistake. A terrible, possibly career-ending mistake.

  The man before her was not some Manhattan stockbroker that Eliza had picked to bother her. He was tall, with striking, angular, handsome features. It was a memorably attractive face, and one that she’d seen before, more than once. In trade magazines and websites.

  Her mouth hung open, she knew, but she lacked the presence of mind to close it.

  “That’s all right,” the devilishly handsome man said with a grin. “I’m not interested in dating you, either.”

  “You’re Nikolai Ansaroff.”

  The man nodded, like he was humoring a confused child.

  “Yes, I am.”

  “You’re the owner of the St. Petersburg Ballet.”

  “Right again. You’re great at this.”

  Ophelia’s face fell into her hands.

  “I’m so sorry, I thought you were—”

  “Someone trying to get into your pants? Or, sorry, your tutu?”

  Again, Ophelia’s mouth fell open.

  “I wouldn’t put it exactly that way.”

  He grinned. He seemed to like making her uncomfortable.

  “Does that happen to you a lot? Men coming back here, trying to get into your good graces? You go out there and perform and they fall in love with you, and you’ve got to let them down gently?”

  She wanted to tell him that no, it didn’t. But in all honesty, he was right on the money. As much as Ophelia had her focus narrowly set on work, there had been a number of men over the last couple years who had decided they wanted her, and had equally decided that whether or not she wanted them was a changeable, unimportant variable.

  Usually, she would just put him off, and say something dismissive even though he’d guessed right. But two things stopped her.

  First, there was the fact that as the owner of the St. Petersburg Ballet, Nikolai held a great deal more influence over the course of her career than she’d like to admit.

  He was influential enough that if word got out that he thought she was “difficult”—that poisonous word for any female performer in any industry—her options could disappear overnight. Tomas wouldn’t turn his back on her, of course. But there was only so much he’d be able to push her into the limelight, if the limelight had been poisoned by a man she’d accidentally rejected.

  Second, for all the power he held, there was a lighthearted way about him. As uncomfortable as he made her feel, she also felt as though nothing was really all that serious. She felt she could tell him things, though she didn’t know why.

  So, instead of putting him off, she led him forward.

  “And you think that’s possible, do you? To fall in love with someone just because you’ve seen them dance on a stage in front of you and hundreds of other people?”

  He considered for a moment, but only for a moment.

  “Love is a feeling, isn’t it? And isn’t the point of art, of—” he gestured around them, “—all of this, to inspire feelings in the audience? I’d say if men in the audience didn’t fall at least a little bit in love with you, you wouldn’t be very good at your job.”

  He let that sit with her for a moment before continuing with an even more carefree tone.

  “Now, coming back here and telling you? That’s a low move. But feeling it? That’s not just possible; that’s inevitable.”

  Ophelia hesitated, not sure how to respond. She needed something neutral. Something that would diffuse the vortex of sensations this man clearly meant to inspire.

  “And you think I’m good at my job?” she said at last, hoping she’d found the right words to direct the conversation back to the common professional ground they shared.

  “Would I be here, inviting you out to drinks to discuss your prospects, if I didn’t?”

  The peace she’d fought so hard to feel after the performance was swiftly evaporating. She tried to work it out—the business offer and his flirty tone and talk of men falling in love with her. He’d said he wasn’t interested in dating her, but here he was, asking to take her out for some decidedly not-business-like drinks.

  “We’re going on tour,” she offered, instead of a response.

  He rolled his eyes.

  “Oh, right, your ‘world tour’. How many cities is it again? How many three-star hotels and sub-par theaters? If that doesn’t convince you that you deserve better than this—and better than here—I don’t know what will.”

  She wanted to tell him more forcefully that she was happy where she was, but at the same time, she knew it wasn’t a good move. Professionally, he was an opportunity.

  “So, that’s ‘no’ to drinks tonight, then?”

  Ophelia regarded him carefully. She knew his reputation. In an industry as small as theirs, it was impossible not to be aware of a reputation like his. She’d been surprised at the number of ballerinas and others who had fallen for him, some of them ruining their careers in the process. She’d thought it was a bit strange, and that those women just couldn’t handle themselves around someone that handsome.

  But looking at him now, she understood more clearly. It wasn’t just that he was handsome. There was something playful about him, like a dolphin. But there was a shark hiding in there, and she couldn’t overlook it.

  She’d taken too long to answer, apparently, and he spoke instead.

  “All right, then. I’ve had quite a day already. I’ll be seeing you again, Ophelia, when you’ve had a chance to change your mind.”

  And with that, he turned, and was gone, leaving Ophelia in exactly the mire of confusion that she had so treasured shedding for the night.

  Chapter 6

 
Salim

  The moment the curtain call began, Nikolai sprang out of his seat to figure out who to talk in order to be allowed backstage. Salim knew what his friend would do as instinctively he could predict his own actions. The competition had just begun, and he was already behind. Staying to applaud the performers was the right thing to do, but it was also a hurdle in the race for the captivating ballerina’s heart.

  The second hurdle, frustrating but unavoidable, was the reporter who recognized him in the lobby.

  There are advantages and disadvantages to success in one’s field, Salim knew that well. From time to time, he liked to be able to throw around his weight as a collector and as a member of a royal family to help cut through some of the inconvenient attempts to mess him around on a sale or trick him. There was something to be said for reputation, properly wielded.

  But right now, right here, he wished for blissful anonymity. He and the reporter had seen and recognized each other as familiar at the same time. Unfortunately, Salim hadn’t been able to immediately place how he knew her, and had given her a nod of acknowledgement. The reporter, who knew exactly who he was immediately, had taken this as an invitation to come over and ask for an interview that Salim couldn’t—as one of the faces of the regime of his nation—refuse.

  And now, he was trapped, in an interminable interview full of questions that he couldn’t answer truthfully. Was this a new interest in ballet that he was indulging, or was he just humoring his known friend and associate, Mr. Ansaroff? What had he thought of the performance? Had this always been the plan, and was this the reason the Caravaggio auction had been pushed forward so mysteriously and on such short notice? And, speaking of the Caravaggio…

  It went on and on, and Salim answered each and every question with the practiced grace of a man who had been doing this for the majority of his life. But his mind was elsewhere. For all he knew, Nikolai was, at this very moment, talking to Ophelia. He’d seen Nikolai in action, and he knew how effective he could be.