Apparently, when she’d tried to explain to Frankie that they wouldn’t be going to their parents-and-kids barre class today, there had been tears of the postapocalyptic kind. Since Wes’s production wasn’t yet underway, he could spare the hour to keep his niece happy. And he wanted to.
“Someone was being determined? Color me shocked.” He winked at Frankie, who twirled, almost taking out a vase and their old cat, Nellie, with her flailing arms.
Chantel shook her head. “The human tornado strikes again.”
Frankie leaned in close to Wes and whispered, “That’s me.”
“Go grab your dance bag, Frankie,” Chantel said. The second her daughter raced from the room, she turned to Wes. “Last time I asked Mother for some advice on dealing with her ‘spirited temperament,’ she told me it was karma.”
Wes snorted. “Sounds like something she would say.”
“I guess I shouldn’t complain. We are on speaking terms at the moment. That’s got to count for something, right?” She rubbed her fingers against her temples. “And she agreed to take Daisy for the afternoon.”
“She wasn’t up for a barre class?” he teased, already knowing what the answer would be.
“Are you kidding me? She thinks bringing ballet ‘to the masses’ is an abomination. You know, because such things should only be available to those serious enough to pursue it properly.”
Black or white, that was their mother in a nutshell. One did ballet and chased that dream until either they soared or it burned them to the ground—like it had in Chantal’s case. If they weren’t willing to push themselves to the limit for the sake of the art, then they had no place standing at a barre. He’d heard those words over and over as a kid.
It’s why he always made it clear he never wanted to be a performer. His place was behind the scenes, directing and creating. Bringing his visions to life.
“How’s the show going?” she asked, almost reading his mind.
“It’s coming together.” He bobbed his head. “We’re almost ready to begin rehearsals and we’ve got a venue locked in.”
“Fabulous.” Chantel squinted at him. “You don’t look like someone who’s escaped the clutches of the day job to follow some big, crazy dream. You should be bouncing off the walls.”
Wes laughed and ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll be bouncing off the walls when I know we’ve got a finished product.”
“Still no perfect ballerina?”
He shook his head. The hunt for the centerpiece of the show had proven difficult, despite the fact that he knew a lot of accomplished ballerinas. But mere training and talent wasn’t going to make Out of Bounds a wildcard success. He needed someone who had the spark he knew was critical to the show’s success, and that ballerina had yet to make an appearance.
“Are we going yet?” Frankie halted, planting her hands on her hips. She wore a pink leotard, tights, and a pair of purple high-top sneakers that looked like they’d gotten into a fight with a container of glitter. “It’s rude to be late.”
Wes raised a brow, and Chantel shrugged. “Hey, I’m not going to complain if she wants to be punctual.”
“All right, Human Tornado. Let’s go.” He held out his hand, and Frankie shoved her chubby little fist into his palm. “First class, then we can go for gelato.”
“I want peppermint.” Frankie nodded as though giving it serious thought. “With chocolate sprinkles.”
“You can have whatever you want, princess.”
* * *
Remi eased herself into first position, rotating her turn-out from the hips and settling both hands on the barre. Her touch was featherlight, as though her fingertips meant to graze the polished wood rather than actually resting there. She rose up into a relevé and held the position for a second before pressing her heels back down into the floor.
This gentle up-down motion came as naturally as breathing. As naturally as being.
Despite all the tangled-up feelings in her heart when it came to dance, her body still knew what it wanted. What felt right.
She repeated the action a few times over, warming up her ankles and calves in preparation for her class. In the quiet before the students arrived, she saw the studio reflected in the mirror.
This place was what she’d dreamed of having as a young girl—a bright space with a long barre. A room ripe with possibility. The floor waiting for the strike of her frappé, the graceful whoosh as her toes left the floor in a grand battement. The soundless landing of a perfect pas de chat. The little thrill she got whenever the wind rushed through her ponytail—fluttering the ribbon holding it in place—as she turned and turned and turned.
“Excuse me.” A deep, smooth voice startled Remi out of her thoughts. “Am I interrupting?”
Remi blinked. She whirled around, positive her cheeks were as pink as the legwarmers hugging her ankles. “Not at all.”
The man standing in front of her smiled. It was like the heavens had opened up and God had sent pure bliss raining down on her. He was one of those so-good-looking-it-should-be-illegal kind of guys. Wavy, dark hair. Piercing blue eyes. A touch of stubble coating a jaw sharp enough to slice butter.
A.k.a. the kind of guys she usually avoided because they tended to be entitled douches who were selfish in and out of the bedroom.
Yeah, sing it, sister.
Remi could feel her panties trying to flee her body as she stood there, mute. She cleared her throat. “Can I help you?”
“I hope so.” His gaze flicked over her, like he wanted to look but was trying to retain a semblance of human decency.
That’s right, buddy. Eyes up here.
“My niece is in your class.” He thumbed the belt loops on his jeans. “Francesca Mancini.”
Francesca. The name didn’t ring a bell, and Remi prided herself on knowing everyone’s name, especially her young students. Shit, how could she have forgotten Francesca?
It’s the hot dude voodoo scrambling your brain.
“Frankie,” he offered.
“Oh, yes, Frankie.” She nodded. Rambunctious five-year-old, a bit of a handful due to her high energy levels. But she was smart and dedicated and showed a lot of promise. Remi had said as much to her mother but got the impression they weren’t interested in putting the little girl into a dance school. “Of course, Chantel’s daughter.”
“And I’m Chantel’s brother.” He smiled, and Remi studiously ignored the ripple of attraction that shot through her, warming her insides like palms turned to an open flame. “I’m on Frankie duty today.”
She found herself returning the smile. “Lucky you.”
“Absolutely. I’d spend all day every day with that kid if I could.”
Her heart melted into a puddle of marshmallow goo. Okay, so not a total douche, then.
“What time does the class finish?” he asked, taking a step closer. A blue checked shirt hugged his broad shoulders and strong arms, the cuffs folded back to reveal a heavy watch and strong hands. The kind of hands that looked incredibly…dexterous.
In fact, he looked kind of familiar, now that she thought about it. But she couldn’t place where she’d seen him before.
Maybe in your nameless-hot-guy dreams?
“We say forty-five minutes, but sometimes it runs a little over, depending on how many people we have.”
“I’ll be back in forty-five minutes on the dot, then.”
“Back?”
“Yeah.” He nodded, his dark brows crinkling slightly. “To pick Frankie up.”
“This is a parents-and-kids class,” Remi said, stifling a smile. “Parents are required to accompany their kids for the duration of the class.”
Her gaze skimmed down his body—over the tan belt highlighting his trim waist, to the faded denim hugging his thighs and...oh. The soft-looking denim hugged everything.
Hey, no double standards here. Eyes up, soldier!
“By ‘accompany,’ I assume you mean ‘participate’?” he said.
“That’s right.”
He shook his head, a rue smile crossing his lips. “Funny how my sister didn’t mention that bit.”
The thought of this insanely hot man following her instruction was doing unspeakable things to her insides. Tingling things. The kind of things that were definitely NSFW. She’d been attracted to men who could dance ever since she first laid eyes on Paul Mecurio in Strictly Ballroom. And later on, her theory that skills on the dance floor translated to skills in the bedroom had been upheld on almost every occasion.
Instinct told her that this man would not disappoint.
“I’m sure you can keep up. You look like you have a few moves in your arsenal,” Remi said, walking past him in order to greet the other students streaming into the room.
“More than a few,” he replied, his eyes tracking her as she breezed past.
“I look forward to seeing them.”
Frankie raced into the studio and tugged on her uncle’s hand. The intense burning gaze dissolved into something softer and a whole lot sweeter as he bent down to help her with the ribbon in her hair. The little girl waved frantically, almost knocking her uncle square in the face.
Remi waved back and set about getting ready for the class. It appeared that she wasn’t the only one interested in the handsome newcomer. Each Allongé Barre Fitness had a slightly different clientele, depending on where it was based. They predicted more groups of girlfriends at the new Brooklyn studio, people looking for a fun and relaxed atmosphere. The Midtown location had a lot of office workers seeking a pre- or post-workday stress release. And the Upper East Side studio had a lot of well-dressed women wearing designer workout gear and perfectly styled hair. Regardless of location, their clients were overwhelmingly female.
Which meant Mr. McHottie stood out like a sore thumb. Or would that be a sexy thumb?
Focus. Pretty sure Mish wouldn’t want you fraternizing with the customers.
Her brain immediately refuted that thought. Technically, he wasn’t a customer; he was simply helping his sister out. Brownie point number one. And Mish didn’t actually have a no-fraternization policy for the studio that she was aware of.
Besides, indulging in a little eye candy was hardly cause for concern.
“If everyone can take their places at the barre, we’ll get started.” Remi waited for the class to settle. A few of the women tried to casually shuffle closer to Frankie’s uncle.
“You’re not supposed to wear shoes,” Frankie said loudly. She pointed to the sneakers on her uncle’s feet, and he looked at Remi.
The eye contact was like having a hole blown through her, and she sucked in a breath. Since when did a worldly woman like herself get all shaken up by a sexy blue gaze? Never. Remi wasn’t a blushing wallflower by any means. But it seemed all her carefully curated composure had melted away, leaving her exposed and trapped.
“Shoes off,” she confirmed with a nod, swallowing back the fizzing excitement that seemed determined to bubble over.
“See.” Frankie turned back to face the barre, her small feet immediately settling into a perfect first position. “Told you.”
The sound of rubber squeaking against the floor as the man toed off his sneakers was like a razor-sharp knife scraping the outer layer of her nerves. The air around Remi was thick as she waited until he was barefoot.
“We’re going to start by warming up our ankles.” She positioned herself next to the teacher’s barre to demonstrate the exercise. “Take your right foot and slide it along the floor, keeping toes pointed. Then flex and point, flex and point.”
The routine rolled off her tongue. She’d done it so many times now, she was quite sure she muttered “flex and point” in her sleep. To her surprise, the man had decent flexibility in his feet and didn’t sickle his foot like a lot of people new to ballet did.
“Bring your foot back into third position and then out to the side. Flex and point…”
While the rest of the class concentrated—the little ones in varying positions, legs and arms akimbo—the man watched her. He moved surely, confidently. Like a tiger. Remi was sure any other man in his position would have been at least mildly mortified at having to take part in a barre fitness class without preparation, but he was unfazed.
When she instructed them to turn and face the other direction, his eyes never left her. It was like he could see through her clothes, through her perky smile and plump ballerina bun. Through the layers of pink Lycra she wore like armor.
This wasn’t simple attraction. It was electric.
Stop it. You owe it to Mish to be professional.
Right, she had a job to do…but only for the next forty-five minutes.
Order Stefanie London’s next book
in the Bad Bachelors series
Bad Reputation
On sale August 2018
Acknowledgments
First and foremost, I need to thank my agent, Jill Marsal, who stuck by me as we worked and reworked the premise for this series. Thanks for pushing me to dig deeper and be more creative, and for all the encouraging words along the way.
Huge thanks must go to Cat Clyne, Dominique Raccah, and the Sourcebooks team for giving Bad Bachelors a wonderful home, and for getting so excited about this project. Thank you also to Stephany Daniel, Heather Hall, Laura Costello, Dawn Adams, and everyone else who had a hand in helping to bring this book out into the world.
My writer friends for keeping me sane in this crazy, unique career path, so my eternal thanks must go to Lauren, Denise, Taryn, Jennifer, Mary, Shana, the Nifty Nine, and the Toronto Romance Writers.
Thanks to my incredible friends who continue to share their “stranger than fiction” stories with me, knowing that I will use them in a book at some point. Huge thanks to Shiloh, Madura, Myrna, Tammy, Karen, Lou, Jill, and Luke for helping to make Canada feel like home. And to my family in Australia: thank you for never letting me feel like I’m that far away.
And to my husband, Justin: I know I say this constantly, but it will never, ever lose its meaning—I would not be here without you. Thank you for the high-fives, for the tough love, for brushing away the tears, for growing better and older with me. You are the reason I write about love.
About the Author
Stefanie London is the USA Today bestselling author of contemporary romances with humor, heat, and heart.
Growing up, Stefanie came from a family of women who loved to read. Originally from Australia, she now lives in Toronto with her very own hero and is currently in the process of doing her best to travel the world. She frequently indulges in her passions for good coffee, lipstick, romance novels, and zombie movies.
Stefanie loves to hear from readers. You can find her at stefanie-london.com.
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