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 do
wn 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 har
dwood 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.
Our First Dance Page 2