“What matters is that when I asked, you told me the truth about her and stopped me from marrying her when she faked her pregnancy. I’ll always be grateful for that.” He stood and kissed her cheek. “I’m a lot older, wiser and a much better judge of character now.” He felt compelled to add, “Believe me, Natasha is nothing like Mia.”
His words piqued her curiosity. “How do you know that?”
“For one thing, as you know, part of our hiring process included a thorough investigation of Natasha’s work history—interviews with colleagues and employers. Nothing alarming was found. Secondly, I’ve talked personally to her several times—gotten to know her a little—and I’m encouraged by what I’ve learned and witnessed in her so far.”
“And from a conversation or two, you think you know what motivates her?”
“My gut tells me she’s sincere and independent. She doesn’t want anyone to give her anything—she wants to earn it.”
“All admirable traits.”
“They are.” He smiled slightly before continuing, “She’s also trusting, strong and persistent—not needy and manipulative the way Mia was. Natasha’s not like anyone I’ve ever known.”
Rachel watched him closely. “You sound taken with her.”
“I simply admire her tenacity in holding on to her dreams—not giving up when she got kicked in the teeth again and again. She’s a fighter.”
“Sounds like she’s made quite an impression on you.”
“She’s a nice lady whose quest for success I can identify with.”
“I just don’t want you to be hurt again.”
“Believe me—” his eyes hardened “—I won’t be. Mia’s deceit taught me well.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” Rachel placed a hand on his shoulder. “Despite all of my questions, I agree that Natasha seems as different from Mia as night is from day.”
He shook his head in exasperation. “Then why have you spent the last five minutes grilling me about her?”
“Because we both know the dangers an in-house romance can create.”
“We do,” he sighed and said in agreement. “Which is why I’ve never engaged in one since Mia, and I have no intention of starting one now.”
“Okay. I’m done butting my nose in your business—for today at least.”
“Good.” Damien walked around his desk. “You don’t have to worry. My interest in Natasha is purely professional. Now, let’s get back to rehearsal.”
When Damien and Rachel entered the rehearsal hall, all of the main dancers were onstage, including Natasha and Dennis, who were laughing. Damien frowned as Dennis reached out, took Natasha’s hand and twirled her around playfully before pulling her close and bending her backward with his body close to hers before slowly returning her to an upright position. He twirled her away from him and then she pirouetted back until she was close by his side again, his arm draped around her waist, her hands resting on his shoulders. Natasha laughed at something he whispered in her ear before pushing out of his arms, though she continued to hold his hand.
Damien fought down an insane rush of something that felt like jealousy as he watched the familiar exchange between them. They were just friends. There was no law against that. He had made his feelings about anything more between them known last night, and he knew Natasha understood his concerns and wouldn’t cross the line with Dennis. But he still didn’t like the way Dennis looked at her.
“Why are you staring at me, Rachel?” Damien questioned without removing his eyes from the laughing couple onstage.
“Why do you think?”
He sighed. “I hate it when people answer a question with a question.”
Rachel laughed. “You know what I hate?”
He tore his eyes away from Natasha to frown at her. “I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”
She touched his cheek. “People who evade questions.”
“Rachel.” He removed her hand from his face. “Please don’t start that again. Nothing untoward is going on.”
“If you say so.”
Without responding, his eyes returned to the stage, where Natasha was watching them. She quickly turned away and continued dancing.
“All right, let’s get started everyone,” Damien ordered, focusing everyone’s attention on him.
“Natasha, Dennis, let’s try your dance from Act 1, Scene 3.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Hopefully it will be up to par this time.”
“It will, sir,” Natasha promised with a slight smile.
“We’ll see.” He nodded to Rachel, who started the music, and then he settled onto his stool beside her for the remainder of rehearsal.
Chapter 5
Natasha entered a deli near the rehearsal hall with Dennis, Simone and four other dancers after rehearsals around 8:45 p.m. Natasha would have rather gone home, but she had been talked into coming by Simone. They pushed two tables together, and she sat down with Dennis on one side of her and Simone on the other.
“Look, Damien and Rachel are here.” All eyes turned in the direction Simone pointed.
“Great,” Dennis groaned, and Natasha echoed his sentiments.
Simone studied everyone’s face. “Should we go over and say something?”
“No, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Natasha quickly dissuaded.
“Neither do I,” Dennis agreed. “After the day he put us through, I really don’t want to talk to the guy until I have to at rehearsal tomorrow.”
“Well, I can’t blame you for that.” Simone laughed. “He certainly lived up to his reputation for being a perfectionist.”
“That’s much too nice a way to put it.” Dennis scowled and stretched his arm along the back of Natasha’s chair.
Everyone laughed at his disdainful tones, except Natasha. She was too uncomfortable—wondering whether or not Damien thought she was on a date with Dennis. She sincerely hoped he didn’t think she was trying to date her partner on the sly. After furtively glancing over at his table and connecting with his frowning face, she wasn’t so sure about that. She knew she should have followed her instincts and gone home.
Damien’s brooding eyes fixated on her. Even from the distance separating them, she sensed his displeasure at the scene he was witnessing. She groaned inwardly before lowering her gaze and concentrating on the conversation of her friends, trying to forget Damien was here, somehow.
* * *
Rachel glanced up from Damien’s tablet as the waitress placed her drink on the table. Giving the woman a smiling nod, she spied several members of the troupe sitting down at a table across the room.
“Looks like we’re not the only ones who decided to eat out tonight.” Rachel’s statement necessitated Damien refocusing on her.
His jaw was set in a hard line. He picked up his drink and downed half the contents.
“Looks like it.”
Rachel frowned at his demeanor. “What’s wrong?”
“I told Natasha to cool it with Dennis.”
Rachel eyed him curiously. “They just seem like friends to me. Besides, they’re with a group—not much of a romantic date.”
“I realize that,” he snapped at her.
“What is the matter with you?”
“I don’t like being disobeyed.”
Natasha looked as uncomfortable as he was angry. Good. He sadistically hoped she didn’t enjoy a second of her dinner, because he wasn’t—not with her sitting so close and cozy with Dennis.
“No one’s disobeying you,” Rachel contradicted. “They’re just having dinner.”
“I don’t want anything to interfere with my ballet, and as you reminded me earlier, an in-troupe romance could wreak havoc.”
“I agree.” Rachel studied him closely.
“But are you sure you’re referring to Natasha and Dennis?”
“Who else would I be talking about?” At her pressing look, he continued, “Back off, Rachel.”
Rachel held up her hands in surrender. “If you say nothing is going on between you and Natasha, I believe you.” As much as I believe it will be one hundred degrees tomorrow.
“Finally,” he said with a scowl.
Snatching up his menu, he pretended to study the contents, all the while trying to forget that the woman he found himself constantly thinking about was just a few feet away—so near and yet so unobtainable.
* * *
The next day at rehearsal Natasha thought she was dancing perfectly, but she soon found out that there was going to be no pleasing Damien. He was intent upon finding fault with everything she did.
“Dammit, Natasha, will you follow my instructions!”
The hair on the back of her neck stood on end as he yelled at her for what seemed like the hundredth time
in the past three hours, and she was sick of it! She had been distracted yesterday, but today she was focused like a laser beam.
“I thought I was.”
“Well, you thought wrong,” he said and scowled. “I’ve explained what I want five times. How many more will you require before it sinks in?”
Before she could answer, he stalked onstage, glaring at her all the while, and danced his instructions for her. His eyes blazed angrily once he had finished the steps he wanted her to mimic.
“Now, do you think you can do that?”
“Yes.” She perfectly performed the combination he had just illustrated. “How was that?” Her eyes challenged as she stopped in front of him.
“It’ll do for now.” He nearly barked the words as he angrily turned to exit the stage.
“Lord, give me strength to…” Her words were spoken under her breath and were cut short when he turned to glare at her.
No one was safe from Damien’s wrath, as the company soon found out. The dancing wasn’t right, the music wasn’t right, the atmosphere wasn’t right, the lighting wasn’t right. Nothing was right.
He knew he was behaving like an ass, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. He was on edge, and the beautiful, desirable reason for his irritation was staring at him dumbfounded from the stage. He had spent the better part of last night going over reasons why Natasha was off-limits to him, but none of the logical facts had succeeded in dampening his damned attraction to her.
She and Dennis began to rehearse their dance again while he watched intently. He was just looking for something to find displeasure with, however minute it might be, and he found it.
“Natasha, you’re being stilted and unbending.” Damien’s stinging criticism halted their dancing. He walked to the stage and pushed Dennis aside, taking his place. “Try it with me.”
They danced for a few seconds and she kept her body rigid, refusing to relax against his no matter how good it felt to be close to him, despite his foul demeanor. She refused to look at him, keeping her eyes fixated on his shoulder.
“Dammit, woman.” He stopped abruptly. “It’s like dancing with a mannequin!”
She indignantly placed her hands on her slender hips, readying herself for a royal battle of wills. She could take criticism as well as anyone, when it was justified. She didn’t understand Damien’s displeasure with her; she was dancing from her heart and soul today and hadn’t made a single mistake.
“I don’t know what you want,” she verbalized her frustration.
“Obviously,” he dryly responded. “If you are not ready to perform to my standards, you should have stayed at home!”
Her hands curled at her sides into fists, and somehow she bit back the angry words that sprang to her lips. She was not going to argue with him in front of the entire company; it was unprofessional. She silently counted to ten when he turned to say something to Rachel, who quickly sprung onto the stage and started talking to him in hushed, urgent whispers. Natasha appreciated the other woman’s efforts; at least she wasn’t the only one who knew Damien was behaving unreasonably.
Damien held up a silencing hand and turned from Rachel’s angry countenance. Then he motioned for Dennis to resume as her partner. He curtly nodded his head to the pianist to start playing and watched the two dancers, ready to pounce on any perceived mistake.
Natasha inhaled and exhaled deeply. Dennis pulled her to and fro like a yo-yo, but she refused to complain and simply flowed with the music and reacted to Damien’s frequently spoken directions. An hour and a half later, when they finished their sixth attempt, her body ached, but it was worth it as she received the first words of praise from Damien’s frowning mouth that she had heard all day.
“That was beautifully done, Natasha. Why did I have to fight you so hard to get it out of you?”
He turned and walked offstage before she could respond. Shaking her head in confusion, she stared at his retreating back. As a ballerina, she thought she was supposed to be the temperamental one. This was certainly shaping up to be an eventful day; she silently prayed for a nice boring one tomorrow.
At the end of the day, Damien passed by Natasha’s dressing room, by accident, he insisted upon telling himself. The truth was that they had shared a tumultuous day together due entirely to his bad mood, and he wanted to clear the air.
He stuck his head through the open door. “May I come in?”
“Of course.” Cool eyes met his briefly.
He sighed audibly. Obviously, she was still angry about his behavior today. He supposed he couldn’t blame her; he had been impossible to deal with, as Rachel had pointedly informed him several times.
Natasha was dressed in street clothes—denim leggings and a red figure-hugging long-sleeve blouse—and her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. The outfit accentuated her feminine curves, and, as always, she looked beautiful—and desirable.
“I know I was a bear today.”
Natasha pointedly glanced up before lowering her gaze to pull on a black leather ankle boot, but remained deafeningly silent.
He sighed before sitting down opposite her. “Natasha, look at me.”
After a slight hesitation, she did as he asked. “Why were you so angry today?”
“It was just a bad day for me. Haven’t you ever had one of those?”
She wanted to ask what had made it so bad, but thought better of it; he was trying to be civil, and frankly she had enough of his foul temper to last her for a good while.
“Too numerous to count.” She gave him a brief smile before bending down to place on her other boot. “I suppose we all do once in a while.”
“We’re all under a lot of pressure to get this ballet ready in time, and I guess I was just feeling it today.”
“That’s understandable.”
“Then you forgive me?”
Her eyes widened in surprised shock. He was her boss; what did he care what she thought? Why was her forgiveness necessary to him?
“Natasha, truce?” He prompted when she remained silent, “What are you thinking?”
“Hmm?” She jumped slightly. “Nothing.” She reached out and shook his offered hand. “Truce.”
He didn’t release her hand immediately. His grip was firm and caressing. When his thumb slid across the back of her hand, a jolt of crippling awareness shot through to her core.
“Do you like ice skating?”
She blinked. “What?”
“Ice skating.” He smiled. “Do you like it?”
“Yes, I love it.”
“Good.” He pulled her upright. “Come to Rockefeller Center with me then.”
Her eyes widened. “Now?”
“Why not?”
“I don’t…”
“Do you have other plans?”
&nbs
p; “No.”
“You really can’t skate, you’re so tired you can’t make the walk, you’re allergic to ice.” He smilingly rattled off excuses.
Despite her apprehension, she laughed. “No, none of those things.”
He watched the indecision in her eyes. “Come on, consider it more practice.”
She laughed. “I suppose I could.”
“Then let’s go.” He pulled her toward the open door, stopping long enough for her to grab her jacket.
She should refuse. She knew she should refuse, but for the first time all day, they were finally behaving civilly toward each other, and glancing into his smiling, hopeful eyes, she didn’t have the heart to disappoint him—or herself.
“Okay,” she agreed.
She allowed herself to be led laughingly from her dressing room. They exited the building and walked down Fifth Avenue until they reached Forty-Ninth Street and entered Rockefeller Center. They rented some skates, laced them up and made their way onto the half-occupied ice.
They effortlessly skated to the center of the ice, and he took her hand and skated off. Natasha quickly learned Damien was a great skater—perhaps even better than she was and that was saying something, since Erina had introduced her to skating when she was five.
They pair skated and he lowered her into a death spiral that rivaled any professional skater’s before pulling her upright and into his arms, where they performed an impromptu ice-dancing routine. Before long, other skaters were watching their display with claps and cheers, and when they skidded to a halt, they received a round of applause. Damien soon had everyone organized into line skating, cajoling the young and old into participating regardless of their skating prowess or lack thereof. Finally, at Natasha’s urging, they formed one enormous human chain with everyone holding hands. They skated faster and faster around the rink until they all collapsed into a laughing, exhausted heap on the ice.
They spent about forty-five minutes interacting with the other skaters, and it was the most fun Natasha had ever spent on the ice. She marveled at how easily Damien brought out the fun part in her that had been dormant for far too long.
Our First Dance Page 6