Even with all the accolades, when she’d joined The Joffrey Ballet, it had been grueling working her way up to the corps from second company. But once she became a soloist, her life had changed drastically. It was no longer just about the classes and rehearsals, the costume fittings and the performances.
Following several glowing reviews by the Chicago Tribune, she became the darling of the ballet community, and her presence was requested at cultural events and fundraisers on a regular basis. But it was her role as Flower Girl in Don Quixote that prompted her promotion to principal dancer, when Amanda Andrews, then principal dancer, had left to raise a family.
After a year as principal dancer, performing such roles as Odile and Odette from Swan Lake, and Juliet from Romeo and Juliet, and Giselle, she was invited to perform all over the world in guest performances for everything from Broadway to The Royal Ballet. She’d even performed for the Queen of England and a Saudi prince, as well as the President of the United States.
Her life had become a whirlwind of parties and galas, long flights overseas, and compressed rehearsal schedules. Then there were the photoshoots for her endorsement deals, TV interviews, and a cameo role in a movie. She became the face and ambassador of The Joffrey, and ticket sales and donations skyrocketed.
At the age of thirty-two, Ohio State University presented her with an honorary doctorate in the performing arts for her contribution to dance.
Only six short years into her role as principal dancer, she began having pain and inflammation in her right Achilles tendon and was diagnosed with Achilles tendonitis. Physical therapy, anti-inflammatories, and massage therapy followed. She’d nursed it along, but it only improved with rest, which of course, was not possible.
Then one day during rehearsal . . . POP!
In the world of professional ballet, you were only as good as your last performance. Unable to perform after her injury, she would eventually fade from the ballet firmament. Her place would be taken by another equally talented soloist. Would it be the lithe Balanchinesque Madelyn Livingston? Or perhaps the petite Isabella Fisk? Either way, the show must go on without her.
With a heavy sigh, she resumed her reading. The next entry read,
My strength lay in my teaching abilities, not my dancing. I know that. Accept it. I’ve found my happiness and success. And I’m darn good at it. And at business.
Yes, her mother was an excellent teacher, Olivia agreed. It dawned on Olivia that her mother had been a mindful person, someone who knew herself well. Maybe that comes with age. Olivia snorted at the thought. But at what age? At thirty-five, Olivia didn’t feel she knew herself very well at all.
Or, she’d known her dancer-self inside and out. But who was she now?
She blinked back the tears of self-pity and returned her attention to the notebook.
The next random entry had Olivia sitting up.
We do our best work when we find our special niche. I found mine. I hope Olivia finds hers. She was meant for the stage, but when that chapter of her life ends, then what? Will she find her happiness in her next chapter?
That, she thought, along with what exactly her next chapter was, was the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question.
Setting the journal aside, she thought about last night’s ballet performance. What a thoughtful gift from Zach. It had been so beautiful. The scenery, the costumes, Kenneth MacMillan’s choreography.
At first, she’d been reticent. Could she sit in the audience and take pleasure in the performance? Would it stir resentment at her predicament? She laughed. She’d actually been nervous, so when Zach laid his hand on her thigh, she’d flinched—not from his touch but from the shock of it.
Then, somewhere after intermission, she’d longed to climb up onto the stage and join the company. It didn’t matter how. She just wanted to be a part of it.
Which had her asking, even if she couldn’t dance professionally anymore, would she deny herself something that brought her so much joy?
Chapter Nineteen
Rolling his neck to work out the kinks from sitting at a computer for far too long, Zach closed the spreadsheet. One of his least favorite tasks as police chief was working on the budget. There was never enough money to operate the department in the manner he strived for.
His phone buzzed with an incoming text, and he welcomed the distraction. Pulling it from his pocket, he thumbed open the screen.
Olivia: I’ve made a decision.
Zach’s stomach pitched as if he were on a roller coaster. About what? To leave? To return to Chicago? Okay. Play it cool, dude.
Zach: Oh yeah? About what?
Olivia: To perform. For the benefit concert.
Zach exhaled with an audible whoosh.
Zach: That’s great! What made you change your mind?
Olivia: Carly James, Kenneth MacMillan, and a verbal bitch slap. And not necessarily in that order.
Zach chuckled. Whaaat?
Zach: WTH?
Olivia: Never mind. Are you coming to the concert?
Zach: Wouldn’t miss it!
Olivia: Good. Gotta run. Have to figure out a costume. :)
Setting aside the phone, he rubbed the back of his sore neck again. He had mixed feelings about seeing Olivia perform for an audience again.
Uppermost, excitement for him and for her. Nothing gave him more pleasure than watching Olivia do what she was meant to do—well, with the exception of making love to Olivia. For her part, he knew Olivia needed to dance like everyone else needed to breathe. Her excitement came through even in the impersonal technology of text messaging.
Next up, trepidation. What if she reinjured her Achilles? Another injury could very well end any chance of her salvaging her career, notwithstanding what the PT had said. And despite his selfish desire for her to stay here, with him, he wouldn’t stand in her way if—or more likely when—she decided to leave. At least that’s what he told himself.
Finally, fear. Fear that once she took the leap of performing again, she would get the bug and do whatever it took to dance professionally again. The contrariness of his feelings wasn’t lost on him.
He wanted her to succeed. But he wanted her to stay.
As she waited off-stage for her cue, the customary butterflies formed in her stomach, and the feeling exhilarated her. Her body knew what was to come and fairly vibrated with the adrenaline rush.
Unable to perform one of the popular classical pieces like “Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy” that Olivia would ordinarily have chosen, she drew from her vast repertoire of pieces and selected a lyrical piece choreographed to “Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini,” that would still please the audience while guarding her still-healing Achilles.
With only one week between her decision to perform and the concert, she had no time to order a costume, so she’d selected a simple teal spaghetti-strap leotard and a matching sheer wrap skirt that On Your Toes had in stock and paired it with traditional ballet pink footless tights, having chosen to dance barefoot. She’d left her hair long and loose.
She loved to dance. She felt free, like a bird soaring on a wind current, her mind hyper-focused on her body, its movement, the feel of her muscles contracting and stretching, the thrill of spinning across a wide stage. In this dreamlike state, the rest of the world receded, the audience faded away, and she became the dance.
Tonight, however, doubt mingled with the thrill. Could she even perform the choreography, much less perform it well? What if she re-injured her Achilles? While her dance career might well and truly be over, a second injury could make even teaching difficult.
The closing notes of Bach’s Suite No. 1 in G drifted through the air. She was up next—the final performance of the night. Too late to back out now. Taking a deep, cleansing breath, she stepped out onto the small stage and took her position with a smile on her face. And to her surprise, the smile was real.
As the first strains floated above the stage, the music filled her soul. The rhythm became her heartbeat, the mel
ody her breath.
Before Olivia had performed a single step, the audience went wild. Applause and whistles, along with shouts of excitement. The local-girl-come-star. But as the pianist played the soft opening notes of something Zach recognized but couldn’t name, a hush fell over the audience.
And then Olivia began to move. He held his breath for her, sending good vibes her way, knowing this was her first performance since her devastating injury almost eight months ago. As she spun, her skirt floated on air, revealing her long, muscular legs as she executed a series of smooth gliding motions, almost as if she were ice skating.
From the moment the first notes of the music began, she’d been moving. One movement flowing into another, without pause, without hesitation. Fluid, unceasing, like flowing water, each step an extension of the one before it, moving like liquid silver across the stage.
The music swelled as the stringed instruments joined the piano, increasing the emotional pull of the music. Her arms lifted above her head as she spun and dipped, leapt and glided, every movement filled with longing, sadness, and regret. No. Not regret. Wistfulness.
She transported Zach to another realm where there was only grace and ethereal beauty. As he watched, Olivia melded into the character. Finally, a brief pause in the music signaled a change, a realization of sorts, that what she wanted more than anything could never be hers. The last notes drifted up soft and melancholy, as she strolled off the stage, longing and contemplative.
Olivia returned to the stage to a cacophony of applause, whistles, and bravos. Curtseying and blowing kisses to the audience, her smile brilliant as her chest rose and fell with the only evidence of her exertion. She graciously acknowledged the musicians, as Dan Larson presented her a bouquet of roses in appreciation of her performance.
Zach leaned against a tree for balance. How could she not dance? How could she deny herself the joy, and her audience the pleasure of her grace, beauty, and remarkable talent? Even he knew dancers like her didn’t come along often.
Something caught his eye, and he realized she’d approached his side of the stage and tossed a long-stem red rose his way. Bending, he picked up the flower and held it to his nose, yet its sweet scent could not alleviate the ache in his chest.
He would be faced, once again, with letting her go. The question was whether he would let her go this time, and if he did, whether he would recover from the heartbreak a second time.
Olivia had changed into a simple sundress and ballet flats.
Feeling as if she could float, she made her way through the good citizens of Northridge, responding to a steady stream of compliments, congratulations, and the occasional request for autographs from the young girls in the crowd.
The adrenaline of her performance still coursed through her. It had felt so incredible to be on stage again. Not on par with her usual performances, it nonetheless went better than she could have expected. Maybe there was hope . . . despite the PT’s prognosis.
She spotted Zach leaning casually against a light post, one ankle crossed over the other, looking as if he’d stepped out of an ad for Ralph Lauren in his dark-wash jeans and white Oxford shirt.
His eyes glowed in the lamplight, a grin spread over his features as he pushed off his perch and met her, cupping her face and kissing her. He ended the kiss, but his hands lingered. “Olivia,” he said, shaking his head. “You were . . . breathtaking.”
Zach’s praise was effusive, and she felt it right down to her sore feet. “Thanks.”
“The dance was so, I don’t know, poignant. What inspired the emotion?”
If you only knew. She shrugged. “It’s what I do. I move the audience to feel what I need them to feel.”
“I’ll say.” A strange expression flitted across his face and was gone. “You hungry?”
“No. I’m never hungry after a performance. Too much adrenaline.”
“What would you like to do?”
She felt a little silly, and she gnawed her lip in uncertainty.
“What?”
Her breath left in a rush. Fine. “I’ve got an early rehearsal with Emily in the morning, but would you want to come back to the house? Maybe sit on the porch for a while?”
He grinned. “Just like old times.”
Zach pulled into her driveway and shut off the engine. “Jennie?” He lifted a brow in question.
“’Fraid she’s home tonight.” She pointed to the upstairs window where a light shone through the plantation shutters.
“My house instead?” The sexy lopsided grin told her exactly what he had in mind, and the high she still rode demanded release.
“We don’t need to go anywhere.” Olivia climbed over the truck’s console, straddling Zach.
“Olivia,” he choked out as she ground against him. “What are you doing?”
Lifting the skirt of her dress out of the way, she kissed him, a deep hot kiss. Biting his lip, her hands went to work on the fly of his jeans.
“It would not be good for the police chief to get busted for indecent exposure. Again.”
“First, you’re on private property. My property. Second, you won’t be exposed, indecently or otherwise.” Shoving her panties aside, she positioned his erection at her opening, and slid down his length, as he groaned and dropped his head back against the seat. She draped her dress over where they were joined. “See.”
He lifted his head and gazed down at her handiwork. “Clever.” Grasping her hips, he lifted her up then pulled her back down. “Damn, Olivia. You feel so good.” He pressed his mouth to her hardened nipple, tonguing her through the cotton fabric.
Bracing her hands on his shoulders, she began to move, slow and steady at first, and then, as the tension began to build, she quickened her pace.
The cab of the truck was quiet except for the sound of their ragged breathing, moans of pleasure, and collision of flesh. He nipped and licked at her neck, sending shivers of delight down her spine. He reached his hand between them, sliding against her and she exploded. Her cries filled the space as her orgasm rocketed through her.
Moments later, his growl signaled his own release.
She laid her forehead against his, their panting breath mingling.
“Damn,” he murmured. “If that’s what performing does to you, I think I can get you a gig tomorrow night.”
She laughed, feeling light and free for the first time in a good, long while.
Zach had to go to work, but since Carly's house was on his way, he decided to stop by Olivia’s. The need to see her, the almost gravitational pull of her proximity dictated that he see her. It was a bit early, but hopefully she was up. And with any luck, Jennie was up and out, and he could persuade Olivia a morning quickie was the best start to the day.
When he’d climbed into the cab of his truck, the scent of her assaulted him, and the memory of her straddling him, taking her pleasure from him, increased the urgency of his morning plan.
The first hitch in his plans occurred when Jennie opened the door to his knock. The second hitch occurred when he walked into the living room to see Olivia lying on the sofa, a bag of ice underneath her right ankle and her face a mask of frustration.
“Uh-oh.”
“Yeah.”
He sat gingerly on the sofa next to her and studied her swollen ankle, then looked up at her face. “How’s it feel? Is it sore?”
She shrugged. “It’s not that sore, but when I woke up this morning, this is what I found.” She waved her hand in the direction of her swollen ice-encased foot.
“Well, at least it’s not sore. That’s got to be good.”
“I guess.”
She looked forlorn, and it broke his heart, especially after her high of last night. “Have you spoken with the PT?”
“I texted her and sent a photo. She said it’s not unexpected, to just ice it and take anti-inflammatories. Eventually, I’ll be able to dance and it won’t swell.” She sighed and rubbed her forehead. “I sure hope so. I’ve got three recital perform
ances to get through.”
He patted her leg then gave it a squeeze. “You’ll be fine.”
She gave him a half smile, and he would have done anything to take away her frustration. “Is there anything I can get you? Coffee? Kristen’s chocolate croissants? Sex?”
She laughed at that, and he felt a sense of mission accomplished.
“Is that why you came by? Sex?”
“Well,” he rubbed his nose, embarrassed, then grinned at her. “I wouldn’t turn it down.”
“You’re incorrigible.”
“And you’re to blame.” He stood then bent to kiss her. “I’ve gotta get to the station. I’ll call you later. In the meantime, if you need anything, I’ll be on patrol and should be able to stop by.”
“I’ll be fine. Go protect and serve the citizens of Northridge.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
With the ankle swelling, she needed to stay off her feet, so she’d rescheduled her rehearsal with Emily for Monday. Since Zach had to work and Jennie had left to run errands, Olivia had a rare Sunday to herself. She’d been so busy with the recital she’d had little time to go through her mother’s papers. Or, if she were honest with herself, she’d been making up excuses not to.
But, with the recital only four weeks away, she needed to get a move on it.
She’d been in her mother’s home office looking through some papers, mostly things like the deed for the house—which she still needed to sign over to Jennie—insurance policies, and bank statements. Her mom kept her business papers separate. All of those were in the studio office.
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