Our First Dance
“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 down 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 hardwood 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.
As he continued to watch her, he suddenly imagined those elegant limbs wrapped around him, holding him close while that perfect body trembled in passion against his—whoa, boy, where had that come from? She’s your prima ballerina and your number one rule is to never get involved with dancers—especially those in your own company. Yes, she’s beautiful. Yes, she made him feel something he hadn’t in a long time, but they were here to work—nothing more, nothing less, and that’s all he intended to do with her.
He turned from the door and nearly collided with a tall, thin woman with salt-and-pepper hair that was pulled back into a bun.
“Excuse me.” He placed a steadying hand on her arm.
“It is quite all right,” she responded in a slightly accented voice. “You are Damien Johnson, no?”
“Yes, I am, and you are?”
“I am Erina Deneuva, Natasha Carter’s coach.”
“Oh, I see.” He nodded. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“You too.” She shook his outstretched hand. “I hope you do not mind my presence. When Natasha called me last night with the wonderful news, she asked if I would come and work with her during this production.”
“No, that’s fine, as long as you understand I don’t reimburse dancers for personal coaches.”
“Of course.” Erina smiled. “Natasha pays me as always, but even if she could not I would be here for her.”
“That’s an admirable thing to say.”
“It is true. She is like a daughter to me.”
“How long have you coached her?”
“For twenty-one years,” she proudly answered. “We have been through a lot together.”
“She’s lucky to have someone so loyal.”
“Thank you, Mr. Johnson.”
“Call me Damien.”
“Damien.” Friendly hazel eyes met his. “Thank you for giving Natasha the chance she has long deserved.”
“She earned it.”
“She will not disappoint you.”
“I know she won’t.”
“Can you tell me where I may find her?”
“She’s in there—” he pointed behind him “—warming up.”
“Excellent.” Erina smiled. “If you will excuse me.”
“Of course. It was nice to meet you, Erina.”
“And you too, Damien.” She smiled before entering the room where Natasha rehearsed.
After a few seconds he heard Natasha exclaim, “Erina, I did it!”
“Yes, you did. I am so proud of you.”
“Thank you for coming on such short notice.”
“Nonsense, child, where else would I be?”
“I still can’t believe Damien Johnson came to my house to offer me the part.”
“That is very unusual.”
“Isn’t it? I wonder why he did it.”
“Who knows, but the main thing is that you got the part, no?”
“Yes.” Her voice was bubbly with excitement. “I’m going to dance Juliet.”
“Yes, you are. Now let us get down to work so that you will be brilliant, shall we?”
“I’m already warmed up.”
“We will see.” Erina’s teasing voice elicited a laugh from Natasha. “Come, first position.”
Outside in the hallway, Damien’s smile turned to a slight frown. Rachel had also questioned his insistence on telling Natasha in person she was their choice for Juliet. He hadn’t explained it to her satisfaction because he really hadn’t understood it himself; telling Natasha in person had just been something he had wanted to do, and so he had. No big deal.
Shaking his head, he started down the hallway in the opposite direction. He had a million things to do before rehearsal started, and standing around contemplating his uncharacteristic behavior regarding Natasha wasn’t one of them.
* * *
An hour and a half later, Natasha along with the other dancers stood in the main auditorium listening to Damien welcome them to the troupe.
“Good morning, everyone.” Damien received echoing responses from the occupants of the room and continued. “First let me congratulate all of you on beating out stiff competition for your respective parts.” He glanced at Natasha. “You are all here because you are the best and for no other reason.”
He placed an arm around Rachel’s shoulders, and hers went around his waist. “You all know Rachel Weston, casting director,” Damien continued, “who is responsible in large part for your jobs.”
“I’m highly susceptible to bribes—preferably chocolate.” Rachel smiled, causing a round of laughter. “I’m glad to be working with all of you, and if this guy gives you any trouble, I’ll do my best to get you out of it.”
“I believe in hard work, and you may even come to think of me as an ogre.” He paused, allowing his words to sink in.
“Truer words…” Rachel promised, causing another round of laughter, including Damien’s.
“You keep me out of this.” Damien affectionately scowled at her before continuing. “But I promise you once it’s all over, the finished product will speak highly for itself.” He glanced at his dancers, focusing on Natasha. “I’m going to drive you hard—probably harder than you’ve ever been driven before,” he promised. “I apologize now for anything I might do to anger or offend anyone, because in two minutes when rehearsal starts, I’m sorry are two words you will never hear from me.” He walked back center stage and his facial expression hardened slightly. “I’m a perfectionist, and I’ll demand perfection from each of you. I’ll receive it, or you won’t be here,” he sternly promised. “Any questions?” When none was forthcoming, he clapped his hands. “Okay, let’s get to work.”
“Let the fun begin.” Rachel laughed as Damien joined her in front of the stage.
“Let’s start with the ensembles.” Damien began organizing groups. “The lead dancers should follow Ron and Carla, our assistant choreographers.” He waved the group, including Natasha, away.
* * *
Natasha and fifteen other dancers entered a large white room whose walls were lined with brown wooden benches and ballet barres. She tightened the belt of her white wraparound skirt, glancing up as a male dancer approached her.
“Hi.” He extended his hand. “I’m Dennis, your partner.”
“Hi.” She shook his hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“You too.” His appreciative eyes traveled over her face and body.
Natasha smiled tolerantly into his wolfish smiling eyes. It seemed she would have to put him in his place as she had numerous other partners in the past. He was tall, about six feet, with short black hair and dark brown skin. He definitely had a dancer’s body. She couldn’t help comparing him with Damien, who was a few inches taller and much more muscled and oh so more appealing.
“I can’t wait to dance with you.”
“We’ll have plenty of opportunity for that.”
“Hmm.” He bobbed his eyebrows. “That suits me just fine.”
“Dennis.” She shook her head in remonstration. “We’re here to work.” She paused for emphasis before concluding, “And that’s all I intend to do with you.”
He sighed dramatically. “A guy can dream, can’t he?”
She laughed. “Just make sure you can distinguish between fantasy and reality.”
He grabbed her hand. “You’re gonna give me an inferiority complex.”
She chuckled. “I don’t think there’s much chance of that, Romeo.”
He brought her hand to his lips. “You know, Juliet, I think I like you.”
“I like you too, as a friend. Got it?”
“Got it,” he echoed, kissing her cheek lingeringly. “But it’s your loss.”
“I think I’ll survive.” She playfully tapped his cheek, and he covered her hand with his before bringing it to his lips.
Damien chose that moment to stick his head in, and his eyes narrowed at the apparent intimate scene between Natasha and Dennis, though he made no comment. He couldn’t blame the guy for being attracted to Natasha, but it seemed he would have to set Dennis straight about his strict no-fraternizing rule for his dancers; they were here to work, not engage in romance.
“Dennis, Natasha, let’s try the courting dance.”
Their heads turned in unison at his voice, and they moved to the center of the room. With Damien watching attentively, they performed the entire dance. “That was good, but I need it to be snappier and sexier.” Damien walked over to them and took Natasha’s hand. “Let me show you what I mean.”
An effortless tug of his hand twirled her toward him and they began to dance. She vaguely registered the females were all swooning over him, and frankly she couldn’t blame them. They didn’t perform any strenuous moves, just teasing, testing, dancing close and moving away. They danced seductively, performing the same moves she had just done with Dennis; however, what had seemed tame with Dennis was positively scandalous with Damien. He touched her possessively as if it was his right, and their bodies were the perfect complements moving in complete sexy synchronization.
He suddenly pulled her to him tightly before almost throwing her away again. She pirouetted back en pointes on the top of her toes elegantly before darting away. She leaped toward him, and he caught her midair and then allowed her to slide ever so slowly down his hard muscled body, ensuring that she felt every wonderful inch of his unbending strength against her giving softness. Their eyes met and held hypnotically for several intense seconds that seemed like hours. The breath caught in her throat when his head levitated toward hers slightly as if he was going to kiss her.
He held her close for earth-shattering seconds before reluctantly releasing her. “See what I mean?”
“Yes, I think so.” Dennis nodded in agreement.
“Yes,” Natasha softly echoed.
She moved into Dennis’s arms and noticed the immediate difference between the two men. Damien’s powerful touch diminished Dennis’s still-capable hands. She and Dennis mimicked the dance over and over again to perfect it. Damien fought down rising jealousy as they danced, as he had instructed and silently shouted at himself that this was about business; it wasn’t personal. They were giving him and, more important, the dance what was required, and he had to remember that. Forcing himself to watch them objectively, he made them repeat the dance until he was satisfied with their performance.
“That’s it.” He smiled triumphantly after they had performed the full dance eight times in a row. “Take a break, you two.”
Natasha and Dennis both heaved sighs of relief at his words. Dennis leaned against a nearby wall before sliding to the floor, and Natasha gratefully walked over and took a seat on a wooden bench to catch her breath for a few seconds. Damien was a perfectionist—good. So was she, and she would rehearse the dance one hundred times if that was required to perfect it. She stood and walked over to Dennis, taking his hands and pulling him to his feet to practice with her.
“Come on, Natasha, let me rest for a few minutes,” Dennis complained.
“You can rest tonight at home.” Natasha twirled into his arms. “Now, let’s dance.”
“All right.” He sighed. “But if I step on your toes or pass out, you have only yourself to blame.”
She laughed. “I’ve been warned.”
Before Damien turned his attention to another pair of dancers, he glanced her way and smiled briefly in approval. She returned his smile before focusing on Dennis and their dance.
* * *
The day flew by and before she knew it, it was a little after 8:30 p.m., but she still wasn’t ready to call it a night. She had never been so tired, nor felt so alive. She had thought Erina was a taskmaster, but she had nothing on Damien. He was a perfectionist, and she vowed she would be perfect for him.
Sounds of music echoed in the quiet as she rehearsed her first dance alone. She had tried to get Dennis to stick around, but he had moaned that a hot bath was calling to him. She smiled as she pirouetted around the room, improvising when she came to the part she would be dancing with Dennis.