A smile of admiration tugged at the corners of Damien’s mouth as his appreciative eyes followed every seamless movement of Natasha’s lithe body. He looked briefly at her resumé then looked at the stage. She danced ethereally. Even at twenty-six, she danced circles around the five-to-eight-years-younger ballerinas who had come before her.
He watched with satisfaction as she performed a series of pirouettes and came effortlessly to a fast stop, holding and maintaining her ending position—back arched, arms held high, legs extended and toes pointed without faltering. She came out of her pose to sighs of envy and a small applause of admiration and praise, which she acknowledged with a cool smile and a nod of her head.
“Thank you, Miss Carter. That was beautifully done. We…” Rachel’s praise was cut short as Damien touched her arm. “Um, Miss Carter, I wonder if you would mind performing the courting dance for us.”
“Not at all,” Natasha agreed even as her body groaned. Part of her wanted to go somewhere private and collapse, but she couldn’t refuse—it was a wonderful sign this request was being made of her. She frantically ran through the dance in her mind, visualizing steps and combinations, praying she wouldn’t forget any of them.
“I’ll need a partner,” she reminded.
“We haven’t cast the male lead yet,” Damien said as he stood and slowly walked toward her, “but I’m at your service, Miss Carter.”
As he neared the stage, Natasha was quickly cognizant of the fact that Damien Johnson was even handsomer in person. His black hair was cropped close to his head, and a very light goatee accentuated his medium brown skin. His cheeks were chiseled and strong, and his full lips were smiling slightly. His body was magnificent—muscled, hard and completely masculine. He was dressed in black pants and black short-sleeved shirt stretched taut across his broad chest, which showed off his muscled arms. Lord in heaven, had she ever seen a more perfect man?
After an eternity, he finally reached her. Her tongue escaped to wet her suddenly dry lips. When his eyes darted to and fixated on her mouth, she let out her breath on an audible sigh. Trembling fingers smoothed an imaginary piece of hair away from her slightly flushed face, and she waited for him to speak because she couldn’t; her tongue had suddenly become glued to the roof of her mouth.
“Shall we?”
Oh, Lord, his voice! It was deep, sexy and created very inappropriate visions in her mind of them pressed close, and not in preparation for dancing—at least not ballet dancing. Goodness, she had to get a grip on her runaway hormones where this man was concerned—a man she hoped would soon be her boss. His outstretched hand sent her into motion.
“Of course.”
She forced the words through her constricted throat and took his hand—a hand that almost engulfed hers, a hand that she suddenly envisioned sliding caressingly down her trembling body. An electric shock went through them at that first contact. Their eyes darkened perceptibly as they silently stared at each other.
After interminable seconds, he nodded to the man sitting in the cave, and the music began. Before his disturbing eyes refocused on hers, she took a deep breath and released it slowly, silently reminding herself why she was here and to remain professionally cool and calm and to stop thinking like a woman when it came to Damien Johnson and behave like a dance partner instead.
The first strands were soft and sweet as they danced around each other, never coming too close, testing, teasing and tempting. She prayed she wouldn’t miss any steps or embarrass herself by clinging to his hard, tempting body longer than their dance necessitated. Her heart was hammering loudly in her chest. Damien’s focused eyes and expression were unreadable; she had no idea what he was thinking or feeling. They moved well together; she knew he hadn’t danced professionally in years, but he was still very good. She came within an arm’s length and then flitted away on the tips of her toes as the dance called for before twirling back into his waiting embrace.
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