Our First Dance - Judy Lynn Hubbard Mills & Boon Kimani

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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.”

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