Carter’s slender frame huddled deeper into her black leather jacket against the brisk mid-September wind, feet hurriedly walking through downtown Manhattan on the way to the most important audition of her career. How many lead auditions had she gone to in the past frustrating years only to come away disappointed? She sighed audibly. She had been surprised and thrilled upon receiving an invitation from the Johnson Ballet Company to try out for the part of Juliet. She was determined things would be different this time.
Shivering, she continued resolutely toward what she hoped would be a turning point in her career. She had to have the part of Juliet! She was tired of being cast in secondary roles or as part of the background dancers because she “wasn’t quite right” for the lead. She deserved her chance in the spotlight, but up until now, no one had been willing to take a chance on her, an African-American ballerina. Also, because she came from a wealthy family, no one took her dedication and drive seriously—believing instead she was merely toying with a career in dance.
Glancing both ways, she hurriedly crossed the busy street and entered the performance hall building she had been trying to reach for the past thirty minutes. A grateful smile perked up the corners of her brown lips as the blessed warmth inside greeted her. She looked at the signs that pointed the way to the auditions. Taking off her leather gloves, she stuffed them into her jacket pockets and absently ran fingers through her wind-tossed, shoulder-length dark brown hair before tucking strands behind her ears.
She nodded curt hellos to several fellow ballerinas as she entered the tryout hall to check in. For a moment she wished she had allowed Erina, her coach, to accompany her, but she had firmly dismissed her offer. She was a first-rate ballerina who didn’t need anyone to hold her hand. She could and would do this alone, and she would come out victorious.
“May I help you?” A man behind the table was looking at her expectantly.
“Yes. I’m…”
“Natasha Carter.” A woman smiled and stood.
She was tall and thin, obviously an ex-dancer. Her black hair was cut very short and framed her smiling face and happy brown eyes. She was, Natasha would guess, in her early forties.
“Yes.” Natasha smiled slightly. It was nice to be recognized.
“We’re so glad you could make the auditions, Miss Carter.” The woman offered her hand. “I’m Rachel Weston. I’ll be coproducing and codirecting this little extravaganza, along with taking on the responsibility of casting director.”
“It’s very nice to meet you, Ms. Weston.” She briefly shook her hand.
“Rachel,” she corrected.
Rachel’s eyes traveled over Natasha. She looked perfect for the lead. But Rachel knew that looks alone were not enough for Damien. Over the years, she had learned how by the book and fanatical he was about his ballet company—only the best talent could work for him, no exceptions. She sighed inwardly as she recounted the numerous hours they had spent scouting for dancers to audition for them before sending out invitations; it had been exhausting, but Damien had insisted they personally sit through entire performances for every dancer being considered for his production.
“Room number three is set up for Miss Carter.” Rachel walked from behind the desk. “Damien is around here somewhere.” She glanced around the crowded room before refocusing on Natasha. “Let me show you to your dressing room.”
“Thank you.”
Natasha eagerly followed her out. Her heart somersaulted in her chest; she was in no shape to meet Damien Johnson yet. She needed a few moments to compose herself before coming face-to-face with the legendary owner of the company she hoped to join.
“I’ll have someone call when we’re ready for you.” Rachel held open a door for her.
“Thank you, Ms. Weston.” She smiled briefly while placing her bag onto the floor.
“Rachel,” she reminded with a smile.
“Rachel,” she said corrected and returned her smile.
Once alone, Natasha placed hands to her burning cheeks. She was a mass of quivering jelly. She silently commanded her nerves to subside and rolled her shoulders, shaking out her arms and legs to relax, but to no avail.
Damien Johnson was here! Of course, she had known he would be, but still the fact that her idol was somewhere in the same building was unreal. He was only thirty-two, but he owned one of the best ballet companies in the world. His meteoric rise had inspired her, and she clung to the hope that he would give her a chance where others had not; after receiving her invitation to audition for him, she felt certain that he would, but only if she performed flawlessly, which she intended to do.
She quickly shed her street shoes and sweats and donned much more appropriate prima ballerina attire of pale pink leotards, matching jagged-edge wraparound chiffon skirt belted at her tiny waist and expertly laced-up pale pink satin ballerina slippers. Finally, she pulled her hair away from her face, securing it at her nape in a flawless knot.
After taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly, she purposefully walked over to the ballet barre and began to warm up.
* * *
“Damien, there you are.” Rachel reentered the audition hall and spotted her partner onstage.
A teasing grin lit up his brown eyes. “Was I lost?”
“Oh, you!” She laughed and tapped his cheek playfully. “Natasha Carter is here.”
“Good, that makes everyone—” Damien rubbed his lightly hair-covered chin “—doesn’t it?”
“Mmm-hmm,” Rachel said and nodded.
“Okay, I have a few calls to make.” He glanced at his watch. “We’ll start in about thirty.”
“Right,” Rachel said with a nod. “I’m going to check the music.” She turned and asked, “Do you want to do the introductions, or should I?”
Damien sighed. “You do them. The last thing I need today is a bunch of ballerinas fawning all over me thinking it will improve their chances of making the cut.”
Rachel laughed. “You’re just too handsome for your own good.”
Damien chuckled. “Or just too rich and powerful.”
He winked at Rachel before turning to go to his office. As he exited the auditorium, for some reason, his mind drifted to Natasha Carter’s arrival a short while ago; she had breezed in looking breathtakingly beautiful. He knew the dark brown hair that had curtained her oval face would be swept up or back when he saw her next, and she would be dressed in classic ballerina attire—sheer, sexy leotards that would mold revealingly to her slender yet womanly curves like a second skin.
He had watched her from the stage as she had smiled politely to Rachel and had intended to join them, but his feet had been rooted in place by her utter beauty. He had mentally scolded himself to stop staring at her like some lovesick schoolboy; however, feelings he hadn’t had in a long time had bombarded him, causing the formation of a hard knot of desire in the pit of his stomach.
Taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly, he attributed his reaction to the fact that she was an extremely beautiful woman, and as a man,
