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 stared out the glass balcony doors at the gorgeous Manhattan skyline—a scene which usually soothed her, but not tonight.
Taking a sip of Bordeaux, she reclined her head onto the back of the sofa but quickly snapped up again as the frenetic music she had chosen wafted through the air. Without hesitation, she moved her head to the beat and tapped her sock-covered feet in synch with the song.
She opened her mouth to sing along when the doorbell sounded. Picking up the remote, she turned down the volume, set down her wine, stood and walked over to greet the pizza man. No need to primp for him; she was sure he’d seen worse than her faded jeans, black T-shirt and hair in a ponytail. However, upon opening the door, cash in hand, the faint smile froze on her lips as her eyes encountered a smiling Damien.
“Mr. Johnson,” she gasped.
“Hello, Natasha,” he said.
“This is a surprise.”
“A pleasant one, I hope.”
“What are you doing here?” She couldn’t process why the head of the ballet company would come to her door. No one got a job by having the boss come to the door.
“Is this any way to treat someone bringing good news?” He walked past her, inviting himself in.
“Good news?” Her eyes widened expectantly as she closed the door.
He glanced around the room that was a reflection of her personality—white carpet, pale tan-and-white furniture. She had hoped her design was elegant, yet cool.
He cocked his ear, listening. “I like your choice in music.”
“Mr. Johnson…”
“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
