Married For Their Miracle Baby. Soraya Lane
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smiled. This was how she’d ended up in his bed! He was so smooth yet seemed so genuine at the same time, although hearing that he was such a prized bachelor only made her wonder if he’d expertly played her to get her into bed.
“You’re really upset about it, aren’t you? I was hoping you wouldn’t think it was that big a deal being papped.”
She shrugged. “I don’t care about being seen with you, or the photos. It’s the headlines that sting,” Saffy admitted.
Blake looked confused. “I’m not sure I’m following. You do realize that the whole bachelor thing has been completely blown out of proportion, right? It’s rubbish.”
Saffy shook her head. “It hurts to read that I’m a washed-up former ballerina. Sometimes the truth stings more than we realize.”
Blake kept hold of her hand, staring into her eyes. “You look far too young to be washed up, surely.”
“I’ll give you points for being kind, but I’m not too young, not in the ballet world. My body broke down on me, so I’m out.”
He chuckled. “By out, you mean injured, right? Taking some time out? From what I’ve read this morning, you’re pretty incredible.”
Now it was Saffy chuckling. “You’ve been googling me?”
He shrugged. “Yeah. I’m an early riser. I saw this, and I’ve been reading up about you ever since.”
She liked that he was at least honest. He could have lied and not admitted to it, but he was obviously curious about who he’d spent the night with. And if she was honest, she was starting to get pretty intrigued about him, too.
“What did it say?” Saffy wasn’t clutching the sheet quite so tightly now, not as concerned as she had been about him seeing her.
“From what I’ve read, you came to New York as a teenager, wowed all the right people and eventually landed your dream role as lead in Swan Lake last year.”
Saffron smiled. “Sounds about right.” She wasn’t sure she wanted to talk about it, not anymore. For years ballet had been her life, since she was a little girl in love with the idea of being a pretty dancer to a determined teenager and a dedicated adult. She’d lived and breathed her dream all her life, which was why she was at such a loss now. How did anyone move on if they’d lost the one thing that meant more to them than anything else?
Blake surprised her by stroking her face, his thumb caressing her cheek as he stared into her eyes. “I know the feeling.”
She smiled, but it was forced. There was no way he knew how she was feeling. “You don’t happen to have coffee, do you?” she asked, hoping he’d say yes then go and make her a cup so she had a little privacy.
“Sure do.” Blake pulled back then rose, and the moment was over. He looked down at her, his height imposing. He was already dressed, barefoot but wearing dark jeans and a plain white tee.
Saffy waited for him to go then quickly scanned for her clothes. She hardly even remembered how they’d gotten to the bedroom. From what she could recall, her dress was in the living room wherever he’d thrown it, but her underwear was somewhere in the bedroom. She jumped up, taking the sheet with her. It wasn’t until she had her underwear back on that she relaxed. Saffy looked around the room but he didn’t have any clothes scattered, so she opened his closet and grabbed a sweatshirt. It was fleecy on the inside with a zipper, and given the size on her, she had to zip it all the way just to cover her body. Then she dashed into his bathroom, splashed some water on her face and ran her fingers through her hair to tame it. Given the fact she’d just woken and didn’t have all her usual things with her, she didn’t think she looked too terrible.
“So I—” Blake’s deep voice cut off. “You look cute in my hoodie.”
“Sorry.” Saffron spun around, feeling guilty. “I should have asked first, but I didn’t want to walk out half-naked.”
Blake’s laugh made her smile. He waved her toward him and turned, and she followed him out to the living area. He had music playing softly, just audible, and she tried not to gape at the apartment all over again. It was incredible, and it oozed money. He pointed to the coffee machine.
“I can make an okay black coffee, but if you want something fancy, I’ll call downstairs.”
Saffron shook her head. “I don’t need fancy café coffee. Just give it to me however it comes, with a heaped teaspoon of sugar.”
“Not what I expected from a ballerina. I thought all dancers would think of sugar as the devil and have eating disorders.” Blake turned straight around then, his face full of apology. “Sorry, that was in bad taste. I didn’t mean it.”
She was used to it. “It’s fine, and it’s kind of true. There are plenty of dancers with problems.”
“Yeah, still. Bad form. Want to tell me what happened?” he asked, pushing a big mug of steaming coffee across the counter and shoving his hands into his jean pockets as he stood watching her on the other side. “Sounds to me like you’ve had a rough year.”
“Yeah, you could say that again,” Saffy muttered.
“I have waffles and bacon on their way up, so you can tell me over breakfast.”
She groaned. “Do I have to?”
His laugh made her smile. “Yeah, you kind of do.”
Saffron hated talking about what had happened, didn’t want to have to explain what she’d been through and what it meant for her, but breakfast did sound good and she wasn’t about to run out. Especially not if there were paparazzi waiting outside to see if she’d spent the night.
“We could talk about what happened last night instead,” he suggested, giving her a smile that made her want to slap him.
“Um, how about no?” she quipped straight back, heart racing.
“So let me guess,” Blake started, walking away from her when a buzz rang out. She tracked him with her eyes, admired how tall and built he was. His hair was thick and dark, a full mop of it, and whereas last night it had been styled, this morning it was all mussed up. She liked him even better less groomed, although he had looked pretty hot in a suit the night before.
The next thing he was pressing a button. “Just give me a sec,” Blake called over his shoulder before disappearing from the apartment.
Saffy let out a breath she hadn’t even known she was holding. She reached for her coffee and took a slow, long sip. It was hot, but the burn felt nice down her throat, helped her to calm down somehow.
She could run. It wouldn’t be her stupidest idea, and she could just grab her dress and bolt for it. Make up an excuse and dash past him. Get out of Dodge and never have to see him again or talk about what happened. She could even mail him back his hoodie, forget what she’d done. Only she wasn’t sure she wanted to. The last few months, after the worst of her pain had passed, she’d been bored and miserable. She was working on autopilot, making coffee and serving people food, seeing her dreams disappear. It hadn’t mattered what she’d done or how hard she’d tried, her leg hadn’t healed fast enough, the ligaments badly torn, and with arthritis on top of it making the pain debilitating at best.
Blake had reminded her she was alive. If she hadn’t met him, she’d have stayed another hour at the party, chatted with her friend, then gone home alone. Almost all her friends were dancers, and she wasn’t in that world anymore.
So she stayed put, only leaving her seat on one of Blake’s leather bar stools to retrieve her purse. It was tiny so she didn’t have a lot in there, but she did have her foundation stick and some lip gloss, and she was keen to use both to make herself look half-decent. Plus she needed to text Claire.
She laughed. Her friend had already sent her three text messages, first wondering where she was, then asking how fab her night had been after seeing the article on some