Our First Dance. Judy Lynn Hubbard
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Shelia coolly shook their hands.
Natasha noticed the woman’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes and appeared phony—much as she did. Natasha was certain that her long straight hair was a weave and her red nails were false, as were a few of her body parts—particularly her buxom breasts that were straining against the revealing confines of the white gown she wore. She was pretty, if one leaned toward the dramatic.
“You look familiar.” Dennis focused on Shelia. “Have we met before?”
At Dennis’s innocent question, Shelia suddenly acted as if he had insulted her. Her lips thinned and she let out an audible disgruntled sigh.
“Well, I should. I’m the main character on Today’s World,” she indignantly named a top-rated reality show.
“Oh, well I don’t watch the show, but good for you.”
Natasha forced herself not to laugh at Dennis’s perfectly aimed jab. As if sensing her struggle, he chuckled and placed an arm around her waist, a move she noticed seemed to intensify Damien’s frown.
“Darling—” Shelia glanced at Dennis pointedly while pressing closer to Damien’s side “—I could use a drink.”
“In a minute.” Damien extricated himself from his date and took Natasha’s hand. “I need to introduce my prima ballerina to everyone.”
Without another word, he pulled her away from their respective dates, both of whom were staring after them, flabbergasted at being deserted.
“Should we leave Dennis and Shelia like that?”
“They’ll be fine,” he dismissively replied. “I didn’t know you were coming with Dennis.”
“Is that a problem?”
“I hope not.” He grabbed two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and handed her one. “I don’t allow romances between members of my troupe.”
“Dennis and I aren’t involved romantically.”
“No?” Intense eyes bore into hers.
“No, we’re just friends.” At his raised eyebrow, she felt compelled to elaborate. “I didn’t have a date for tonight, and he offered to escort me.”
“I don’t believe you couldn’t get a date other than a fellow dancer.”
“I didn’t say I couldn’t get a date. I said I didn’t have one.” She took a sip of her champagne. “I’m surprised you’re not here with Rachel.”
“She’s here, but why would you think we’d come together?”
“You two just seem—close.” She watched him furtively over the rim of her glass.
“We are, very.”
“Oh, I see.”
He arched an eyebrow. “What exactly do you see, Natasha?”
She glanced away from his penetrating gaze without answering, offering him the opportunity to appreciate her appearance unobtrusively. Her black floor-length gown was simple yet sexy with its sheer sleeves, high neckline and daringly low-cut back. The material clung to her curves in all the right places; she was, in a word, delectable. Never before had he been more aware of how beautiful she was than now seeing her all dressed up.
Diamond teardrop earrings hung from her ears, and her hair was pinned back into a flawless chignon. He had the ridiculous urge to release it and run his fingers through the soft strands. That’s not all he wanted to do—her full, burgundy-colored lips begged to be kissed, which was an invitation he almost accepted.
“Come with me,” he tersely ordered, taking her hand again and leading her onto the stage. They stopped in front of the orchestra, which at Damien’s nod played an introduction, causing a hush to settle over the room.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. I would like to thank all of you for coming tonight to help me celebrate and welcome a new prima ballerina to my troupe who will be dancing the lead in my next production, an original version of Romeo and Juliet. I look forward to great things from this exquisitely beautiful and supremely talented ballerina.” He turned to Natasha and raised his glass. “May I present to you all, Natasha Carter.”
Applause rang out. Natasha curtsied to the audience and clinked her glass with Damien’s. They drank their champagne, eyes never leaving each other’s. Her heart was thudding, not from the adulation being bestowed on her, but rather from the way he was staring at her. Before she could contemplate exactly what she had seen in his eyes, he took her hand and helped her down from the platform and took her around to introduce her to some of the elite guests.
Natasha was blown away by the guest list; everyone who was anyone in the ballet world was present and seemed enthralled with Damien. The guests treated her to the kind of admiration she had always dreamed of receiving, but had begun to think she would never achieve.
“Thank you for this, Damien,” she spoke when they were relatively alone again. “This is fabulous.”
“It’s no more than you deserve.”
His easily uttered, sincere words touched her heart. She felt close to crying from the utter happiness she felt at the moment—due in large part to Damien. She suddenly wanted to grab him, pull him close and never let him go. For the life of her, she didn’t know how she resisted.
“Shouldn’t you get back to Shelia?”
“Trying to get rid of me?”
“No, of course not.” She glanced across the room, where Shelia stood with her arms crossed, glaring at them. “It’s just that she doesn’t seem very happy.”
Damien chuckled. “Don’t worry about Shelia. I’m not.” To prove his point, he took her glass, deposited it along with his own onto a nearby table and pulled her into the center of the room, where various couples were dancing.
“What are you doing?” she whispered in shock.
He pulled her close. “I’m dancing with my prima ballerina.”
“I don’t think this is wise.”
“Why not?”
She glanced around the room; a lot of eyes were glued to them. “People will talk.”
He shrugged. “It’s expected that I dance with you. Besides, it’s not as if we’re naked, rolling around on satin sheets.”
His words conjured up forbidden images, which she fought mightily to dispel. Why did he have to say that? Now she would have that not-unpleasant idea in her head for the remainder of the night.
“You’re the one who said you don’t allow dating between troupe members.”
“We’re not dating.” His hand pressed against her bare back. “We’re dancing.”
“I know, but…” Her voice trailed off as his fingers lightly strummed against her spine.
“Besides, I’m the boss, I make the rules.” He smiled at her roguishly. “But I don’t have to follow them.”
“Oh.” She wasn’t quite sure how she should take that statement. Was he teasing her, or was he hinting at something forbidden?
He twirled her around the floor, pressing her body tighter against his unyielding one. She fought to maintain her composure. They had danced before, but not like this. Maybe it was because parts of their bare flesh touched or because here and now they were a man and a woman instead of two dancers rehearsing. She didn’t know, but whatever the reason, this dance was systematically destroying her second by wonderful second. She contradictorily found herself praying for it to both end and go on and on. She was in trouble, and she had no idea of how she had fallen into peril or how to extricate herself from it.
“Damien, I’m tired. I’d like to sit down.”