Married For Their Miracle Baby. Сорейя Лейн
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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 lame website. Then asking if she needed to send out a search party. Trust Claire to be scanning those types of pages as she ate her breakfast in the morning.
She sent her a quick message back.
I’m fine. He’s gorgeous. Do you know anything about him?
The door clicked then, and she shoved her phone back in her purse. She hadn’t had time to google him, and not being a native New Yorker, she didn’t know the company name he’d mentioned the night before. He didn’t strike her as a spoiled rich kid—more like a man who’d made his own money or his own way in the world, and she wanted to know more. Especially how he’d come to be listed as an eligible bachelor worthy of paparazzi.
“Breakfast is served,” he announced.
Saffron stood and made her way back to the bar stool. “Mmm, smells delicious.” Now she had clothes and some makeup on, she was a lot less self-conscious.
“Waffles with whipped caramel cream and fresh fruit. I went with sweet.” His grin was naughty and she laughed at him.
“Can I just set the record straight about last night,” she said, cringing at the way the words had come out.
“Sure. But you don’t have to explain anything, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
She sighed, taking the plate he held out to her. It did look delicious, the waffles thick and square, with pineapple and blueberries piled beside a swirl of the cream. “I just don’t want you to think I do this sort of thing all the time.”
He joined her around the other side of the counter, sitting down and passing her a knife and fork. “I kind of got that impression when you were peeking out at me from beneath the covers this morning with a horrified look on your face.”
“Really?” She had to give it to him—he hadn’t turned out to be a jerk the morning after.
Blake leaned over, smiling before dropping his mouth to hers, not giving her a second to hesitate. His lips were warm and tasted of coffee, his hand soft as he cupped the back of her head. He kissed the breath from her then pulled back, lips hovering as he stared down at her. Saffy felt the burn of heat as it spread up her neck, every inch of her body tingling from the unexpected kiss.
“You’re too cute,” he said with a grin, digging into breakfast like he hadn’t just kissed her as if it was their last kiss on earth.
“And you’re too suave for your own good,” she muttered, stabbing her waffle with the fork, irate that he’d had such a visceral effect on her. “I’m guessing most of the women you bed are happy to drag you into bed the moment they lock eyes on you.”
She had no idea why she was so mad with him when all he’d done was kiss her, but something about his attitude had gotten under her skin.
“Hey,” he said, setting down his fork and turning to face her. “I meant it as a compliment, not to get you all fired up.”
She went back to her breakfast, ignoring him.
“And I haven’t exactly had the chance to meet a whole lot of ladies since I’ve been back. First I moved back home, then when I finally took over this place, I was spending more hours in the office than anywhere else. I haven’t had time for socializing, other than when I’ve had to for work.”
“You mentioned you were in the army,” she said, calmed down and not so ready to jump down his throat. She’d seriously overreacted before.
“In another lifetime, yeah,” he said, but he looked away as if he wasn’t at all interested in talking about that other life. “Anyway, we’re supposed to be talking about you. Tell me what happened. Why aren’t you dancing now?”
* * *
Blake was intrigued. He’d bedded her already, and most of the time that was when his interest stopped, but she was something else. Even before he’d seen the blog post about them leaving the benefit together, which his sister had been so kind as to forward to him with a message that this one sounded a whole lot more promising than the airheads he’d been photographed with other times.
Blake kept eating his waffles, not wanting to stare at her and make her uncomfortable. He believed her that this wasn’t her usual scene—she’d looked like a deer in headlights when he’d come back into the bedroom after hearing that she’d woken. His first instinct had been to dive straight back under the covers, until he’d seen her face and changed his mind. He still wanted her—he just wasn’t going to be so forward.
Having a late breakfast with her and relaxing for once was making it clear he’d been way too focused on work the last few months. He’d become so determined not to buckle under the pressure and settle down, just because it would be good for business, but he was starting to realize he’d been missing out.
Saffron’s red hair looked darker in the morning. Maybe it was the lack of bright lights, but it still looked incredible. The richest color against skin the lightest, barely there shade of gold, and dark brown eyes that just kept on drawing him in. He cleared his throat and set down his fork.
“Come on, what happened? Maybe I can help?” He doubted it, but he wanted to hear the story, and if she needed help finding work or someone to assist her with whatever injury she had, he did have helpful contacts.
His phone buzzed and he quickly glanced at it, not wanting to be rude by picking it up. He could read just enough of the text to see it was from his assistant and that the investor he’d been trying to impress had seen the paparazzi story. Great. Just when he’d been making some headway, now he was going to be labeled the rich playboy again.
“Nobody can help me,” she said in a low voice. “Most dancers get injured and that’s it, they’re injured. Me, I’m out. Which means my career is over, because soon I’ll have to go home with my tail between my legs, the washed-up former ballerina. I don’t have enough money to stay here without working, and my physical therapy and specialist bills are crazy.”
Blake frowned, forgetting the text and focusing on Saffron. “There’s no other way for you to stay here?”
Saffron picked at her food, taking a mouthful that he was sure was a delaying tactic. When she finally looked up at him, her eyes were swimming. Big brown pools of hurt, bathed in unshed tears.
“I had a dream of dancing with the best ballet companies in the world, right from when I was a kid. I used to practice so hard, train my heart out and eventually it paid off.” He listened as she blew out a big breath, sending a few tendrils of shorter hair around her face up into the air. “My hours of practicing got me noticed at the Lexington Ballet School in Kentucky, and eventually it turned into a dance scholarship with the New York Ballet Company. I started training there, danced my heart out and eventually went on to be an apprentice by the time I was eighteen.”
“Wait, you moved to New York on your own before you were even eighteen? How old were you when you got the scholarship?” He knew plenty of models and other creative types started their careers early, but he’d never really thought about teenagers making such a big leap on their own. “Your parents didn’t come, too?”
She