"You look like you were built for it," he says quietly. "To move, I mean." His eyes linger on my thighs, then dart up to my face.
"Thanks," I say, fighting the urge to press my legs together. He'd probably notice that, right? "I guess you'd know since you throw your body around an ice rink like it's fun seven months a year."
"Don't forget the playoffs," he says.
"We definitely can't forget those," I tease him.
"Smart ass."
I grin, not denying it. And then I catch a blur moving through the crowd. It's Hattie, with Sidney right behind her. He's got her hand like he thinks she'll fly away if he doesn't keep a death grip on her. They're making a beeline for the nearest exit.
I check my phone. "Four minutes and thirty-seven seconds. Looks like I won."
Harlan's eyes flick to the spot where Sidney and Hattie are already disappearing from the room. He looks entirely unbothered, almost satisfied.
"I suppose you want a prize for that." His mouth is so close I can smell the hint of whiskey on his breath. For some reason, the comment fires through me like a dare.
"I mean…I do appreciate being recognized for my talents," I murmur, tipping my head back.
He studies me, his head tilted just so, the way predators look at prey when they're deciding if they want to hunt or not. Except…I've never been prey a day in my life. I have claws. Always have.
"What's your price, ballerina?"
I lift my hands, shooting him a little smirk. "Guess you'll have to find out."
"Tease," he says, but there's a ghost of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth that says he loves it. "You know I'm looking forward to it."
"Looking forward to being fleeced by a ballerina?" I arch a brow. "That's mighty brave of you, considering you don't even know my price yet."
He leans down, dropping his voice so only I can hear. "I'll pay whatever you ask, whenever you ask."
There's something about the way he says it—not a hint of sarcasm, no obvious flex, just this quiet promise. I'm not used to men meaning what they say. Especially not men who could bench press a small car.
I break eye contact first, but only because if I hold that stare for one more second, I'm going to say something embarrassing, like "please let me climb you like a rock wall." I'm not entirely convinced he would hate hearing it, which is part of the problem.
I don't make a habit of getting involved with my brother's friends. I mean, I flirt, but who doesn't mess with their brother's friends just to annoy the hell out of said brothers? It's basically a biological imperative.
And in my world, we don't just perform on stage. We perform every damn time we're in front of someone with a checkbook and the tiniest interest in ballet. Ballet isn't cheap, and donors pay the bills. But this is different. I'm not trying to annoy Austin or Sidney. I'm not trying to secure a donation for the Company, either. I just want to know what it feels like to be wanted by Harlan, simply because it's him.
He cocks his head, studying me, and I get the sense he's waiting for me to make a move. Like this is chess, and he's the kind of guy who always plays defense. For the first time in a long time, Iwantto make a move.
I want it so badly, it's like I can already feel his hands on my body. I can taste him on my lips,feelhis weight pinning me. And I want the reality so badly I'm ready to crawl out of my own damn skin.
So I do what I always do when I'm about to do something stupid: I run.
"I should, uh, find Sidney," I blurt, even though I know damn well where he is. "And make sure he's not getting arrested for public indecency."
I turn to go, but Harlan catches my wrist, his touch gentle but unyielding. "Ballerina," he says.
I glance back at him, my heart hammering.
"I will be seeing you again."
It's not a question or a warning, just a simple statement of fact. The sun will rise, the earth will rotate, and Harlan Ward will get what he wants.
"I…" I gulp and then nod. "Okay."
Chapter One
