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With all of my mental strength, I slam the door shut in my mind, breaking the moment and cloaking myself in my usual stonewall defenses. I stand slowly and her brown eyes follow me. Any other time, this position, with her sitting and me looming over her, my cock at mouth level, begging for her kiss, would be my undoing.
But not now, not here, not like this. I’m a cold bastard, but I wouldn’t dare take advantage of her.
“Let me take you home.”
She nods, and with an almost childlike innocence, she lets me escort her downstairs to the changing area and then out to my car.
Arriving at her place, I tuck her into bed, wishing I could crawl into the mess of brightly colored blankets with her. I know I can’t, but it would be heaven.
Her deep chocolate hair fans out on the pillow and her face relaxes as she looks up at me and smiles tentatively, an angel swaddled in cotton. She looks soft, her usual fierce shell chipped away by the night’s events.
I’m sure the shower and hair brushing I forced upon her helped. She’d argued lightly that she just wanted to fall into bed, but I’d known she’d needed care after such a violent experience. And she’d sighed as she admitted I’d been right.
I didn’t need to be too forceful. I just reminded her that sleeping with her stage makeup on would be a mess in the morning, and it did the trick. She even gave me a heartfelt smile when she came out in a towel and saw that I’d laid out a pair of pajamas for her.
I pause at the door as she falls asleep, watching the even way her chest rises and falls with each breath. She’d understandably asked me to leave the hall light on, and now the dim light illuminating her lets me see every expression on her face as she fades deeper into slumber.
I should go, leave her to rest. But there’s no damn way I’m leaving her.
Instead, I sink into the chair in the corner of the room, watching her, protecting her, possessing her, even if she doesn’t know it.
Even if my own morals won’t allow it, that’s what I’m going to do. I’ve fought myself to stay away from her, but tonight, things changed.
I could’ve lost her, and that is one thing I won’t allow.
I’ll always keep her safe, even if it’s from me.
Chapter 1
Allie
“And grand jeté . . . soft landing, Brynn . . . and plié with your bow. Beautiful!” I tell my student, offering a light applause as the soft classical music ends. “You’re getting much better. Your leap must be at least two inches higher than last month.”
Brynn, a young girl just out of junior high who decided to ask her parents for ballet lessons for her birthday, beams at me. It’s a late start for a ballerina, but she’s making leaps and bounds of progress to catch up with her peers because of the amount of work and time she puts forth.
“Really? That’s awesome! Thanks, Miss Allie!”
She does a little pas-de-chat step of happiness over to her bag, tossing it over her shoulder. “When I get the part as the Sugar Plum Fairy, you’ll have to come watch me!”
I smile back, remembering when I used to think being the Sugar Plum Fairy was the best thing in the world too. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Brynn leaves the studio in a whirlwind of energy that is wasted on the young. I don’t envy her youth, the fourteen-year-old ballerina just starting her career and still living on hopes and dreams, because I was once that girl and tasted firsthand how sour those dreams could turn.
Once, I was the little girl who dreamed of wearing the white tutu and prancing onstage. A couple of injuries and a body that turned into something that isn’t quite suited for ballet dancing . . . and now I’m something different. Older, jaded, maybe even a bit cynical. At least where dance is concerned.
At twenty-six, I’m virtually ancient in the ballet world. Not that it matters, considering I left any chance at a professional career behind at barely twenty-one when I injured my ankle, tearing two ligaments.
Nine months of rehab, and it’s fine for daily life and even for dance, but not for the daily grind of being a principal dancer en pointe in any company worth the work.
It put me in a pretty dark place for awhile, and I did some things I’m not proud of. I don’t regret them. I have some good relationships out of them, friendships, and I’ve made damn good money . . . but none of it’s going on my resumé anytime soon.
And that’s why I live for teaching the next generation of dancers, wanting to ensure that they have long and healthy careers by taking care of themselves better than I ever did.
