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I may have only known him for a handful of hours, but instinct warns me that Jared Prince is nothing if not ruthless.
He’ll find Dad.
And I’ll go home.
I ignore the hollow sensation that grows in my belly at the thought and take a deep breath. Look around me. I reach for the shoes but he shakes his head.
“No. Let me.”
He drops to his knees in front of me and I gasp. This billionaire…thisgodis at my feet and the sight sweeps a fever of yearning through me.
One hand grips my ankle, and he eases one flat off, then the other. He slips the ballet shoes on and in his large hands the ribbon ties look so delicate. “Tell me if they’re too tight.”
He weaves them expertly and I’m reminded again that he’s been watching me.
This time, though, the thought doesn’t fill me with dread and panic. It’s…almost powerful. As if I holdsomeif not all the cards in this little game.
My breath catches all over again when his head rears up and he pins me with his gaze. “Thearabesqueand thepenché, how long can you hold them for?” he asks, his voice gruff.
I blink in surprise. “You know the ballet terms?”
He shrugs but a faint flare of color appears at the tops of his cheeks. I’ve caught him out.
This is the first time we both acknowledge that he’s crossed the line between watching me to discover my father’s whereabouts and taking a fixated interest inme.
“I’m thorough, little girl. You should know that about me sooner rather than later.”
His words conjure up far too decadent and wicked thoughts. Thoughts I have no business thinking about. Thoughts that make the butterflies in my belly take flight and make my nipples hurt again.
“Now, about the positions,” he presses.
I suck in a shaky breath. “Thearabesqueis easier to hold for longer than thepenché, but if I have support, I can hold them a couple of minutes, maybe more.”
His nostrils flare and he nods. “Make sure you incorporate them into your routine. I’ll be over there.” He points to the elegant chaise longue on the far side of the room. “I want you to hold one of those two poses each time you get to me.”
Heat flares into my cheeks, then takes control of my whole body. “I…what?”
“I didn’t stutter, little girl.” His hand flashes out and he smacks my bottom, making me gasp. “Now go and do as you’re told.”
I stare at him until his face starts to harden.
Then, my ass smarting in that delicious way I don’t want to acknowledge and with more liquid heat seeping between my legs, I hurry to the middle of the room.
He strides to the seat and picks up a remote.
A moment later, orchestral music flows through hidden speakers.
I haven’t danced in front of an audience or anyone outside my class in a long time. Not since the series of debilitating stage fright issues killed any dreams of ever becoming a professional ballet dancer. Issues my parents tried to cure by hiring a therapist when I was ten years old.
The thought of dancing for Jared mildly terrifies me. But then I remember he knows all about my dancing, that he’s probably been watching my dance school too. It would make sense if he’s spying on me.
I shut my thoughts off before they can cause more damage and practice the breathing lessons my therapist taught me.
That and the familiar music center me. Enough to extend my limbs into shapes and positions I know like the back of my hand.
A fizz of joy ignites through me when I glide across the polished floor.
I start with anadage, letting the music fuse into my bones as I move slowly and delicately, that ethereal feeling of being as light as air building my joy. Then I toss in a series of pirouettes and light jumps.
