Judy Hubbard - Our First Dance

“I’ll have someone call when we’re ready for you.” Rachel held open a door for her.

“Thank you, Ms. Weston.” She smiled briefly while placing her bag onto the floor.

“Rachel,” she reminded with a smile.

“Rachel,” she said corrected and returned her smile.

Once alone, Natasha placed hands to her burning cheeks. She was a mass of quivering jelly. She silently commanded her nerves to subside and rolled her shoulders, shaking out her arms and legs to relax, but to no avail.

Damien Johnson was here! Of course, she had known he would be, but still the fact that her idol was somewhere in the same building was unreal. He was only thirty-two, but he owned one of the best ballet companies in the world. His meteoric rise had inspired her, and she clung to the hope that he would give her a chance where others had not; after receiving her invitation to audition for him, she felt certain that he would, but only if she performed flawlessly, which she intended to do.

She quickly shed her street shoes and sweats and donned much more appropriate prima ballerina attire of pale pink leotards, matching jagged-edge wraparound chiffon skirt belted at her tiny waist and expertly laced-up pale pink satin ballerina slippers. Finally, she pulled her hair away from her face, securing it at her nape in a flawless knot.

After taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly, she purposefully walked over to the ballet barre and began to warm up.

* * *

“Damien, there you are.” Rachel reentered the audition hall and spotted her partner onstage.

A teasing grin lit up his brown eyes. “Was I lost?”

“Oh, you!” She laughed and tapped his cheek playfully. “Natasha Carter is here.”

“Good, that makes everyone—” Damien rubbed his lightly hair-covered chin “—doesn’t it?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Rachel said and nodded.

“Okay, I have a few calls to make.” He glanced at his watch. “We’ll start in about thirty.”

“Right,” Rachel said with a nod. “I’m going to check the music.” She turned and asked, “Do you want to do the introductions, or should I?”

Damien sighed. “You do them. The last thing I need today is a bunch of ballerinas fawning all over me thinking it will improve their chances of making the cut.”

Rachel laughed. “You’re just too handsome for your own good.”

Damien chuckled. “Or just too rich and powerful.”

He winked at Rachel before turning to go to his office. As he exited the auditorium, for some reason, his mind drifted to Natasha Carter’s arrival a short while ago; she had breezed in looking breathtakingly beautiful. He knew the dark brown hair that had curtained her oval face would be swept up or back when he saw her next, and she would be dressed in classic ballerina attire—sheer, sexy leotards that would mold revealingly to her slender yet womanly curves like a second skin.

He had watched her from the stage as she had smiled politely to Rachel and had intended to join them, but his feet had been rooted in place by her utter beauty. He had mentally scolded himself to stop staring at her like some lovesick schoolboy; however, feelings he hadn’t had in a long time had bombarded him, causing the formation of a hard knot of desire in the pit of his stomach.

Taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly, he attributed his reaction to the fact that she was an extremely beautiful woman, and as a man, he naturally took note of that fact. However, he was here to cast his ballet; she was here to audition, and he would objectively judge her by her performance and nothing else.

* * *

Thirty minutes later, the four auditioning ballerinas took the stage and waited for instructions. Rachel and Damien entered the back of the auditorium. Damien stopped at a pair of high stools a distance from the stage, and Rachel continued toward the stage to give instructions.

“Welcome, ladies.” Rachel smiled at the four ballerinas as she ascended the stairs. “The Johnson Ballet Company is a world-renowned, medium-sized classical ballet company. We perform about sixty to seventy ballets a year in the U.S. and abroad. This holiday season, we are performing a traditional yet original version of Romeo and Juliet. You all know the order of your performances?” When she received nods, she continued, “Good. Let’s have the first dancer, please.”

Rachel smiled and nodded to her assistant to begin the taped music of Tchaikovsky’s Symphony No. 4 before leaving the stage to join Damien. She took the packet of resumés he handed her and pulled out the first one.

The first ballerina walked center stage and danced adequately, as did the second and the third. Natasha was the last to dance. She assumed the fourth position, hands held elegantly at her sides, patiently waiting for the music to begin.

Natasha mentally fought for composure and concentrated with all her might on the dance at hand. Her heart had begun beating erratically the moment she had stepped onto the stage, because she knew this was the moment of truth for her. If she couldn’t make it in a black-owned ballet company, then she wouldn’t be able to make it anywhere, and that scenario was unacceptable to her.

Though she could no longer see Damien Johnson because of the bright light shining in her eyes, she knew the pair of piercing eyes she felt following every move, every line and curve her body made as she floated across the stage belonged to him. She silently willed herself to be perfect; she refused to allow nerves to destroy this chance for her. She beat down her anxiety and poured all her energy and talent into her performance.

A smile of admiration tugged at the corners of Damien’s mouth as his appreciative eyes followed every seamless movement of Natasha’s lithe body. He looked briefly at her resumé then looked at the stage. She danced ethereally. Even at twenty-six, she danced circles around the five-to-eight-years-younger ballerinas who had come before her.

He watched with satisfaction as she performed a series of pirouettes and came effortlessly to a fast stop, holding and maintaining her ending position—back arched, arms held high, legs extended and toes pointed without faltering. She came out of her pose to sighs of envy and a small applause of admiration and praise, which she acknowledged with a cool smile and a nod of her head.

“Thank you, Miss Carter. That was beautifully done. We…” Rachel’s praise was cut short as Damien touched her arm. “Um, Miss Carter, I wonder if you would mind performing the courting dance for us.”

“Not at all,” Natasha agreed even as her body groaned. Part of her wanted to go somewhere private and collapse, but she couldn’t refuse—it was a wonderful sign this request was being made of her. She frantically ran through the dance in her mind, visualizing steps and combinations, praying she wouldn’t forget any of them.

“I’ll need a partner,” she reminded.

“We haven’t cast the male lead yet,” Damien said as he stood and slowly walked toward her, “but I’m at your service, Miss Carter.”

As he neared the stage, Natasha was quickly cognizant of the fact that Damien Johnson was even handsomer in person. His black hair was cropped close to his head, and a very light goatee accentuated his medium brown skin. His cheeks were chiseled and strong, and his full lips were smiling slightly. His body was magnificent—muscled, hard and completely masculine. He was dressed in black pants and black short-sleeved shirt stretched taut across his broad chest, which showed off his muscled arms. Lord in heaven, had she ever seen a more perfect man?

After an eternity, he finally reached her. Her tongue escaped to wet her suddenly dry lips. When his eyes darted to and fixated on her mouth, she let out her breath on an audible sigh. Trembling fingers smoothed an imaginary piece of hair away from her slightly flushed face, and she waited for him to speak because she couldn’t; her tongue had suddenly become glued to the roof of her mouth.