Judy Hubbard - Our First Dance

His simple, honest words overwhelmed her until all she could manage was, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He removed his jacket and folded it over one arm. “Now to the reason for my visit. I came to offer you the part.”

Her heart pounded furiously in her chest. A brilliant smile lit up her face. She didn’t know how it happened, but the next thing she knew, her body was pressed against his, her arms wound tightly around his neck while his rested lightly on her waist.

“Thank you!”

“I take it you’re happy.” He laughed at her exuberance.

Suddenly she realized the inappropriateness of her actions and self-consciously removed her arms from his neck and stepped back. Even though he was smiling at her, she was embarrassed. Lord, what he must think of her.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean…”

“No apologies necessary, Natasha.” He smiled. “It’s nice to know you really want the part.”

“I do, very much.”

“So—” his smile turned teasing “—I guess you’re accepting my offer.”

She stared at him, dumbfounded. Did he even have to ask that question?

“Of course I…”

Her voice trailed off as the doorbell sounded again. She excused herself to open it, but this time first looked through the peephole, revealing the pizza deliveryman.

“Hi.” The man pulled a medium box from his red carrier. “That’ll be $15.70.”

“Hello.” She briefly smiled, and held out the cash. Before the deliveryman could take the money, Damien had handed the man a twenty-dollar bill, took the pizza, thanked him then closed the door without collecting his change.

“You didn’t have to buy my pizza.”

“I did if I wanted to share it with you.” He sat down on the sofa, placing the box, which he quickly opened, onto the coffee table.

“Damien…” She walked over and deliberately sat akimbo on the immaculate white carpet beside the glass table.

“Yes?” He smiled as he sniffed appreciatively at the loaded pizza. “How do you stay so small eating like this?”

“I’m blessed with a high metabolism, and I just felt like indulging myself tonight.”

She fought to suppress a smile. He looked as happy as a little child on Christmas morning. His unexpected silliness was making her feel the same way—that and the knowledge that she was going to dance the lead in his ballet.

“Mmm.” He picked off a mushroom and plopped it into his mouth, closing his eyes as if he were sampling a rare delicacy. “Lucky for me.”

“Would you like some wine?” she asked with a laugh, unable to resist any longer.

“Love some.” He tossed his jacket carelessly over the back of the sofa.

She stood to retrieve another glass and the wine bottle from the bar before pouring him a drink. Walking back to where he sat, she handed him the glass, resuming her seat on the floor in front of the sofa.

She picked up a slice of pizza and took a tiny bite, too excited to eat. Damien Johnson was in her home, and he was offering her the part of a lifetime; she was going to dance Juliet!

Suddenly, he took her hand, pulling her up onto the sofa beside him. She started to protest but decided against it.

“Tell me about yourself, Natasha.”

“There’s little to tell.” She swallowed with difficulty. She couldn’t breathe when he was this close to her.

“I doubt that.” He took another drink of his wine. “How long have you been dancing?”

“Since I was five.”

“You were brilliant in Swan Lake.”

“Thanks.” She sipped her wine. “I’m surprised you could pick me out of the ensemble.”

“You danced the lead in a matinee performance,” he reminded.

“How do you know that?”

“I was in the audience. Your performance was the reason you received an invitation to my tryouts.”

“I only danced the lead in one performance when the lead was sick. It’s lucky you picked that showing to attend.”

He smiled. “Luck had nothing to do with it.”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I asked Ted Levy—” he dropped the name of her ex-director “—to let you dance that performance so I could see you onstage before an audience.”

She nearly choked on her wine. “You what?”

He chuckled. “You heard me.”

“I wish I had known I was auditioning.”

“Why? You would have been too nervous had you known my intentions. My way was better.”

She supposed he was right. Anyway, what did it matter now? Everything had worked out for the best.

“I tried out for the lead in that ballet and a lot of others.”

“You didn’t get it,” he softly finished for her.

“No.”

“And that bothers you?”

“No…yes.” She paused and continued, “I don’t want to sound conceited…”

“You don’t.” He touched her cheek tenderly. “Let’s face it, Natasha. We both chose careers that are extremely hard for African-Americans to excel in.”

“That’s true,” she agreed on a sigh. “But I never wanted to be anything else.”

“You shouldn’t be anything else. You’re meant to dance.”

She smiled at his genuine praise before admitting, “This is my chance, Damien.”

“I know.” He nodded his head.

He was so understanding—so genuine. She wasn’t used to having anyone like him sympathize with her plight—except her family, of course. In a few minutes, he had made her want to open up in ways no one else ever had. That realization unnerved her and prompted her to switch the focus of conversation onto him.

“How long since you stopped performing?”

His eyes clouded a little. “Ten years.”

“Don’t you miss it?”

“Some.” He shrugged. “But I’m much more fueled by the creation and execution of the dance than actually performing.”

“You’re excellent at it,” she praised. “All of your ballets received rave reviews. Everyone is expecting great things from this one, as well.”

He winked at her. “And I don’t intend to disappoint them.”

“You won’t.”

“We won’t.” He squeezed her hand lightly.

From his reputation, she had expected him to be full of himself, but he was kind and utterly likeable. He didn’t laugh at her, try to trample on her dreams, or expect anything from her as so many others had in the past. He seemed to genuinely believe in her talent—that she could dance the lead—and she wasn’t going to disappoint him.

Unable to stop himself, he lightly fingered her cheek before moving down her jaw. He smiled when she gasped softly. His eyes lowered to inspect the pulse beating erratically at the base of her slender, graceful throat before his hungry gaze returned to her uneasy one.

She pulled back slightly, and his fingers fell away from her soft flesh. He leaned forward and picked up another slice of pizza. She took a drink of her wine and watched him silently for a few minutes. There was no denying the sexual tension between them was as thick as suffocating fog, but they were going to spend months in each other’s presence and would have to come to an understanding of what their relationship would be.

“Damien, I don’t want anyone to think that…” She paused, unsure of how to continue.

“What?”

She exhaled before continuing. “I don’t want anyone to think that I didn’t earn this part.”

He stared at her silently for several seconds. She tried to discern what he was thinking. Had her unspoken worry been communicated to him? When understanding blossomed in his eyes and he smiled, she knew he appreciated her concern.

“People will think what they will, Natasha, but we both know the only reason you’re going to dance Juliet is because you earned it, don’t we?”