‘Is ballet out of the question now?’
‘Yeah.’ She traced the opening of her coffee cup with the pad of her finger. The smooth edges were soothing against her skin. ‘My ankle is stuffed. There was a lot of damage to the tendons and the strength hasn’t fully returned. I can’t even stretch up on my toes properly, let alone dance en pointe.’
‘That sucks.’ His hand reached over the table and clasped hers.
The unexpected and tender gesture shocked her, while the heat from his palm filled her body with irresistible warmth. It spread through her, heating her chest, colouring her cheeks and stirring the butterflies in her stomach.
‘It’s my fault.’ Disappointment surged through her. ‘It’s my issue to deal with—and one that I need a psychologist for, apparently.’
For once his face showed nothing. His glacial blue eyes were fixed on her, his blond lashes still as he looked at her as though he were seeing past her exterior. She shifted in her seat. She didn’t want people to look at her like that...as if they could see the darkness inside.
‘Maybe seeing a psychologist wouldn’t be such a bad thing. At least he’d be trained to listen and help you work through the problem.’
‘The problem is not in my head,’ she said, her teeth grinding together. Her white-knuckled grip shook the coffee cup in her hands. ‘The problem is my leg, not my brain. I don’t need to see a psychologist. This is what I’ve been saying.’
She couldn’t believe he was agreeing with the doctor. Could no one see where the real issue was? She wasn’t crazy, or delusional, or incapable of understanding what had happened. The problem was in her leg. End of story.
‘Has it occurred to you that perhaps you can have pain in two places at once?’
Grant leant forwards and locked his eyes on Jasmine. His raw power stopped her in the midst of her tirade. ‘Life would be a lot easier if we only ever had to deal with the physical, but unfortunately it’s not that simple. You need to get over those narrow-minded notions and start dealing with the problem from all angles.’
Her eyes widened at the roughness of his voice. Each word was like silk over gravel: luxurious, rugged.
‘Quite the bossy-boots, aren’t you?’ She spoke down to her coffee cup.
The intensity in his words belied the calm mask he wore. Passion simmered in the depths of his eyes, and his hand was gripping hers like a vice. Jasmine removed her hand and sipped her drink, using the time to think up a response to Grant’s argument. Well, something other than calling him a bossy-boots.
His reaction shocked her. It had been a long time since someone had told her to get over herself. In fact she couldn’t remember a time where anyone in her life had said something even remotely similar to her. Even Elise had gone easy on the whole recovery subject.
They were usually too busy walking on eggshells around her to be honest. Grant spoke his mind. She liked that about him. His humorous, carefree nature was a bit of a farce. Deep down he was a fiery person, opinionated and caring. Much more than his cocky demeanour had led her to expect, and definitely more than the football stereotype would suggest.
She’d underestimated him.
Shaking her head, she looked up. His thick brows were crinkled, his eyes trained on hers. He looked so sincere she wanted to grab his face and kiss the worry away. Her lips tingled with anticipation as she fought back the urge to lean over the table and press her mouth against his. Every cell in her body craved his touch, tingling so that she couldn’t ignore the effect he had on her.
Fighting back the powerful wave of attraction, she asked, ‘Have you ever done something so stupid that you wished every day you could take it back?’
‘Some things,’ he said, stressing the s. ‘I’ve made every mistake in the book.’
‘Really?’ She tilted her head, watching the way his large hands toyed with the small espresso cup.
For a moment she was lost in wondering what those hands would feel like on her, cradling the curve of her neck, smoothing down the length of her back, stroking her hair. Heat swelled in her, causing her to shift in her seat for a different reason this time. He was not the person she’d predicted when he’d walked into her studio that first day.
‘Yeah, you take a boy out of the country and drop him smack-bang in the middle of city life and it’s bound to make him go crazy. Add to that the lack of parenting, the money, the girls, the parties... Hell, I wanted to try it all at once.’
‘That’s understandable.’
‘It’s understandable to want to try it all.’ He offered up a rueful smile. ‘It’s another thing to actually do it.’
‘Isn’t it just part of being a footballer?’ she asked. ‘Aren’t you all known for your antics?’
‘I’d rather be known for playing good footy.’
‘I’m pretty sure you’re known for that already.’ She wanted to comfort him, the same way he had done for her, but she didn’t know where to start. Her hand fluttered in her lap.
‘It wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t so damn public. Everyone makes mistakes, but ours are documented by the media. And once it’s out there you can’t ever erase it.’
His face darkened when he mentioned the media, and for the first time Jasmine felt as if she might be on exactly the same plane as Grant. Her family and friends had brought her magazines and newspapers to keep her busy while she was in hospital, and one day she’d seen a picture of her ex with a new woman on his arm. Another ballerina—a girl she’d known since she was a child. It wasn’t the media’s fault, sure, but if they didn’t report on every single little happening in people’s lives she might have been spared that gut-wrenching pain for a while longer.
‘So tell me about football,’ she said, eager to change the topic and see Grant’s face return to its normal unstressed state. ‘Do you think you’ll make finals this year?’
‘That’s certainly the plan. Some guys don’t like to call it early, in case they jinx it, but I don’t think it’s possible to get out of bed and train as hard as we do if you don’t believe you can get there.’
Oh, how she envied his confidence. She’d been like that once.
‘I’m sure it’s the same with dancing. The physical aspect is only one part. These things are as much about the mental game as they are about the training and the practice.’
‘Looks like we’re not so different after all.’ She smiled, trying to keep the tone light, but it struck her how similar their lives were once you got past the superficial differences.
He drained the last of his coffee and set the cup down on the table, the smile back on his face. ‘Another?’
‘I should probably get you to take me back to my car.’ She shook her head. ‘I appreciate your honesty, by the way—a lot of people are too busy pitying me to give me a kick up the butt when I need it.’
She detected a hint of uncertainty as he smiled back at her—there was definitely something going on behind those glacial blue eyes of his—but he managed to keep himself behind a wall even while he coaxed her to let her own guard down. She wanted to know more, but it had been so long since she’d had a man in her life who wanted anything from her aside from the physical that she wasn’t quite sure how to ask the questions that swirled inside her head.
‘My pleasure.’ He stood and manoeuvred his hulking frame between the crammed tables of the café. ‘Butt-kicking is a speciality of mine.’
‘Cheating a Rubik’s cube, random coffee facts and butt-kicking...it’s an unusual skill set, I’ll give you that.’
As they made their way to the counter to pay for their coffees an icy breeze blew in from the street. The rain had calmed, but the temperature was still low enough to slice straight to the bone. She huddled instinctively against Grant, seeking out warmth and protection. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer while
he fixed up the bill. She felt good nestled against him—as if nothing could get to her. The unexpected familiarity of his embrace made her mouth run dry.
‘Time to brave the cold.’
He moved his hand down to her lower back and pressed gently as they walked out into the street. They hurried to the car, their faces bowed against the wind, and Jasmine stayed close to Grant right until they reached the passenger door.
Once inside the car she was acutely aware of their proximity, of the way his jeans hugged his strong thighs and stretched across his hips. The car was hot as a sauna.
Heat pulsed between her legs as her mind gave way to the salacious fantasy of him taking her in the back seat of the Mercedes. It had occupied her ever since he’d first given her a lift.
Seemingly unaware of her erotic thoughts, Grant navigated the car onto the main road and headed in the direction of the doctor’s clinic. She allowed her eyes to slip downwards, over his broad chest and down...
‘See something you like down there?’
His voice caused Jasmine to snap her head back up to the windscreen. Her cheeks flamed as she realised she’d been caught in the act. Jasmine Bell, your mother would be ashamed!
His gravelly laugh set fire to her belly, the embarrassment and desire mingling into one confused knot of emotion. He was cocky—but with that kind of intense sexual power she couldn’t blame him. Her eyes flickered up to his face. His lips were parted with hunger but his eyes were focused on the road ahead, although he glanced at her whenever they stopped at a red light.
She’d seen something else today: the tenderness in the way he’d covered her hand with his. He’d cared for her, even if only for a split second. Like the bump in his nose, there was a crack in the image he presented—a softness beneath the tough outer shell and she’d glimpsed it today. Part of her wanted to reach in and pull him apart, to see what he was made of. The other part of her knew what his life would be like—glamour, paparazzi, wealth. And she couldn’t go there...not again.
FIVE
Jasmine threw herself into the choreography for the EJ Ballet School’s annual Winter Performance. It was something to focus her energy on—something other than fighting off the pulse-racing thoughts of Grant interrupting her day. She needed a project, a reason to wake up in the morning, something to pour her heart and soul into.
The routine was coming together well, and she’d finished her first lesson with the four teachers who would be performing it.
‘How come you’re not dancing with us?’ one of the teachers asked, snapping Jasmine’s attention back to the present.
‘Jasmine has an injury,’ Elise said, steering the teacher towards the exit of the studio. ‘I made her promise that she’d get better before she put any pressure on herself to perform.’
Details of her accident had been kept quiet when Elise had brought her onto the teaching staff. Not because she necessarily had anything to hide but because she was still recovering emotionally and physically. Not much had changed in six months.
The teachers gave Jasmine a wave as they left the studio. She followed them out to the waiting room so she could relax before Grant arrived. Dropping down to one knee, she sighed as she rifled through her sports bag. Her fingertips brushed the roughened satin of her pointe shoes and she pulled one out. They were the shoes from her first professional performance as a member of the corps de ballet all those years ago. The satin had split and frayed around the shoe’s box, and the shank was broken, but she hadn’t been able to throw them away. Elise had signed the soles in her flowery cursive, and Jasmine had done the same to Elise’s first shoes.
It was days like this that made her wonder if she should give it up all together. She loved choreography but the wounds were still wide open. It hurt so damn much not to join in as the teachers danced her steps. Once again she was sitting on the sidelines, wasting all the sacrifices her parents had made to help her get where she was.
A sudden impulse made her put the shoes on; she lovingly tied the ribbons around her ankle and stood. They felt comfortable, and since she wouldn’t be able to rise up en pointe anyway the broken shank didn’t matter. She twirled on the spot, practising the steps from her new routine. Her body warmed and the glow she always felt when she danced spread through her. The world seemed more beautiful when she danced; her troubles evaporated and she was at peace.
‘That’s pretty damn good.’
Grant’s voice came from behind her. She’d been so lost in the movement she hadn’t even heard him come in. ‘I bet you say that to all the girls.’
‘I don’t have to say anything.’ He grinned that delicious crooked grin of his. ‘The girls usually drop to my feet as I walk past.’
Jasmine rolled her eyes. It bothered her that despite his sarcasm it was probably the truth. And why wouldn’t girls drop at his feet? Football players were practically the crème de la crème of Australian society. Many women craved the spotlight and the access dating a footballer would provide...but not her. For a moment she wished he was an ordinary guy, rather than a famous athlete. Why couldn’t he be someone who could walk down the street unnoticed?
‘You’d better be careful—if your head gets much bigger you won’t be able to get out of the building.’ She dropped to the ground and removed the pointe shoes, slipping her feet back into her soft split-soles.
‘These are like proper ballet shoes, aren’t they?’ Grant picked up one of the pointe shoes and examined it as though it were a piece of an alien spacecraft. ‘The real deal.’
Jasmine nodded. ‘They are the real deal indeed.’
‘You miss it a lot, don’t you?’ He turned the shoe in his hand, touching it as though it were the most precious thing in the world.
Her stomach flipped. ‘Yeah, I do.’
‘And you can’t go back?’
The studio hummed in the midst of their silence, a broken light flickering overhead. She held out her hand and he handed over the shoe. The familiar shape of it in her palm caused her breath to hitch. She packed it away safely in her bag and forced a smile.
‘You didn’t come here to talk about this.’ She motioned for him to follow her into the studio. ‘Let’s get to work.’
He opened his mouth but then closed it again, a curious expression on his face. She gave herself a little shake to bring her back to the present. She didn’t want his pity, and he wasn’t here to listen to her sob story. Again.
‘Today I’m going to teach you a new step,’ she said, focusing her attention on business. ‘The relevé is a position with the feet together at the ankles, heels lifted from the ground.’
Jasmine rose up onto her toes, her ankles crossed. She wasn’t able to rise as high as she’d used to, but it was enough to show the intention of the step. Her ankle groaned under the position, warning her not to push too far.
He followed along, but wobbled before he could fully stretch up. She stepped closer and put her hand on the flat of his stomach.
‘You have to activate your core muscles,’ she said. His abs flexed under her touch as he stabilised himself, sending a frisson of excitement racing through her. ‘You’re strong here. You need to keep your body centred otherwise you won’t be able to balance.’
He smirked and heat flooded her cheeks. It was impossible for her to forget what he looked like on the field, his body primed and masculine. Her every nerve-ending fired with need, betraying the sensible restrictions her mind enforced.
‘Try again,’ she said, doing her best to sound professional.
But she couldn’t draw her hand from his stomach. It was stuck there, as though forced by some invisible magnetic energy.
As Grant worked to keep himself stable he rose taller and stretched so that he could look clean over the top of her head.
‘Much better.’
‘Show me one mor
e time?’
Grant’s eyes were locked on her; her skin tingled everywhere they travelled.
‘Of course.’ Jasmine pulled her shoulders back and relaxed her body into a perfect turn-out. Bending down, she extended her knees outwards and brought her feet into relevé, her ankles crossed as she balanced without a tremor of unsteadiness.
Grant stepped forwards, his hand reaching out to touch her stomach in the same way she had touched his. His full lips parted as he stepped close to her. ‘Yes, very stable.’
They stood frozen—neither bold enough to make the next move. Jasmine held her breath. She didn’t want to move in case he might withdraw his hand and break the spell, yet she trembled at the thought of what she would do if he didn’t pull back.
Grant moved his hand down to her waist, tilting his body into hers so that their faces were only inches apart. She could smell the spice of his aftershave and the subtle mint on his breath. She could easily give in, draw her hand up to his chest and submit.
There was something utterly disarming about him. The combination of his strong jaw and the slightly crooked, freckle-smattered nose enchanted her. He was real and unabashedly male, unlike many of the effeminate boys she’d grown up with.
‘Are you ready to do it on your own?’ Jasmine dropped down from the position so she was an inch or two below eye level with Grant. She tried to unscramble her senses, to focus on the lesson.
‘I can.’ His voice was low, predatory. ‘But don’t you think it’s much more fun when we do it together?’
The air between them was thick with electricity, its gravitational pull unravelling her sensibilities. She so desperately wanted to touch him. Her mouth was dry, anticipation making her pulse race.
He placed his hands over hers and Jasmine jumped at the way her blood pulsed harder and harder.
‘Why so jumpy? Are you uncomfortable being alone with me?’
‘No,’ she whispered.
Only the Brave Try Ballet Page 6
