The problem was she was far too comfortable as he stood close to her. All she wanted to do was melt against him. She envisaged herself pressing against his broad chest and sturdy thighs. Her entire body crackled with excitement as they stood, merely inches apart, in the empty ballet studio.
Why was she feeling like this? He was out of her league—in a league she never wanted to be a part of again. Ever, ever again.
He reached his hands up to her face, cupping the sides of her cheeks in his palms. It was the wrong thing to do; she shouldn’t be going down this path. But desire raced through her veins and filled her with irresistible warmth, overpowering logic. He was intoxicating.
Up close, she felt the pull of his hypnotic stare. The endless blue of his eyes made the rest of the world fall away. It made sense and reason evaporate. Her lips parted.
Grant drew Jasmine’s face to his in a swift and practised movement. Her eyes fluttered closed as his mouth came down. The soft fullness of his lips pressed hungrily against hers, his tongue hot and probing. Jasmine sighed into him. It had been so long since she’d been kissed, and a lifetime since she’d been kissed in a way that made her weak in the knees.
Grant moved one hand from her face, down the length of her arm, and snaked it around her waist, drawing her closer to him. Every inch of her burned as their bodies fused together, the thinness of their workout clothes mimicking the deliciousness of skin on skin. Her hands found their way into the wavy depths of his golden-blond hair. It was thick and silken against her palms. Her fingers gripped tightly as he dipped her, demanding deeper access to her mouth.
His breath was hot on her face as his lips moved down her jawline to the slender column of her neck, each kiss searing her skin. He backed her up until she pressed against the wall of the studio, crushed between plaster and the hardness of him.
He worked back to her mouth, tugging at her lower lip and flicking his tongue against hers. He tasted of mint, smelled of spices and earthy maleness. Blood coursed through her, hot and thick, as he devoured her. His hand skimmed her hips, reaching around to curve against her ass. He pressed her to him, the thick length of his arousal digging into her belly. She moved her hips against him, dragging a guttural plea from his lips.
‘You taste so good,’ he murmured against her mouth, drawing out the syllables of the last word. ‘Feel so good.’
Her tongue traced the sharp angle of his jaw. The golden hairs of his stubble were rough against her. She wanted to lick every inch of him...every single inch. She clamped her eyes shut and lost herself.
His thigh nudged her legs open and she gasped. His hand smoothed up the side of her, traversing over her ribcage and palming her breast. Her nipples pebbled in response, desperate for skin-to-skin contact. His thumb brushed the hardened peak, pushing her further into oblivion. This was the most pleasure she had allowed herself since the accident.
Visions of them flooded her...their bodies slick with sweat, limbs entwined. Panting. Writhing. Aching. She’d never wanted something with such desperation in all her life.
She could envisage how breathtaking he would be when he was naked, but it was the image of herself naked that jolted her out of her reverie.
Her leg.
Picturing the mangled piece of flesh she called her right leg halted her thoughts. The long snakelike red scar would stand out angrily against her paleness. The skin itself was ruined, never again to be smooth and supple like the rest of her. There was no way he’d find her attractive after that—how could he?
She looked like a freak show.
Pressure mounted in her chest as she brought her two palms flat against his chest and pushed hard. Grant stumbled backwards, a look of utter shock and surprise on his face—his blue eyes swam with confusion.
‘I’m—I’m sorry,’ she stammered. ‘I can’t—’
Pushing past him, Jasmine sprinted from the room, only stopping to scoop up her bag as she bolted for the exit.
* * *
‘I ran out of there like an idiot.’ Jasmine shook her head as she raised a jumbo coffee cup to her lips. ‘Tragic.’
Elise stared at Jasmine—wide-eyed and open-mouthed—while her coffee sat on the table, untouched. Her grey eyes were unblinking as she processed this new information. ‘Let me get this straight. The Football Hunk had you pinned up against a wall and you bailed? What’s wrong with you?’
The café around them buzzed with activity. They’d managed to get a table that was off to one side, giving them a semblance of privacy, though Jasmine still lowered her voice.
‘I think I’m broken.’ She nursed the steaming coffee in both hands.
Elise patted her arm across the small round table. ‘You’re not broken.’
Elise had called at her house at the crack of dawn because she’d found Jasmine’s mobile phone and boots in the studio. Elise’s conclusion upon finding the items—perhaps not logical, though not unusual for Elise—was that Jasmine had been kidnapped. So her tale of failed seduction was a welcome alternative.
‘You know what freaked me out the most?’ Jasmine said as she traced her finger around the rim of her coffee cup, forehead creased. ‘All I could think about was my leg. What would happen if he saw it? How would he react?’
Her voice wavered. For so long her body had been a source of success and pleasure—she’d never despised the way she looked. Sure, she’d wished at times that her boobs had developed past an A cup, but a flat chest was something that went with being a ballerina. She’d never felt the crippling wash of shame that she had last night. Jasmine put her cup down and dropped her chin into her hands.
‘At some point you’re going to have to get past that...unless you plan on being a spinster and filling your house with stray cats, of course.’
A smile twitched on Jasmine’s lips. The one thing she loved about Elise was her strength of character. She looked soft and sweet as a marshmallow, but there was an iron will packed into that petite package. She was often the only one who could give Jasmine the straight-up truth. Her parents, her friends at the ballet company and even her teachers had sugar-coated the news from the doctors. They’d instilled a false sense of hope while she recovered. It had been born out of love, sure, but sometimes she needed the cold, hard truth delivered with an empathetic smile and a pat on the back.
‘I know.’ Jasmine brought the cup to her lips, inhaling the comforting coffee scent before taking a sip. ‘I get that I have to move past it. But how can I expect any man to look past it when I can’t even do that myself?’
‘That’s my point exactly.’ Elise grabbed her hand, wrapping her slender fingers around Jasmine’s palm and squeezing. ‘Maybe what you need is to realise the world won’t implode if you get naked. It’s not going to get all apocalyptic if someone sees your leg. Perhaps getting this guy into bed is exactly what you need to move on? If you can see that it’s not a big deal to the other person then maybe it won’t be such a big deal to you.’
‘Sex as therapy?’ Jasmine tilted her head. ‘Is that a thing?’
‘No idea.’ Elise took a big gulp from her latte. ‘What’s the worst it can do? You have a little no-strings fun, enjoy yourself, and if you’re still having issues over the leg thing then maybe we need to get you some professional help.’
‘I am not seeing a shrink.’ Jasmine glared. Elise was pushing her buttons on purpose.
Going to a psychologist would be like admitting that she’d fallen apart and didn’t have the ability to fix the problem herself. It was the ultimate sign of weakness. No, there was no way she was doing that. Sex as therapy seemed like a much more enjoyable way to deal with it—not to mention it wouldn’t send her broke.
‘What have you got to lose?’
‘My dignity?’ Jasmine shook her head.
There was no way she could proposition Grant. What if he laughed at he
r?
‘Did he initiate the kiss last night?’
‘Well, yes, but—’
‘No buts.’ Elise slapped her palm down on the table and the coffee cups clattered against their saucers. ‘Do you want to be a crazy cat lady?’
People at the nearby tables looked over, not even bothering to hide their curiosity. Jasmine let out a laugh.
‘I’ll think about it.’
‘How long has it been, anyway?’
Only Elise would ask such a personal question in the middle of a café.
‘Too long.’ Too damn long.
The idea of propositioning Grant was making her sweat. It was well outside the realm of her fairly limited experience. She hadn’t had sex since she’d broken off her relationship with Kyle Waterhouse, and before him there had only been one other awkward experience with a boy she’d had a crush on at school.
Sex had certainly taken a back seat while she was dancing. Her focus had always been; ballet first, boys second. Her nickname ‘Queen Bun-Head’ had been well earned.
Needless to say she’d never openly propositioned anyone before...let alone for a one-night stand with a psychological agenda.
Elise seemed satisfied that Jasmine was at least willing to give her plan some thought, though Jasmine had no idea how she would approach Grant. Would he even want to be around her after she’d run off like a crazy person last night?
Probably not.
Fear, excitement and doubt knotted in her stomach, each emotion fighting to overtake the others. Jasmine tapped her nails against the hard wood of the café table while she played the situation out in her head.
‘Don’t be nervous,’ Elise said, waving her hand dismissively. ‘If he tries to say no—and I highly doubt he will—remind him how flexible ballerinas are. That should do the trick!’
‘You might be on to something there.’ Jasmine laughed. ‘But I haven’t committed to anything, remember?’
‘Sure, sure.’ Elise waved her hand as if to dismiss Jasmine’s comment. She picked up her cup and drained the last of her coffee. ‘I need to head off.’ Elise stood, bundling up her trench coat and handbag. ‘I’ve got a date with the costume designer to talk through the final alterations for our swans.’
‘Have fun with that.’ Jasmine finished her coffee and joined Elise.
‘You’d better give me an update on Operation Hunky Footballer Seduction,’ Elise said as they left the bustling café, squeezing their way through the crowd and onto the street. ‘I want details!’
‘Is that what we’re calling it now?’
‘Has a good ring to it, I think.’ Elise giggled and waved as she headed off in the opposite direction to Jasmine.
‘I said I’d think about it,’ Jasmine called after her as she headed off towards the car, with excitement putting a spring in her step.
SIX
Grant sat in his car, his body defiantly rooted to the driver’s seat of the Mercedes. Since his close encounter with Jasmine he’d been unable to think of anything else. Her glossy black hair and those enormous sparkly brown eyes filled his every waking moment.
Never before had a woman left him high and dry like that. Hell, one of the main perks of being a football player was that the girls lined up for him. But Jasmine Bell was a lady unlike any of the women he usually fell into bed with. She was a breath of fresh air and a thorn in his side. She’d responded to his advances with surprising gusto and then she’d run without explanation.
What the hell?
Drumming his fingers on the dash, Grant let out a long breath and forced himself out of the driver’s seat and towards the studio. Inside it was quiet. Elise was chatting to a student and acknowledged him with a smile as he dropped his bag onto the waiting room couch. Jasmine was in the studio, stepping out the choreography he’d seen her practising the other night.
If she hadn’t told him about her injury he would never have known from watching her. She seemed perfectly steady on her feet as she danced. It was like peering into a very private part of her world—in some ways like watching her undress. It couldn’t have been further from his initial impression that ballet was stilted and boring. She moved with an effortless grace, swanlike in her fluid yet precise movement.
Each move was filled with raw passion and sensuality. He couldn’t have looked away even if his life had depended on it. It was a crime that she couldn’t perform; he could only imagine how incredible she would have looked on a stage. Was there nothing she could do? He wondered what he would have done if his mistakes had ruined his career instead of just his reputation.
She paused to study the piece of paper in one hand. Concentration narrowed her eyes, and her focus was reflected in the wall-to-wall mirror. As she worked through a problem she melted into the movement.
Remember the rule: no attachment. They all want something.
It was true; all the people he allowed into his life were after something. Distant acquaintances wanted members’ tickets, the women he bedded wanted access to VIP lounges, old friends wanted money for a snippet of his history and Chelsea... All she’d wanted was a stepping stone to the next big thing. Even his best friend had sold out for a chance at the spotlight, flipping on him and leaving him alone at the worst possible moment. Funny that when he needed their help these people were nowhere to be found.
Grant closed his eyes to shut out the painful memories. Tempting as Jasmine was, history had taught him that commitment was dangerous, and something deep down told him that one taste of Jasmine wouldn’t be enough. That was if his reactions to date were anything to go on.
The kiss had been a slip-up, confirming that she was definitely in the look-but-don’t-touch-because-its-too-damn-tempting basket. He couldn’t afford to let anything take his mind off football—not when his career and reputation were hanging in the balance.
Even now, as he steeled himself with resolve, the thought of having her for even one night filled him with an indescribable heat. A silent, familiar voice urged him on—just one taste.
He hadn’t experienced urges like that in quite a while—the urges to consume, to lose himself in pleasure, to blank out the loneliness.
He shook his head. He couldn’t give in because it was that same voice that told him it was OK to have another drink, another night on the town, another nameless woman in his bed. He couldn’t trust that voice.
* * *
Jasmine held herself straight, struggling to keep her breathing steady. With each lesson it was becoming harder to maintain control, to preserve the distance between her and Grant. Elise’s suggestion weighed down on her, luring her with the possibility of revisiting that intoxicating kiss. The memory of his palms pressing her against the studio wall sent delicious shivers down her spine.
Now, as he watched her through the window, she couldn’t help the spiral of delight that shot through her. Her body tingled when he entered the studio, crossing the large space in a handful of long-legged strides, his broad shoulders a magnet for her attention. She was pretty sure it should be illegal to be that good-looking.
‘Ready to get those muscles moving?’ she chirped, surprised when he didn’t return her smile.
‘I’m ready to get on with it.’ His tone was dry. Different.
She wrinkled her brow and tilted her head to one side. Something was amiss. His frosty eyes were calm. Like a perfectly still lake, they reflected the outside in order to mask what lay beneath.
‘Right.’ She turned and walked to the barre, frowning. What had turned him from the man who’d pinned her up against a wall to this impersonal lump? Or perhaps that was it? He’d taken her running as a sign to stay the hell away, that she wasn’t woman enough to handle one steamy kiss.
Jasmine drew a deep breath and shook her head to dislodge the negative thoughts. She was being paranoid. But a cold lum
p of steel wedged in her belly anyway.
As the lesson progressed he remained withdrawn, avoiding eye contact and providing single-word responses to her questions. She searched his face for a hint of warmth, but he was as cold as the winter outside.
Soon it was time to cool down and work on Grant’s flexibility problems.
They sat in the middle of the floor, stretching out their hamstrings while facing one another. A flicker of pain crossed his face as he leant forwards, trying to elongate his injured muscle. He usually appeared tense when they stretched, which was strange since most people looked relieved after a ballet class. Stretching was supposed to be the enjoyable bit, but his brows were knitted together and he often gritted his teeth. Perhaps his injury was more painful than he let on?
‘Is something wrong?’ she asked.
He didn’t make eye contact, instead focusing on the ground ahead of him. ‘No.’
‘You’ve barely said two words to me all evening.’
For someone who had been so persistent in getting her to talk, he sure was giving her the silent treatment.
‘Nothing’s wrong.’
Grant rolled onto his back, lifting his injured leg in the air and reaching up towards his foot. The muscle was so resistant he couldn’t even get into the proper position. Without asking if he wanted help, Jasmine knelt between his legs to administer an assisted stretch. His calf rested against her shoulder and she pressed forwards slowly, feeling his hamstring muscle release.
‘Is it about the kiss?’
His eyes were still frosted over. They were like two chips of ice: cold, hard-edged and unyielding. ‘I’d prefer if we didn’t talk about that while you’re practically on top of me.’
‘Don’t be such a baby. I’m only helping you stretch.’ She tried to ignore the fact that a few items of flimsy clothing were all that prevented them from being a Karma Sutra illustration.
‘The kiss was a mistake.’
Jasmine swallowed, sitting back and motioning him to switch legs. ‘Why?’
‘Because I...I shouldn’t have done it.’
Only the Brave Try Ballet Page 7
