Table of Contents
Copyright
A Man Who Knows What He Wants Series
Billionaire's Virgin Ballerina
Barbara
Brian
Brian and Barbara
Series + Next Book
BILLIONAIRE’S VIRGIN BALLERINA
AN OLDER MAN YOUNGER WOMAN ROMANCE
_______________________
A MAN WHO KNOWS WHAT HE WANTS, 27
FLORA FERRARI
CONTENTS
Copyright
A Man Who Knows What He Wants Series
Billionaire's Virgin Ballerina
1. Barbara
2. Brian
3. Barbara
4. Barbara
5. Barbara
6. Barbara
7. Barbara
8. Brian
9. Barbara
10. Barbara
11. Barbara
12. Brian
13. Barbara
14. Barbara
15. Barbara
Epilogue ~ Barbara
Extended Epilogue ~ Barbara
Extended Epilogue ~ Brian and Barbara
Series + Next Book
COPYRIGHT
Copyright © 2017 by Flora Ferrari.
All Rights Reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The following story contains mature themes, strong language and sexual situations. It is intended for mature readers.
A MAN WHO KNOWS WHAT HE WANTS
Book 1: Baby Lust
Book 2: Veteran
Book 3: Built
Book 4: Bambino
Book 5: Rescued
Book 6: Leader
Book 7: Professor
Book 8: Burned
Book 9: Worldly
Book 10: Pistol
Book 11: Policed
Book 12: Driven
Book 13: Lucky 13
Book 14: Lumberjacked
Book 15: Protector
Book 16: Carpenter
Book 17: Italian Stallion
Book 18: Gardener
Book 19: Budapest Billionaire’s Virgin
Book 20: Billionaire’s Babysitter
Book 21: Cocky CFO
Book 22: Fireman’s Filthy 4th
Book 23: Mechanic
Book 24: SEAL’s Secret
Book 25: Police, Pooch, and Smooch
Book 26: Fireman’s Fake Fiancée
Book 27: Billionaire’s Virgin Ballerina
Book 28: Bitcoin Billionaire’s Babysitter
BILLIONAIRE’S VIRGIN BALLERINA
Barbara: I've prepared my entire lifetime for this moment, but I wasn't prepared for him.
Tonight will define my career. The one chance to shape my future, but all I can think about is the one man who represents my past. The only man I loved more than dancing. Him.
How did he find me here? And can I find with him, what I've always wanted? A future...together.
Brian I've traveled halfway around the world to find her. She may have changed her name, but it doesn't change the way I feel about her.
But what will she say when I finally tell her after all these years? Tell her all the things I want to do with her. How a future without her is no future at all.
I've risked it all to get this close, and I'm not about to back away now. Not now, and not ever. I'll do whatever it takes to show her I'm the man for her, and she's the only girl for me.
Billionaire’s Virgin Ballerina is an insta-everything standalone romance with an HEA, no cheating, and no cliffhanger.
CHAPTER 1
Barbara
“If you can dream it, you can do it,” I say lightly under my breath.
“If you can dream it, you can do it,” I say slightly louder, but still very quietly.
“If you can dream it, you can do it,” I say as the curtain rises in front of me.
“Just spread your wings and fly,” I say as I take off across the stage leaping in my pointe shoes and ballet unitard.
Moments earlier I was a nervous wreck, dry heaving backstage as my body alternated between chills and intense bursts of heat.
Not any more.
I just repeated those same words that he told me a decade earlier. Words so powerful I had inscribed them into my pointe shoes. Words that would carry me through tonight, the opening night of my big performance. The one I’d waited for my entire life. The one I’d sacrificed everything for…food, relationships, weekends…any shot at normality.
But I didn’t want to be normal. I wanted to be great, even if just for one night.
I just wish he was here to see it.
It had been exactly ten years ago tonight. It was my eighteenth birthday.
I was practicing ballet late into the evening in our little studio on the outskirts of Los Angeles when he arrived.
A long, dark car pulled up in front of our studio. The driver hastily made his way around the side to open the car door so the man could step out. Then, with that same sense of urgency, the driver rushed forward and opened the door to the studio so the man could enter without breaking stride.
There were only two dancers left that evening, and our instructor. She hurried to greet him and offer him a tour of the facilities. It was the least she could do, considering he had been the one who purchased the building and paid to have it turned into a studio for young girls to learn ballet.
Young girls like his daughter, who danced next to me.
I hadn’t known before that night who her father was, and I wouldn’t come to know the full extent of his wealth, power, and influence until much later.
But I didn’t need anyone to tell me. I could feel it. The way his presence took over the room. The way his perfectly fitting dark suit accentuated his broad shoulders, muscular chest, and V-shape torso. I’d never seen a man dressed so well before, nor since.
He seemed to glide, rather than walk. It was like living was effortless and fluid for him. He finished his tour and took a seat to watch the two of us practice.
For the next three hours he watched us, gave us pointers, and even made suggestions which improved our work. I never expected a man to know so much about ballet, and wasn’t sure what to make of it.
“You’re very talented,” he said, as his daughter went in the back to change.
I tried to say “thank you” but the words didn’t come out. I was in awe of him.
“May I make another suggestion?” he asked.
I nodded my head.
He reached down and took my hand in his. His presence had owned the room up until now, and now his touch owned me.
I felt the jolt in my fingers, as it continued through my body as he guided me into position. I didn’t hear a word he said, nor did I have to. The way he guided me, touched me, and looked at me was enough.
It didn’t seem to be sexual to him, but it awoke something sexual inside me. Until then I had just been a girl, a girl focused only on ballet. But the way he moved with me, remaining so masculine yet so fluid in only his street clothes m
ade me desire him.
I had never had the time nor the inkling to even think about boys before, but he was anything but a boy. He was a refined and elegant man.
“Beautiful,” he said, still looking into my eyes as the two of us moved as one. I wanted to think he was talking about me, but I knew he was referring to the dance.
“Do you have plans to make this a career?” he asked me as we finished, releasing my hands.
“It’s my dream, but I’m also realistic about the odds of it ever happening.”
He brought his hands forward taking mine in his again. He brought them to his lips, and kissed them.
“If you can dream it, you can do it,” he said just after removing his lips from my hands.
And then he suddenly moved our hands up and away, releasing his grasp.
“Just spread your wings and fly.”
I never felt so empowered, supported, or capable in my entire life as I did in that moment. I felt like I could do anything.
“Ready dad?” his daughter Lindsey said from the side of the room. I hadn’t even noticed she’d finished and had joined us in the room.
He winked at me, and then just like that he was gone. The long, dark car rolling down the block leaving the studio to just me and my instructor.
Oh how I wished he could see me now.
It’s opening night for my performance with the New York City Ballet at the David H. Koch Theater at the Lincoln Center for the Performing Arts in New York City.
I had always remembered his words, and the confidence that small moment with him had given me. How that one moment had stuck with me, carrying me forward all these years. All these years to right now.
I danced like I’d never danced before. I leapt, and twisted, and turned and flew through the air like never before. Before I knew it the night was finished.
It had been a huge success and I was already thinking about seeing my name in the paper in the morning, and maybe even my picture if I was lucky. I wanted to see my name next to the words I knew they’d print. “Wowed. Amazing. Emotional. Breathtaking.”
But what I wanted more than anything was to see him again. To show him what that moment he’d given me had grown into. And to show him the woman I’d become.
But it was not to be. Never to be.
The morning after we met so many years ago, my father had accepted a new position in Chicago. He started immediately. It was the last time I ever set foot inside that ballet studio, the one he had built that gave me the chance to first explore the world of dance. The studio that introduced me to a new world of artistic expression and freedom.
I continued dancing in Chicago, always thinking about him. Brian Bowen, the billionaire philanthropist.
He had also moved on. He was a hard person to follow, and not just for me. The Internet had very little information on him. He was a private person, but from what I’d gathered he’d moved on to projects in Asia. I’d long ago resigned myself to the fact that I’d never be able to see him again and to thank him for what he did.
Oh how I wish he could see me now.
All of the dancers took the stage for our curtain call. The lights seemed even brighter than before, as the bright, white lights flooded the stage.
I couldn’t make out the crowd, but I could see the bevy of flowers making their way onto the stage. I looked down at my feet and saw a single red rose.
We took our bows, hands together. When we finished I bent over and picked up that rose, smelling it, holding it, trying to make this moment last just one second longer. There’s only one first time, and this was mine.
I waved to the crowd, as the lights moved from side to side, allowing me to make out the size of the sold out theater.
I looked high and low, taking in all the clapping hands, and seeing all the smiling faces, until my gaze dropped from the heights of the back to the front row where the multitudes of celebrities, elite, and wealthy individuals were seated.
But I only saw one man. There he was front and center, oh so elegantly offering a golf clap as his gaze met mine.
Brian Bowen was here. He had found me, and was dead center in the front row, close enough to see my jaw drop and the shock took over as I took in the sight of the man who meant more to me than this night ever could.
How did he get here? How did he find me? How can I find him?
CHAPTER 2
Brian
She’s just as beautiful as I remember her. More so if that’s even possible.
That cute little girl had blossomed into a beautiful, refined woman.
I wish I could say it all happened right before my eyes, but I can’t, because we only had that one evening. But she’s right before my eyes in the here and now.
She’s gliding through the air effortlessly in a performance that’s sure to wow the tough and cynical New York City press. By morning she’ll be a star, and it will be well deserved.
But why did she change her name? How did she get here? There are a lot of questions and I have to have the answers. Luckily the Backstage at the Ballet VIP ticket that accompanied my seat purchase will go a long way towards filling in the blanks for me.
I traded a Vincent van Gogh for these seats, and would have gladly thrown in a Claude Monet and all the tea in China to be right here, right now.
Sometimes it’s better to be lucky than good, and this morning I was very, very lucky.
A new client by the name of Alex walked into my offices in Singapore, only to say how disappointed he was that he wasn’t going to get to see the new virtuoso debuting tonight in New York City.
When he mentioned ballet my ears perked up, but I knew the odds were still a long shot. When he pulled out the inflight magazine he had brought straight from his business class seat, I knew.
It was her. Only her. Always her.
I excused myself, passing Alex off to a senior associate and quickly made a call to my concierge service representative in New York. He tracked down the owner of the best seats in the house, and one Vincent van Gogh later the seats were secured. My pilot fired up the jet and I was in the air within the hour.
Thank god Singapore’s 12 hours ahead of New York. My car was waiting at JFK Airport and I was instantly on my way to the David H. Koch Theater.
“God, she’s a beautiful young woman,” I say as I watch her now.
My world, and my livelihood, revolve around art, and I know beauty when I see it. She’s the most beautiful of the beautiful. Her brown hair. Her olive skin. Her grace.
How she made something so difficult look so simple and elegant was beyond me, and apparently a number of other members of the audience.
I could see the patrons on either side of me, their mouths literally hanging open. There was an electricity in the building, all because of her.
I felt the hair on my arms stand at attention as she leapt across the stage only to be caught by two other performers.
They better not drop her. I don’t want to see this girl experience a single second of pain or anguish. I may wear fine Italian wool suits, but I’m not beyond taking my jacket off and putting up my dukes if these other performers don’t live up to their responsibility to protect her during such dangerous maneuvers. If they don’t protect her, there’s no way they’ll be able to protect themselves for what I’ll have in store for him.
But fortunately everything continues perfectly.
Every time she jumps I can see the muscles in her legs flex, even though the unitard. And her arms are toned from years of dance, and likely hours upon hours of Pilates and stretching. She’s dedicated at a level most would never comprehend, and I’m dedicated to seeing her again. Face to face.
As much as I’m enjoying this performance I can’t wait for it to end, to see her. To ask her where she’s been. To see if she’s seeing anyone, not that I care. I’ll introduce her to a world fit for a princess, fit for her and only her.
I can’t wait to give her the world, but first I’ll give her the standing ovation she dese
rves.
She’s front and center, taking her bow with the rest of the dancers just feet in front of and above me. I swear I can smell her perfume, the same one she wore a decade ago. I could pick it out anywhere.
I reach for the single rose I brought with me, and carefully take aim tossing it towards her.
The stage is being flooded with roses, but my finds its mark landing right at her feet.
She reaches down, picking it up and smelling it.
God, how I want to do the same to her. To inhale the nape of her neck as I put my hands on her waist and pull her in tight to me.
Billionaire's Virgin Ballerina: An Older Man Younger Woman Romance (A Man Who Knows What He Wants Book 27) Page 1
