Devotion

by Alexa Riley

  Devotion

  Alexa Riley

  Contents

  Devotion

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Epilogue

  Epilogue

  Untouched

  Chapter 1

  Also by Alexa Riley

  Stalk the Author

  Devotion

  by Alexa Riley

  Aurora Adams has had everything in her life regimented. She’s been made to eat certain foods, wear certain clothes, and only do what her mother allows…all for the sake of her dancing career. Life is lonely and cold, but she doesn’t have a choice. When her mother decides to send her away for a year of training it’s just another blow to her already fragile heart.

  Noah Hill has never had passion for much in his life. But one look at Aurora and his world ignites. From the moment he sees her on the stage, he knows she has to be his. When her mother stands in the way, he has no other choice.

  Will Aurora finally have a chance to break free, or is she trading one cage for another? When temptation leads to devotion, maybe the truth isn’t so important.

  Warning: He’s a billionaire set to kidnap the ballet dancer he sees on stage. What could possibly be any more wonderful!? Get your buns ready because we’ve got you covered!

  Copyright © 2017 by Author Alexa Riley LLC. All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, email to riley_alexa@aol.com

  http://alexariley.com/

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Edited by: Aquila Editing

  Cover Design: Perfect Pear Creative Covers

  To the bottle of vodka that inspired this story…

  Prologue

  Noah

  I’ve never been a fan of the arts. Museums, plays, operas…all of it just sounds so exhausting. But sometimes they are a necessary evil. Especially in my line of work. A client and his wife are in town for a deal, and she begged for tickets to the ballet.

  The ballet. Could that be any more pretentious? I want to roll my eyes at having to admit that I’m going along with them. But she wouldn’t take no for an answer since I got such good tickets.

  I should have known better than to rent the whole box. Next time I’ll just get two tickets for an easy way out.

  Tonight I have no choice, and I toss back another Scotch in the limo as we pull up to the front of the theater. At least if I’m going to be here I’m going to have a few drinks to get me through.

  We are escorted to the box, and the couple sit close, looking over the edge and smiling at one another. I sit in the back next to the curtain hoping that if I fall asleep while the performance is going on, they won’t notice.

  We order drinks, and I slip the waiter a hundred, telling him to make mine a double and don’t let it get empty.

  By the time the curtains fall, I’m done with niceties and thankful for the darkness. I sit back in my chair and pray it will be over quickly. I can probably catch the tail end of the Mets game if I sneak out after the intermission.

  When the music starts, the lights are still low, and a soft blue glow appears on stage. A lone ballerina stands with her back to the audience, with her hair down. It strikes me as odd, because they’re usually in those tight buns at the top of their head. But long dark hair falls down in waves as her arms slowly rise over her head.

  The music remains low, almost chilling as only the strings are playing. The blue glow fills the stage now, and stars appear all around her. Twinkling lights shine against her long legs as she raises one leg above her head and holds it there.

  Her body turns, and her chin is dipped down, so I’m unable to see her eyes. But the lights brighten and the music becomes louder as she unfurls her body and stretches her arms wide.

  She raises her chin, and for a brief moment, I swear she looks right at me. Her piercing blue eyes bore straight into mine, and she pauses. It’s so fast, I don’t know if anyone noticed, but it was there.

  The drums begin, and dancers from all around the stage join her now. The music grows and the lights brighten as the brunette beauty is lost in the crowd.

  I squeeze the glass in my hand so hard it shatters, and I look down at the mess I’ve made. My client and his wife look back to me, but I grab a napkin and wrap my hand in it. I quietly tell them to finish the show, and excuse myself.

  There’s a large cut across my palm which probably needs stitches. I knot the napkin tighter as I make my way down the back stairs and to the exit.

  Several security guards try to stop my progress, but once I show them my injury they let me pass. Before long I’m at the stage entrance and off to the side in the shadows. From where I’m standing I can watch the dancers walk on and off the stage.

  It doesn’t take long for me to pick her out of the crowd.

  I spend the next two hours with my eyes on her as I try to keep my hand from bleeding. But as the show comes to a close, the rag I have around my hand is soaked and I’m too lightheaded to stand much longer.

  I text my driver and meet him at the rear exit then have him take me to the emergency room. I have to let the frustration of not being able to see her go so that I can get this taken care of.

  Besides, it’s not like I won’t see her again. I grabbed a playbill on the way out, so I’ve got her name.

  Some people have told me I have an obsessive personality. That when I want something, I will stop at nothing to get it. That when something has my attention, I have tunnel vision.

  I smile as the needle and thread go through my hand and think that everyone was wrong. One look at Aurora Adams and I was beyond obsessed.

  But I like to think of it as devotion.

  Chapter One

  Aurora

  Can a person love and hate something at the same time? How can something be the very misery of your life, but the thought of not having it is just as unbearable?

  I slip down the stairs of my parents’ home, with one location in mind. But like always I pause when I look over at the refrigerator. The padlock is firmly in place.

  My mother’s perfect kitchen looks odd, with big locks nailed into the wood cabinets and the looped chain that holds the refrigerator door closed. It’s sealed so no one can get in. No one but her. I don’t even know why she bothers. It’s not like she keeps much in there anyway. Anything worth wanting.

  Still, the pang in my stomach reminds me that I’m hungry. It makes me feel like taking anything I can get my hands on. Grabbing the lock, I give it a little pull, but nothing happens. I feel the lump in my throat and I push it away. This isn’t new. I should be used to this. I release the cold lock from my hand, and the metal hits the stainless steel of the refrigerator. I cringe, praying it didn’t wake my mother.

  I wait a second, holding my breath, but hear nothing. Letting out a sigh of relief, I head to
ward the back door, slipping out into the cool night air. The dampness of the grass makes my feet a little wet.

  I stop and look at the little building that at one time felt like everything to me, the place my mother had built because she finally loved me. She saw something in me that was worth loving for the first time. I’d made her proud. For a time, at least.

  Sometimes I can’t get out of that place fast enough. And other times I sneak in to be alone.

  I open the glass doors and walk in, sitting down on the cold hardwood floors of the dance studio. I stretch, trying to make my muscles not feel so tight. They ache from being overworked, and what I really need is sleep. But my mind won’t let me have it. The pain in my muscles and the hunger that lingers from missing dinner bite at me.

  I know the only thing that will give me peace is if I dance. It’s the only thing that makes everything else melt away. To dance for myself. To not think about the performance I have tomorrow. It’s when I feel most free. No one here to yell at me and tell me I’m doing it wrong. That my feet aren’t right or that I’m not trying hard enough.

  When I dance for myself I don’t care about any of that. I feel the music and let it take me. I fall into a world where there are no pressures to be something I don’t want to be, to live up to impossible expectations, no matter how hard I try or how hard I work. It’s never enough for her. But in these small stolen moments, it’s enough for me.

  And that’s all that matters. Until she wakes up.

  Chapter Two

  Aurora

  I walk off stage and enter the large dressing room. I have a small part in a large production in New York, and I really like the troupe. But my mother is constantly speaking with the choreographers and directors for me to have more time in the spotlight. She controls every part of my dancing, and although it annoys me, it did get me the opening of the ballet. It shouldn’t make me feel good that I got it because of her, but as long as I’m able to get on stage, I’ll count it as a win.

  When I make my way to the small table I sit at to put on my makeup, I’m surprised to see a large vase of flowers. My mother usually has a bouquet for me after every show, but she makes a scene about giving them to me when others are around. Not when I’m alone.

  I see my name on the front of the card, and I reach out to take it. But before my fingers can land on it, the entire arrangement is out of my reach.

  “I’ll take care of this,” my mother snips and walks out of the dressing room with the flowers. I open my mouth to protest, but the entire troupe enters the room and the place is filled with noise and laughter.

  It’s the final show of the season, and while some of the dancers are going on the road with the show, I’ve been pulled.

  My mother thinks that I need more training away from home and away from distractions. She said that I would never make the lead unless I took dancing seriously. She said it like dancing hasn’t been my entire focus since the day I could walk.

  She’s arranged for me up to have a year-long training camp in Germany. I won’t have access to internet, my cell phone, visitors, nothing. Although it’s not like I have any friends to talk to, but the internet would have been nice. She said I can write letters to her if I want to, but she’d rather I keep my focus on dancing.

  She said I’ll have a dancing instructor who keeps me on a strict diet, and I will dance morning, noon and night until I am absolute perfection. She also informed me that she used the money she’d been saving for my college tuition, so this is really my only chance to make it.

  I argued with her, but there was no way around it. She said Germany wasn’t refundable, and if I refused to go she’d kick me out. For a few moments I had considered my options. But without a cent to my name and no work experience, my options were limited. I was never allowed to have a part-time job, so I never had my own money. It’s embarrassing to not have anything of your own, but when your life is regimented down to the food you put in your mouth, you sort of get used to it.

  When I agreed to Germany, as we both knew I would, I began to dream of a place where I could find myself. Even if it was just a small piece away from my mother’s control. Something was better than nothing. And at the moment that was all I felt.

  “Who were they from?” I ask my mother as she enters the room without the flowers in her hands.

  “They weren’t for you,” she says while she smiles to the dancers around us, telling them what a great job they did tonight. She’s yet to tell me how well I did.

  “I saw my name on the card.” I pull my brows together, certain I had seen my name in block letters on the little envelope.

  “You were mistaken, Aurora.” Her glare is cold, and her words are final.

  I grab my bag from the drawer and start packing away all my things. This is the last performance, and I have to take all my things with me. I leave for Germany early tomorrow morning. No sense in putting off the inevitable.

  “We’re going to miss you,” one of the girls from the front line says as she comes over and gives me a hug. It’s warm and feels genuine, but even now, I can’t recall her name. “It’s a shame you can’t tour with us. Maybe next year when you get back?”

  I smile and nod, thinking my mother must have told everyone my plans. A year off is a death sentence for most dancers. This career is for the young and the strong. But taking a year to hone your feet and come back on top is a chance anyone in the company would have taken.

  A few of the other dancers wave as I walk out, my mother hot on my heels. She’s anxious to get me out of here. I think she’s scared I’ll ask if it’s okay to write to some of the dancers while I’m away. She doesn’t want any distractions, and isolation is her key to that.

  I’m accustomed to being alone, so I don’t see how this will really benefit my training, but I just go along with it. I’m hoping to buy a few books at the airport and sneak them into my carry-on before Germany. I don’t know what’s allowed, but I plan on sneaking in some reading.

  “The driver will be waiting for you at six in the morning tomorrow. I have your things already packed,” she says once we are in the car and on the way home.

  “You’re not coming with me to the airport?” I ask, surprised she won’t see me off.

  “No. It’s far too early. I’ll say my goodbyes to you at home.”

  The cold finality of her words shouldn’t sting me, but it does. An entire year without seeing me, yet she doesn’t seem phased at all. I shouldn’t be surprised. I’ve always been more of an accessory than a child to her, and this is no different.

  I stare out the window and watch the streets of New York pass by. The lights of restaurants I’ve never been allowed to enter gleam, and sadness washes over me. The most beautiful city in the world, and I’ve never seen any of it.

  I wonder if this is what a caged bird feels like.

  Chapter Three

  Aurora

  I stand in the entryway holding the handle of my one piece of luggage. The space feels as cold as it always does, but I wonder if that’s the reality or if it’s just because it feels so unwelcoming.

  My mom wouldn’t let me bring anything with me. Not that I have much to begin with. She said I would be living and breathing dance, so all I really needed were clothes for that. She packed everything for me and tsked disapprovingly when I tried to add items. I was hoping to sneak a few books in, but to her that wasn’t a necessity.

  The one thing I did love about dancing was that I had pretty dresses and shoes for some of the parties I was required to go to. I loved them. I didn’t love the events, because most of the time my mom made me stay by her side while she showed me off, but I loved having the dresses after.

  Sometimes late at night I would put one on and wear it around my room all alone after I knew she was asleep. Sometimes I even pretended I was a princess waiting for my prince to come save me. It’s silly and childish, but I couldn’t stop myself from having some kind of fantasy about a life away from here.

  I
turn when I hear footsteps and see my mom standing there. I think I’ll miss the dresses more than her. That thought saddens me. It shouldn’t, but it does. I know my mother is mean, but on some level I think she has to love me. Maybe even miss me a little? Or maybe that’s just another one of my childish thoughts, and wishful thinking. There is a cold distance that has grown between us the older I have gotten, and sometimes I wonder if it’s because every year that I age is one less year I’m able to dance. And that’s the only thing keeping us together.

  “Pull that hair up,” she says with an annoyed sigh.

  Doing as she says, I reach for the hair tie on my wrist, pulling my hair up into a ponytail. I don’t know why she doesn’t like my hair. She even made a request to the production company that my hair be pulled up in the last show, but they refused, and Mom didn’t fight them. She never fights them. She’ll put on the fake smile and agree they are right.

  When I hear the buzzer, I know my ride is here to take me to the airport. Disappointment hits me that my own mom can’t even be bothered to take me herself. I won’t see her for over a year. I don’t know why I still long for her attention, her kindness and care. I should know by now she’s not going to give it to me. Yet I still I take a step toward her to give her a hug goodbye.

  “Don’t fuck this up.” Her hard words stop me in my tracks. “I want to see some improvement when you return, and get rid of that childish attitude. Grow up, Aurora.”

  “Grow up?” My voice is almost a shriek, and I can hear my own pain.

  I feel like I’ve been a grown-up my entire life. I was never allowed to do what the other kids did in school. I missed everything. School dances, football games, boyfriends, everything other than dance. I was always practicing, never getting to do anything else. Most of the time I feel old beyond my years.