“Oh wow!” she squealed then, almost quivering with joy now. “I’m gonna go practice, I gotta be ready, you’re my hero Miss Jones!”
I smiled as Tania pranced off. Because with impressionable young girls, you can’t give them the full truth. You can’t tell them how competitive it is, how there are booby traps everywhere, certifiably insane people who point guns at you. Nor can you tell them about the handsome men, the alphas who sweep you off your feet, only to leave you collapsed in a heap, completely broken.
But I wasn’t broken. I was here and doing fine. Still hurting, sure, but I was gonna be fine in the long run. Even now, my heart quivered a little thinking of Thorn, but taking a deep breath, I drew on my inner Zen. I’d survive.
So turning back to my most recent class, I smiled again, tears in my eyes. They were seven year-olds in pink tutus, twirling like fairy princesses, a tray of whirling cupcakes.
“Right,” I chanted. “Right, right, no Katy, that’s left, right, right!”
The little girls moved in a wobbly line, hands on their hips, heads bobbling up and down as they danced. It was cute for sure, sugarplums come to life. But still, this was a lesson and I needed to be heard. So I raised my voice, the sound cresting over the music.
“Lina, right, right!” came my call. “Right, sweetheart, then jete!”
But instead of moving in unison, the class broke down into a mass of giggles, the girls holding hands over their mouths as they peered at something behind my shoulder. I frowned.
“Ladies, you know that you can’t just stop in the middle of a routine when you’re on stage,” I scolded lightly. “What’s going to happen when we have our performance? Are you going to stop if someone coughs?”
“Yes, Miss Jones,” the girls chorused. “I mean no, Miss Jones.”
But the giggling wouldn’t halt, and one especially cute redhead pointed behind me.
“Miss Jones, I think he’s looking for you,” she said with an adorable lisp. “That man is here for you.”
I spun immediately. I’d thought they were giggling at a cute dog walking by, seven year-olds are known to be distracted by furry puppies. But this was no dog. It was Thorn Channing himself, looking completely out of place in my small ballet studio. The man was huge, dark and imposing, those blue eyes searing me even as he stood silently in the entryway.
“Can- can I help you?” I stammered.
His eyebrow rose.
“As a matter of fact you can,” came his smooth reply. “But I’ll wait. I see you’re busy right now.”
And nodding, I turned away to continue the class. My skin prickled excitedly, the hairs on my arms standing up even as my insides grew soft. Stop it! The voice in my head scolded. You can’t have this kind of reaction to him, not after what happened. You lost everything because of this man, don’t you remember?
But I couldn’t get my body to behave. Despite my resolve, my face felt hot, insides melty and warm. Oh god, Thorn was back! What was he doing here though? I thought I’d seen the last of him after that incident with the gun, it’d been so insane.
Barely able to concentrate, I made myself go through the motions, more entreaties of “Right, left, right!” And finally, class ended, the little girls scampering off, still a mess of giggles. God, the time was now, and taking a deep breath, I turned to face Mr. Channing. Better now than never, there was no point in putting it off. So slowly making my way over, I stepped into the entryway and there he was, blue eyes flashing.
“You dance well,” the alpha rumbled, eyes caressing my face, running slowly to my breasts. “You dance beautifully Laney.”
I took a deep breath. What to say? I’ve been practicing hard because I’ve had nothing else to do? It’s my only skill, my only way to make a living?
But that was too much information, so I smiled with my lips and stated calmly, “Thanks. I’m glad you appreciate it.”
Those deep blue eyes flashed at me again.
“Your balance and muscle control are incredible,” the big man rumbled. “Even better than what I remember.”
Heat flared in my cheeks. Oh my god, was he talking about my ballet skills on the stage, or was he talking about us in bed together? Because I’d done so many disgusting things, bending over backwards as he dicked my ass, then pulling my legs apart into splits so that he could pummel my pussy. It was wrong, so wrong, and I’d let him do it all.
But that was in the past, and there was no sense in crying over spilled milk. So keeping my expression controlled, I asked neutrally, “What are you doing here, Mr. Channing? How can I help you?”