When he got closer, my eyes locked on one of the broadest chests I’d ever seen. It tapered into the flat plane of an abdomen. My fingers actually itched with a desire to lift that designer shirt to run over the rippled ridges of the six-pack I’d bet my life on lay beneath the expensive fabric. He brushed a wayward strand of hair away from his face to look at me, showing me a pair of gorgeous sparkling blue eyes, and the slow curling of his lips into a smile that threatened to stop my heart. Blue eyes, black hair, chiseled jaw — a combination that created a blend of perfection possessing the power to corrupt even the staunchest of saints.
Without a doubt, he was the most flawless male specimen I’d seen in a very long time.
Curiosity had me slamming the door of my mailbox shut and walking toward him, closing the distance between us. “If you’re here for any classes, I’m afraid I don’t accept walk-ins.”
Actually, he looked far too young to be the father of the next wannabe ballerina. Or perhaps far too, I don’t know — delicious — to be married.
“Hello,” he said in a professional tone of voice, which was when my eyes flicked up from where they’d been cataloging his firm, muscular thighs and the bulge residing between them to take in the fact he was not only wearing a jacket, he had a tie hanging down his pristine white shirt. This man was here for business, which meant trouble for me. Despite the fact his suit appeared to be perfectly tailored rather than one off a rack, there was always a chance he could be a reporter for some gossip rag.
Damn it! I knew I shouldn’t have done that interview with that cute Aussie a few months back. I blamed it on an accent that could easily curl a girl’s toes, but now it was obvious the guy had been a shark. I hadn’t been the “opportunity of his lifetime.” I’d just been chum in the waters and now feared there was about to be a feeding frenzy. When would I ever learn men and I were so not a good mix?
“I don’t require any services at the moment. My name’s Alexei Volkov. I’d like a minute of your time.”
“What for?” I snapped back in a frustrated tone I didn’t mean to sound as harsh as it did, but I so didn’t need this right now. My headache was coming back with a vengeance, and I was in a seriously bad mood, which, unfortunately, wasn’t really a new thing for me.
The man didn’t seem frazzled, however. Instead, he was scanning my body from head to toe with eyes that suddenly seemed as though they were not only the most mouth-watering shade of indigo, but were capable of seeing right through me. I fought not to let the fact the oversized T-shirt and plaid flannel pajama pants as well as hair I was sure looked like a rat’s nest made me feel woefully inadequate. Forcing myself to relax my death grip on the pile of bills, I waited for him to answer my question.
“I’m the owner of the Volkov Ballet, and I’d like to discuss having you come dance at our theater. See if we can get you back on the stage.”
If he’d announced I not only won the lottery but had the right digits in the Powerball circle as well, I wouldn’t have been more shocked.
“Are you here to screw with me, Mr. Volkov?” I asked in disbelief. “Is this some sort of sick practical joke?”
“It’s Alek, and I’m not known to be a joker,” he replied, appearing not the least bit nonplussed by my accusation. Meeting my glare with a stare that made me feel even smaller, he continued, “Though I can understand your hesitancy in believing me, I assure you this is a serious offer. I want to discuss a possible contract with you. See if we can work toward having you return to where you belong.”
“And where is it you think I belong?”
“Center stage,” he said without a moment’s hesitation.
The nails of the hand not clutching mail bit into my palm in my effort to appear unaffected by the way he’d nonchalantly referred to the one place I’d ever truly felt at home.
The stage.
Before I could formulate a reply, he tilted his head to the side. “If underneath all that”—his hand lifted to gesture at me from my tangled hair to my bare feet—“you still have what it takes, that is.”
Fuck unaffected. I might have walked away from that life, but I’d be damned if I was going to let him judge me in my own freaking driveway. Quite capable of giving my own smirk, I raised my eyebrow and canted my head, allowing what I considered the appropriate pregnant pause before taking the faker down a much needed peg or two.