He’s quiet, eyes resting on me. ‘I was offered a place at one of the most prestigious dance schools on the east coast,’ I murmur. ‘It was the happiest day of my life. But then, that summer, I was cast in a production ofRomeo and Juliet, and I began to feel this godawful pain in my foot. I can’t describe it. I danced through it for a couple of nights, terrified to tell anyone, but then one day I could barely even walk.’ I focus my gaze on Beau’s face. ‘I was diagnosed with a chronic metatarsal stress fracture. It was devastating.’
‘What does that mean?’
I sigh heavily. ‘It means I can’t ever dance again.’ I shake my head quickly. ‘No, that’s not entirely accurate. I candance,like you might dance or whatever, but I’ll never be able to do pointe work. It meant I had to kiss goodbye to the only thing I’d ever wanted to be.’
He makes a growl, rich with feeling, with sympathy, and for once, I just let it wash over me.
‘It wasn’t a job, Beau, it was in here.’ I press my fingers to my chest. ‘It was my identity. I was a ballerina. And then, I wasn’t.’
He stands up, reminding me forcibly of his size, and holds out a hand to me. ‘Show me.’
The words land between us, not making any sense. I frown, watching as he reaches for the remote control and turns up the volume on the TV. The music station I’d put on earlier fills the room with the strains of a slow country song, moody, croony singing wrapping around me.
‘Come and show me how you can dance now, beautiful.’
My heart stammers, but I’m standing, my body moving almost of its own accord, my heart in my throat as I put my hand in his and tell myself this doesn’t mean anything. He’s just a guy, I’m just a reporter here to interview him, and this? This is just one little dance.
Chapter Eleven
Beau
It’s a first for me, dancing with a lady in my hotel room. Then again, so’s a lot of things I’ve done with Bailey. My hand moves to the small of her back, pressing lightly but holding her right there. I breathe in, tasting vanilla and coconut, and think how well she fits against me.
Everything she’s said makes a whole heap of sense. I can see her as a ballerina. Her grace and poise were two of the first things I noticed about her, even when she was mad as all hell at me or had a giant chip on her shoulder. She’d still moved like she was hearing an aria in her mind, feet lightly touching the ground.
‘I get it, you know.’ I’m tall enough that I could rest my chin on her head. I smile at our size difference and how little it matters, because Bailey gives all the attitude to compensate for being vertically challenged. She tilts her face up, a curious expression on her features.
‘After the accident, I wanted to get right back on the horse, so to speak.’
The hands she has linked behind my neck shift, so her fingers toy with the hair at my nape, sending little goosebumps of awareness over my spine.
‘I did six months of rehab, so I could join the next season. I was lucky, you know? Even though the accident was bad, the injuries rough, I recovered fully. I was young—I guess you tend to heal better.’
‘Rubber bones,’ she says, scrunching up her nose.
‘Something like that.’
Her fingernails draw invisible patterns against the sensitive skin to the side of my neck. ‘So why didn’t you?’
For a moment, a deep, abiding sense of loyalty holds me silent. My father is dead; it feels all kinds of wrong to betray our quiet, unbending arguments to someone else. Especially a journalist.
‘Off the record?’
She looks like I’ve physically pained her, but she nods slowly and says, ‘Sure. If you want.’
‘My father made it clear that it was my family and the ranch, or bull riding.’
Her step falters slightly and the grip I have on her back tightens, holding her steady. ‘Like, an ultimatum?’
‘A choice. He made it clear that I wouldn’t be welcome back on the property if I kept going.’
She frowns deeply. ‘I guess it was hard on him—on your whole family—watching you go through that.’
‘You’ve seen it?’
Her throat shifts as she swallows. ‘I think I’ve seen just about everything there is online about you,’ she admits, a hint of pink spreading through her cheeks.
‘Oh, really?’ I tease. ‘Stalker.’
