Only The Brave Try Ballet

Chapter One

What do a ballerina and a football player have in common? It was the question Jasmine Bell pondered as she watched the footballer in front of her struggling to master a plié. Discounting a need for flexible hamstrings...they have nothing in common. Absolutely nothing. Yet here they were.

She stood in the middle of the studio, wearing her usual uniform of a black leotard, tights and ballet shoes. These items were like a second skin to a dancer, but tonight she couldn't have felt more exposed than if she were standing there butt-naked. She folded her arms tight across her chest.

'Let's take it from the top. Keep those shoulders down,' she said, forcing a calming breath. She loosened her shoulders, rounded her arms into first position and turned her feet out to match. 'Prepare...left hand on the barre and plié—one, two, three, four...'

The man in front of her smirked as he followed her instructions with a lazy swagger. Everything about Grant Farley got under her skin, from the cocky grin on his face to the way his thick blond brows rose at her when she spoke. He was a man designed to destroy a woman's concentration.

Keeping her distance, she watched his movements and provided assistance verbally. Usually she helped her students by guiding them with her hands, but there was something about him which made her mind scream Look but don't touch. Maybe it was because he moved with a self-assurance that she envied, or maybe it was because after her six months of celibacy he looked good enough to eat.

Much to her chagrin he was a quick learner, and rapidly gained ground despite his insistence on goofing around.

'You're doing well,' Jasmine said as they paused between repetitions. She was determined to be the consummate professional, even if it was harder to pull off than the pas de deux from Don Quixote Act Three. 'I can see improvements already and it's only your first lesson.'

'It's not exactly difficult,' he responded, his blue eyes meeting hers and sending a chill down her spine. His tone dismissed her praise. 'I'm bending up and down on the spot. A two-year-old could master that.'

Jasmine bristled. Only a beef-head Aussie Rules footballer would fail to see the importance of the step she'd taught him.

She pursed her lips. 'That's an over-simplification, don't you think?'

'Not really.' He crossed his arms and leant back against the barre, appraising her. 'You can give it a fancy French name if you want, but it's just bending your knees.'

'Well, I never thought a career could be made out of chasing a little red ball.' She tilted her chin up at him. 'But there you go.'

'Our balls aren't little,' he drawled, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Her cheeks flamed. She ignored the innuendo and started the music, preparing herself to repeat the exercise facing him.

'Once more from the top.'

As the music started he followed her lead, bending with his feet in first position. The teacher in her couldn't ignore the fault of his technique, as he bent his hips moved out of alignment and his feet rolled inwards. She instinctively reached out to correct the error but retracted her hand when her brain kicked into gear.

'I don't bite.'

His wolfish grin seemed at odds with the promise of safety, but Jasmine wasn't going to let some arrogant joker mess with her head. She was the teacher; she was the one in charge here.

'You need to keep your hips steady.' She stepped forward and placed a hand on each hip. His muscles were tight and flame-hot beneath her palms. He bent down into plié once more and she guided him, ignoring the frisson of electricity that shot through her.