Only the Brave Try Ballet Read online

  Step up, Grant Farley…not your typical ballet student!

  Football pro Grant Farley is nursing an injury and needs to get back into shape—fast. Ballet wouldn’t be his first or even his last choice, but he’s desperate. Enter tantalizingly prim teacher Jasmine Bell—one disapproving arch of her eyebrow and Grant knows he’ll enjoy getting her tutu in a flutter!

  But it’s not only Grant’s flexibility that Jasmine’s pushing to the limit! He knows she feels the heat between them, so why won’t she give in to it? Time to convince Jasmine that if she’s brave enough to dance en pointe she can certainly handle a fling with him!

  SNEAK PEEK EXCERPT FROM

  Only the Brave Try Ballet

  “Show me one more time.”

  Grant’s eyes were locked on her. Her skin tingled everywhere his eyes traveled.

  “Of course.”

  Jasmine pulled her shoulders back and relaxed her body into a perfect turnout. Bending down, she extended her knees outward and brought her feet into relevé, her ankles crossed as she balanced without a tremor of unsteadiness.

  The air between them was thick with electricity, the gravitational pull unraveling her sensibilities. She so desperately wanted to touch him. Her mouth was dry. Anticipation was making her pulse race.

  He placed his hands over hers and Jasmine jumped at the way her blood pulsed harder and harder.

  “Why so jumpy? Are you uncomfortable being alone with me?”

  “No,” she whispered.

  The problem was she was far too comfortable. As he stood close to her all she wanted to do was melt against him. She envisaged herself pressing against his broad chest and sturdy thighs. Her entire body crackled with excitement as they stood, merely inches apart, in the empty ballet studio.

  Dear Reader,

  Have you ever felt so compelled to follow a dream that you would do anything you could to make it a reality? This book is my dream. After many a night tapping away at my computer—endless cups of coffee by my side—I’m thrilled to share my first novel with you, and even more thrilled to be part of the sparkly, flirty, fun-loving Harlequin® KISS™ series.

  The story of Grant and Jasmine was inspired long ago, when I read an article about footballers who studied ballet to increase their agility and flexibility. When I decided on day one of National Novel Writing Month in 2012 that I would take a leap of faith, this idea came to life. I love the concept of an “opposites attract” romance, where two people seem so different, only to fall in love and discover all the things they have in common beneath the surface.

  This country boy turned football star and former soloist ballerina meet when they’ve just exited very dark places in their lives. Both Grant and Jasmine are damaged souls who are desperate to keep their dreams alive and wary of what others want from them.

  Whether you’re a lover of the arts or a mad footy fan (or both!), I hope you enjoy watching Grant and Jasmine help one another on their journey to healing and happy-ever-after.

  With love

  Stefanie London

  ONLY THE

  BRAVE TRY

  BALLET

  Stefanie London

  About Stefanie London

  Stefanie London comes from a family of women who love to read. When she was growing up her favorite activity was going shopping with her nan during school holidays, when she would sit on the floor of the bookstore with her little sister and painstakingly select the books to spend her allowance on. Thankfully, Nan was a very patient woman.

  Thus it was no surprise when Stefanie ended up being the sort of student who would read her English books before the semester started. After sneaking several literature subjects into her “very practical” business degree, she got a job in communications. When writing emails and newsletters didn’t fulfill her creative urges, she turned to fiction and was finally able to write the stories that kept her mind busy at night.

  Now she lives in Melbourne, Australia, with her very own hero and enough books to sink a ship. She frequently indulges in her passions for good coffee, French perfume, high heels and zombie movies. During the day she uses lots of words like synergy and strategy. At night she writes sexy, contemporary romance stories and tries not to spend too much time shopping online and watching baby-animal videos on YouTube.

  This is Stefanie London’s first book for Harlequin® KISS™

  and is also available in ebook format

  from www.Harlequin.com

  To Nan and Nonno for teaching me

  what it means to be brave.

  To my amazing husband for his endless supply of love and support (and for always doing the dishes

  when I was stuck in the revision cave).

  To my family for never thinking my dreams were crazy, or loving me enough not to say so.

  To my editor, Flo, for seeing past the rough edges of

  my first submission and taking a chance on this story.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Excerpt

  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 that 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 forwards 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.

  ‘Make sure your core is pulled in. It will increase balance and stop you rocking forwards.’

  ‘Like this?’ He grabbed her hand and placed her palm against his stomach. She could feel the ripple of each muscle through his T-shirt. His sports tights moulded every curve of his muscle, every bulge...

  Jasmine gulped, her blood pounding as though she’d run a marathon. Get it together.

  ‘Yes, like that.’ She withdrew her hand, the heat of him still burning her fingertips.

  She was going to strangle Elise, her soon to be former best friend, for roping her into this disaster waiting to happen. She was going to—

  ‘Earth to Bun-Head.’ Grant waved a hand in front of her face, chuckling when she returned her focus to him. ‘I don’t see how this is helping my hamstring. Shouldn’t we be stretching or something? We need to speed up this flexibility thing. I’ve got an important game coming up.’

  He shook his leg and rubbed at the muscle.

  ‘Flexibility is a slow process. You can’t turn up to one ballet lesson and expect to be a contortionist. It takes time.’

  ‘I’d settle for being injury-free,’ he replied. ‘But if you want to show me how you can put your ankles behind your head then be my guest.’

  ‘This is not Cirque du Soleil.’ Jasmine bit each word out through gritted teeth.

  ‘It might as well be.’ He checked the clock above them. ‘Though, shocking as it might seem, I’m not here for the laughs. I want to fix my hamstring and get back to spending my time on real training.’

  Jasmine wasn’t ready to let him have the last word. Sure, she had her motivations for agreeing to take Grant on as a student, but that didn’t give him licence to be rude. ‘I’m not exactly here for enjoyment either.’

  ‘If you loosened up you might find some aspects of it enjoyable.’

  She sucked in a breath and willed herself not to respond. Glancing at the clock, she held in a sigh of relief as the hand neared 8:00 p.m. Their hour together had hardly been successful. In fact she could chalk it up as her most frustrating lesson ever...and this was only the beginning.

  ‘Is it that time already?’

  His amused tone set fire to Jasmine’s resolve to play cool, calm and collected. She wanted to slap the mocking look right off his ruggedly handsome face. He raised an eyebrow, as if to punctuate his question.

  This was going to be her life two nights a week for the next six months, and she wasn’t looking forward to it one bit! Unfortunately these lessons weren’t about the ideal way to spend her free time. No, it all came down to dollars and cents. Once again she was in a position where she needed to play up to some arrogant guy who thought he owned the world to be able to pay her bills.

  ‘I think we can finally call it a night,’ she said.

  ‘Don’t sound too upset to be rid of me.’ He uncrossed his arms and leant forwards, his broad shoulders casting a shadow over her.

  ‘The lessons are for one hour, Mr Farley.’ Her voice was tight and her lungs were arid and devoid of air. ‘If you want more time you’ll have to arrange it with the studio owner.’

  ‘One hour is plenty, Ms Bell,’ he teased, and raked a hand through his thick blond hair.

  Why did he have to be so damn attractive? Her insides flipped as his hair sprang back into place. She headed towards the door to the waiting room and he walked with her, a little too close for comfort. The scent of his aftershave found its way to her nostrils and filled her head with unwanted though not unpleasant images. She shut her eyes for a moment, pushing away the desire that flared like the lighting of a match.

  He wasn’t good-looking in the traditional, clean-cut way she preferred. But there was something about his rough-around-the-edges look that drew her in. He had a strong jaw and razor-sharp cheekbones; his nose was crooked, as though it had been broken at some point and hadn’t healed properly. She had a strange, powerful urge to run her fingertips over the bump, to confirm her suspicions.

  She bit down on her lip. There was no way in hell she would let herself fall for a guy like him. Egotistical, cocky guys were a thing of her past, and she intended to keep it that way. It was strictly business, and after he paid her for the lesson she could go home and forget she was selling out. Forget that her dream had been reduced to this BS.

  Grant walked over to his duffel bag and rifled through it, withdrawing a thick envelope. He thrust it in her direction.

  ‘This should cover me,’ he said. ‘Coach thought it’d be easier to pay up front since you only take cash.’

  The rewarding heaviness of the envelope sat in Jasmine’s hands. It would cover her rent and bills for the next month or two, and give her a little breathing space. Relief coursed through her, immediately followed by a wave of shame as she tucked the envelope into her handbag. She didn’t bother to count it. A guy who earned more than a million a year, if you believed the papers, was hardly likely to scrimp on a couple of hundred dollars for ballet lessons.

  ‘Thanks,’ she muttered without looking at him, dropping onto one of the couches and peeling off her leg warmers.

  ‘Just so we’re clear, this is something I have to do to tick a box. I don’t have any secret dreams of wearing a tutu and getting up on stage. So don’t take it personally if I don’t crave your feedback.’

  Self-important, arrogant, egotistical...

  ‘Fine.’ Untying her ballet shoes, she reached for her fleece-lined black leather boots. Her body was cooling down and her ankle ached. Grimacing, Jasmine rubbed at the soreness, feeling the rippled skin of her scar underneath her tights before sliding the boot on. ‘You’re here to tick a box. I’m here for the money.’

  If he wanted to play it like that, then he could expect an equal response from her. Hopefully the weeks would pass quickly and then she could move on to figuring out what to do with her life.

  As he pulled a pair of tracksuit pants from his bag Grant’s leg muscles flexed and bulged through his leave-nothing-to-the-imagination sports tights. She’d spent the whole hour forcing her eyes up and away from the tight fabric that stretched over his thighs and...well, everything.

  Heat crawled up the back of her neck and pooled in her cheeks. She pulled her eyes away as he stood and turned to her, staring at the ground as she pulled on her
boots.

  ‘See something you like?’ he asked, his smile indicating it was a rhetorical question.

  Dammit.

  * * *

  He regretted the words as they came out of his mouth, but Jasmine Bell stirred something in him that made him want to bait her. She had this prickly demeanour that he found both frustrating and fascinating.

  He was used to swatting the football groupies away with a metaphorical stick. But Jasmine...well, she was a different breed entirely. All long limbs and straight lines, she was sexy as hell in spite of her don’t-mess-with-me attitude. Or maybe that was exactly what he liked about her.

  She glared at him as though she were mentally setting his head on fire. Her slender arms were crossed in front of her, as if trying to hide the lithe figure beneath. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of answering his question. There was a small part of him that enjoyed the power struggle; it was a game he liked to play. Moreover, it was a game he liked to win.

  Now he’d ticked her off royally, and that was fine by him. He needed to keep his distance. Women were not a permanent fixture in his life...people were not a permanent fixture in his life. The fewer people he saw outside his footy team, the fewer people had the opportunity to use him. So he kept his distance, and he would do the same with her.

  ‘Did becoming famous cause you to forget your manners, or is that the way you were raised?’

  She smiled sweetly, her sarcastic expression stinging him as much as the intentional barb in her words. The tilt in her chin issued a challenge.

  ‘All I wanted was to play footy; the fame is an unfortunate by-product,’ he said, surprised by his own honesty. Her small rosebud mouth pursed, and her dark brows creased above a button nose. ‘As are the ballet lessons.’

  ‘Isn’t that what they call a first-world problem?’ She hoisted her bag over her shoulder and walked to the front door. He followed, holding back an amused smile. ‘Like Boo-hoo, I’m famous and it’s such a tough life.’