The Billionaire's Ballet: A Contemporary Billionaire Friends to Lovers Romance (Friends with Benefits) (8 page)

“It’s not every day you have a ballerina at your party,” he said. “You will be the belle of the ball.”

As the carriage slowed to a stop, he leaned in and brushed a light kiss against my lips. Emotion welled up so hard that I could barely contain it.

“There,” he said. “I managed to get one in without additional violence.”

I had no voice to say anything. I just looked at him in the semi-dark, his eyes glittery and his nearness intoxicating.

The doors opened. All the party guests had come to see the carriage. Quinn stepped out first, then turned to me and held out his hand. I accepted it, and as I emerged, he announced, “I present to you Juliet Small, our very own Texas ballerina, here from New York.”

Everyone clapped.

The scene was a vision. Over one hundred people in ball gowns and tuxedos, scattered beneath the strings of fairy lights. The pool was lit with dozens of floating flower lights that bobbed and drifted across the surface.

I stepped down carefully. Quinn lifted my arm as I moved closer, then turned me in a slow circle. My dress swirled around my knees. I knew it looked like a dark glittery waterfall in the light.

The crowd clapped again. I curtsied for them and Quinn drew me close.

I was here. It had happened. I was inside the wall.

And everyone was looking at me.

We wandered through the crowd. Quinn shook hands and said hello.
 

I was introduced to a more diverse group of people than I expected. There was a smattering of CEOs and bankers and stockbrokers. But I also met the art director of a cultural museum, two painters, a country singer, and a lot of couples who seemed to be just professionally wealthy.

We paused by an intricate cake with tiny globes of light that pulsed throughout the dozens of tiny layers balanced on a spiral of small pedestals.

“It’s like a dance,” I said. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“There’s the lovely lady who created it,” Quinn said, pointing to a petite woman in a classic deep brown dress and cowboy boots. “I flew her all the way from West Virginia because she’s the best.” He shrugged. “I also promised she could ride some of our famous horses.”

He waved her over. “Jo Kagen, this is our guest of honor, Juliet Small.”

If Jo was aware that the party had flipped themes only this morning, she hid it well. “Nice to meet you, Juliet,” she said.

“You came all this way to make a cake?” I asked.

Jo leaned in. “Not often. But this guy here is pretty insistent on getting what he wants.”

I could agree with that. “Have you been out to the barn? The blue mare is mine. Jezebelle.”

“I haven’t had a chance yet. I’m hoping to in the morning.” Jo’s attention was caught by a server. “Excuse me. There seems to be a cake emergency. Whatever that could be.” She rolled her eyes.

She walked quickly away. I admired her creation another moment. Quinn definitely didn’t leave his parties understated.

“You’re amazing,” Quinn said. “Do I get to dance with you now?”

“I’ve been waiting,” I said.

He led me to the space in front of a small orchestra where a few others were swaying together to a slow waltz.

I hadn’t danced with Quinn since his own Cotillion days, and that scarcely counted as he was twelve and I was nine.

Plus, he hated it.

We moved in time to the music. His dancing wasn’t practiced, but he had confidence. He didn’t exactly waltz, but held me close for a few steps, then spun me out. I was careful to keep the turns slow and easy, so my dress didn’t get too much lift. Despite this one concern, our trip around the dance floor was magical and romantic.

The air was cool. The conversation around us was a low murmur. The music was divine. At the end of the number, we paused to clap. A waiter approached with glasses of white wine and Quinn took two, handing me one.

I drank very little, even at ballet functions in New York, as it was something that could sink the next day’s rehearsals and put me at risk for injury. But I took a long drink for confidence. I could take it easy the next day. No Nine Inch Nails or wild spinning.

Quinn threaded his arm through mine and we headed back into the crowd.

I felt like I was floating. I glanced over at the wall where I used to sit. It was hard to see in the darkness, away from the party lights. But I knew the spot. I could almost picture myself there, perched low, watching with envy and melancholy.

A deep voice asked, “So which company do you dance with?”

I turned back to Quinn. He stood next to a dashing man with dark hair and arresting blue eyes. I assumed he had asked the question.

“Strativus Dance,” I said. “We perform in New York, L.A., Montreal, and Paris.”

“Impressive,” he said and extended a hand. “I’m Ian Cooper. I’m regularly in L.A. I will try to come out to a show.”

I shook his strong grip. “Thank you. I’d love that.”

Quinn elbowed him. “Ian’s a financial whiz. Bennett can’t live without him.”

“And there’s your brother now,” Ian said. He lifted his hand to his face as if he was going to straighten an invisible pair of glasses, then caught himself. He caught me watching and said, “Lasik. Can’t get used to it.”

Quinn looked like he was about to go to war, stiff and angry. I followed his gaze, watching Bennett approach from across the patio.

So strange. They were never great friends, but there hadn’t been any animosity between them. Although I guessed the woods had fairly crackled with their hostility on that trail ride.

“Hello, Ian,” Bennett said pleasantly. Then with a curt nod, “Quinn.”

“You showed up at the party,” Quinn said. “That’s new.”

I looked between them with interest. Bennett hadn’t been going to the parties? Why not? And why this one?

But when he turned to me, I knew why. His gaze slid down my body like an electric current, taking in each curve. My body responded, as liquid as the motion of my dress.

He cleared his throat. “Juliet, you look stunning. I heartily approve of a party in your honor.”

The orchestra suddenly crescendoed into a rollicking foxtrot. It stole the attention of the party and several people whooped. Bennett turned to me. “Could I have this dance?”

Quinn cut in immediately. “She’s spoken for.”

“You had the last dance,” he retorted.

“Ian already asked,” Quinn said.

Ian’s head swiveled to Quinn. “I did?”

I tried to hold in my annoyance. I wasn’t a toy to be tossed around.

But before I could say anything, Quinn lifted my hand and placed it on Ian’s. “Don’t embarrass the lady,” he said. “I’m going to pick up a bottle of wine for our walk. I do love a late-night drink on the loft in the barn, looking out over the fields.” He winked at me.

My heart sped up and the previous moment was forgotten. I recalled all the times Quinn took a bottle of wine and a pair of glasses with him to the stable with his date.

This time it would be me.

Ian led me back to the space in front of the orchestra. I hoped he could dance to this. It wasn’t exactly a number you could clutch and sway to. A few other couples were gamely two-stepping or just grasping hands and twisting.

“Do you dance?” I asked Ian as he placed his hand on my waist.

“Not normally,” he said. “But I will make an exception for you.” He smiled at me. “To make up for the brothers’ bad behavior.”

He launched directly into a perfect foxtrot, simple but well executed and easy to follow. After a few steps, I relaxed and let him lead me around the space. The other couples watched us, trying to imitate the steps. As we passed Bennett and Quinn, they abruptly parted and Quinn headed to the bar.

“What’s gotten into them?” I asked Ian. Maybe he could fill me in on what had happened between the two brothers in the past six years.

He shrugged. “I’m not really familiar with Bennett’s personal life. I live in California. I only come out when we are working on his investments.” We made another half circle around the floor. “But I have a feeling it has to do with you.”

I lost my step and we had to pause to get our footing again with the tricky dance. “Me?”

“Both of them look at you like wolves.”

“What should I do?”

Ian smiled. “I think you’ll handle it just fine.”

The dance came to an end. “Thank you,” I said. “You’re a really great dancer.”

He leaned in close. “Let’s keep that just between us.”

We walked back toward the patio. I didn’t see Quinn anywhere. Had he meant for me to meet him at the barn? Is that what he had said before? I couldn’t remember exactly how he phrased it.

Another man stopped Ian to ask him a question, and I stood by the buffet table, feeling unsure. A couple young women approached to gush over the fact that I was a ballerina, then moved on. Still no Quinn.

Then I felt a touch on my elbow. I sighed in relief and turned. But it wasn’t Quinn.

It was Bennett.

“I think the next dance really does belong to me.”

His voice was low and thick. A tremor ran through me. I didn’t like it. I was here for Quinn. This dark attraction for Bennett didn’t make any sense.

Yet, I was feeling it.

I didn’t see any way to avoid the dance without being rude, so I nodded and took his hand.

The orchestra seemed to be waiting for his cue, as when we stepped out into the dance space, they began to play the final movement from
The Black Swan
.

I had never danced this ballet but I knew it well. The violins and flutes ran down the scale with clashing chords that struck me straight through the gut.

Bennett pulled me into his arms and we cut across the smooth patio floor in long powerful steps. His arms were strong and sure as we turned together, our feet moving in perfect synchronicity.

His hand on my back seemed to burn. We kept a proper dance distance for the tricky steps at first, then he crushed me in and we spun, tight and fierce. My leg between his thighs, stepping through, then around, as we moved.

I could not let my mind wander or I’d lose the rhythm of our dance. We moved like one person, tightly bound and headed on the same intense path.

He whipped me away from him and in the powerful spin, I felt the dress go high. When I came back around, face to face, I could see the hunger in his expression. He led us to the darker edges of the party where no one was watching, their focus to the inside and the light.

Then he spun me again, and again, and again. Each time he brought me back to him, we collided with more force, until finally he gripped me tight, crushed against his body. I breathed hard, unable to speak or swallow or do anything but look up into his heated expression.

Then he leaned down, his hands tight in their grip on mine, my body caught against him.

He was going to kiss me.

I panicked. I flung his hands away from me and took off in a dead run, sprinting for the back gate and the path to the barn.

I didn’t know what I felt, but it wasn’t right.

And it scared me.

Chapter 11

I paced the long corridor between the stalls in the barn. My anxious steps riled the horses, who stomped and whinnied along my path.

I paused in front of Jezebelle, hoping the sight of her would calm me. I held out my hand and she nuzzled my palm.

My breathing slowed finally. What had Bennett done to me? It must have been the music. Tchaikovsky was powerful and moving.

I pressed my cheek against Jezebelle’s scruffy nose. Quinn would come out here when he realized I wasn’t at the party. He’d know I had followed his instructions even if he originally planned to walk me out here himself.

I backed away from Jezebelle and paced the hall again. The shelf where Quinn placed the wine bottle with that other girl six years ago was as it had always been. Empty and waiting.

A few bits of straw strayed from the stalls here and there, and I absentmindedly kicked them back under the doors.

After another few minutes, I wondered if I should go back to the party. Maybe Quinn had seen me dance with Bennett and thought I left with him.

God.

I rushed to the stable door and peered out into the night. I could barely see the wall, much less beyond it.

What should I do?

I could climb the wall again. See what was happening.

I bent to slip off my shoes to walk out and do just that when I heard a sound at the opposite end of the barn.

My lungs drew in a long sigh. Surely it was Quinn. He had figured it out.

My heels clicked on the floor as I headed his way. The corridor wasn’t particularly bright, softly illuminated for night. One narrow swath of light came from the partially open door of the feed room, which was one of the other entrances to the building.

A pair of black wingtips gleamed in that sharp triangle of light. And the cuffs of the sharp black tux. I spotted the bottle of wine and the glasses and smiled.

But when the rest of him emerged from the darkness, it wasn’t Quinn.

It was Bennett.

I took a step back. “What are you doing here?” My heart hammered.

“I wanted to apologize for frightening you off from our dance.” He seemed to realize I was spooked because he didn’t come any closer. “I have been accused of being too intense. I am sorry.”

My shoulders relaxed. “
Black Swan
is an emotional piece.”

“That it is.” Bennett set one of the glasses on the shelf and poured a hefty amount of wine into the other.
 

Maybe I had overreacted out there. Probably to Bennett it was just a dance. I was the one all freaked out.

Bennett held the glass out to me.

“Oh, I don’t know,” I said. “I’m on a pretty strict regimen.”

“I can respect that,” Bennett said. He held the glass up to the light. “It’s a good one, though, not from the party. My father was saving it for a big achievement that never came. He said it was his lucky bottle.”

I moved closer to peer at it. “And you opened it tonight?”

“I did.” He took a sip and let out a long sigh. “Now that was definitely worth waiting for.” He turned the label to show me. “Twenty-four years old. Just like you, I believe.”