Match Pointe Read online

  Published by Amélie S. Duncan

  Copyright © Amélie S. Duncan, 2017

  [email protected]

  Cover Design by Sommer Stein and Perfect Pear Creative

  Main cover model image licensed from (and copyright remains with) Wander Aguiar Photography

  Editing: C. Marie

  Proofreading: Emily A. Lawrence, Lawrence Editing

  Final Proofreading: Kim Ginsberg

  Ebook Formatting Design: Champagne Book Design

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means or stored in a database or retrieval system without the prior permission of the author or publisher. This book is a work of fiction. Any references to real people or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All books, songs, song titles, mentioned in the novel MATCH POINTE are the property of the respective songwriters and copyright holders.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  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

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  A QUICK DASH THROUGH THE rain and I was at the New York City Ballet door. I headed straight over to the cabinet where I stored my extra sets of leotards and my not-so-worn pair of backup shoes to put on. It wasn’t unusual to do so with this being my second home, where I spent nine-hour days, six days a week. It would be even longer when evening performances started in a few months’ time.

  “Scarlet, what are you doing here?” Zoey appeared next to me with a sly grin on her face. She was already dressed in a black leotard and white tights, and her brown hair was smoothed back in a perfect, tight chignon. As for seeing me there, she wasn’t serious. It was common for some of us to come in on our days off—and at times be chased off by Christophe, our instructor extraordinaire.

  “I’m just here to participate in the warm-up and to hear the announcement,” I said as I wrapped painter’s tape around my toes. My light brown curls had frizzed from the summer’s humidity and the dampness of the rain. I picked up my hairbrush next to fix it.

  “That’s not the only thing going on in the Forsythe studio this morning,” Yasmine said as she brushed past us. She didn’t elaborate out of sheer bitchiness—as per usual—but that was one of the reasons I was there: the announcement of the collaboration between the New York Ballet and the New York Football Club. The hot soccer players were coming in that day too, including Tyler Wilson, my biggest crush.

  “That handsome one with the shaved head, Lance—he’s married.” I overheard one of the corps members giving a report on the men who were there. “The faux-hawked one, Javier, and Ace with the braids are still single. Don’t bother with Tyler. He’s the one with the dark hair and stupid grin. He’s an asshole.”

  I touched Zoey’s arm to calm her down and to try to get her to let it go, but she wasn’t going to ignore the insult. Zoey didn’t deny his reputation, though sometimes it made her uncomfortable. Tyler was photographed in gossip magazines with different women in clubs all over town and had someone different on his arm for each of the events he was invited to due to his celebrity sports star status.

  “His grin wasn’t stupid when you slept with him,” Zoey yelled out.

  “Sleeping wasn’t their problem, or so I hear.” Yasmine snickered as she twisted up her long blond hair.

  “It wasn’t the sex.” One of the newer dancers came around the lockers with her arms folded and glared. “It was his attitude afterward, like I was in his way or something.”

  This was also a well-known fact about Tyler. After sex, he was quick to make an exit. There was no doubt he could have been more tactful, but the women did go in knowing he wasn’t Prince Charming.

  “I don’t care,” Zoey said, her voice elevating. “Don’t talk bad about my brother. You knew going in, you were warned—and that goes for all of you who are in their class. If you can’t handle being dumped, don’t chase after them.”

  We’d all been warned before they selected members of the ballet to participate: no fraternizing with the team, since we were partnering in a client relationship. The punishment for doing so would not only be removal from the performance, we risked possible suspension from future performances too.

  I closed the cabinet. I wasn’t in the joint program with the team and didn’t need the warning about sex. I was still a virgin, and my reason for not having sex wasn’t because I was holding out for “the one.” With the long days and brief chances for dates outside of my small circle, I didn’t have time for dating. The dates I’d been on never went anywhere because we didn’t share a spark. Truthfully, there was no one I found I wanted, except for Tyler, and that was more of a fantasy. The real Tyler didn’t see me, at least not the way I wanted him to. Still, I had come that day because I wanted Christophe to consider including me in the program. I’d seen him change his mind twice in the five years I’d known him, and maybe I’d make lucky number three.

  I walked into the ballet studio. Forsythe was one of the smaller studios, but was still quite spacious with the usual setup of smooth laminated floors, three walls of mirrors, stationary and portable barres, and rows of windows we’d watch grow dark over the course of the day if it wasn’t the height of summer. It was all so familiar that it didn’t hold my attention, unlike seeing the soccer players. Even then, there was only one who not only caught my focus but rapidly absorbed it: Tyler Wilson. I held my breath. He stood over six feet in height, his muscles evident through the tight T-shirt he had on. His thick dark brown hair fell in unruly waves over his forehead, and his square jaw and long thin nose with a little bump at the ridge where he’d broken it during one of his games only added to his ruggedly handsome self.

  Out of habit, I took a spot close to the front, near where he and his teammates were waiting next to our pianist—not that he noticed me. The guys were busy eyeing Yasmine, who was doing some particularly flexible lifts of her leg on the barre. I had just started warming up my feet and ankles when his honey brown eyes made their way over to me, a mischievous grin on his full lips.

  He started to tease me like he always did. “Princess—”

  “Do not dare finish that, Tyler.” Zoey’s voice rose, cutting him off.

  I couldn’t stop the heat from rising to my face. My chin stuck out. “Scarlet is fine.”

  “That’s right, and nothing else,” Zoey said sharply.

  “Sorry, Scarlet.” His chin dipped and he gave me a wink, setting off a bunch of butterflies in my stomach. He looked adorable in his remorse. Damn, did I have it bad when it came to him.

  Luckily Christophe opened the door a moment later, and as with any of his entrances, silence settled over the group within seconds. He was in his usual black shirt and dress trousers, his gray and blond hair slicked back from his smooth face—surprisingly smooth, perhaps helped by a lift? The jury was still out on that one. He was followed by an ol
der man in a suit with a whistle around his neck, just in case we weren’t sure he was their coach. They joined the soccer players, all of them in various athletic wear, all attractive, but I couldn’t get past Tyler. When my gaze sought him out again, I found him looking directly at me. Breathe.

  “We welcome Coach Frost and his selected New York F.C. team members, Javier, Lance, Erik, Ace, and Tyler,” Christophe said in introduction as his eyes moved over the company. Once they reached me, they stopped, and the corners of his mouth turned slightly down. It was enough to make me flinch—no dancer ever wanted to be on his bad side.

  “The team will be joining us for the Crane Arts Foundation sponsored joint training program, which will include a dinner charity performance at the foundation’s annual arts night benefitting children’s art and literacy programs and the ballet. We will be performing a scene from Le Parc for the charity event.”

  An enthusiastic murmur erupted along with applause. They were all celebratory and I joined in, even though it hurt me deeply that I hadn’t been chosen. As dancers, we were always excited about performing, and Le Parc was particularly unique. It was a passionate, sexually charged, sensual tale. I could imagine being in it would have expanded my range and taken me well beyond my comfort zone. I was happy for them, but couldn’t help but wonder why I hadn’t been chosen.

  “On behalf of the New York F.C. and our teammates, we are honored to be part of this training and program,” Coach Frost said. “If you’d all excuse me, I have some business to attend to. Now please don’t work them too hard today, they have a game tomorrow.”

  Christophe shook hands with Coach Frost, and one of the assistants escorted him out. Meanwhile, Christophe positioned the team along the barres that ran along the walls of the studio.

  “We will start with a demonstration of how we warm up,” he continued, and I was relieved he placed Tyler out of my direct sight.

  “This will differ from what you’re used to, gentlemen, but believe me, by the time you leave later this morning, you’ll be well worked.”

  Snickers could be heard from a few of the players, which Christophe ignored. He took his place and we all stood at arm’s length from the barre, facing him.

  “Now, since Scarlet couldn’t follow orders and came in on her day off, we’ll put her to use to lead the demonstration.”

  His words may have sounded harsh to some, but to be singled out for anything by Christophe was a treat. Right away I pushed my thoughts to the back of my mind so I could focus solely on the warm-up. Normally, I did the exercises without thought. They were like breathing. This time, I was trying my best to steady the pulse hammering in my chest and to breathe without gasping while Tyler was right there watching me.

  “First position,” he instructed.

  I immediately went to work, standing tall, shoulders back, stomach muscles in, my legs and the heels of my feet together, facing outward. Everything faded around me as I focused on the movement.

  “Plie.” Lightly gripping the barre, I bent down, my thigh muscles forming a perfect line, the grand sweep of my arm in a perfect curve. My display hadn’t caused Christophe to correct me.

  He moved on to have me demonstrate the single leg lifts, bridging, and the middle split stretch, which had me on the floor with my legs wide, stretching my arms over them. He ended by having me pirouette en pointe, my spin right at the top of my toes. My backup shoes weren’t as broken in, but I rose above the pain and moved as close to precision as possible.

  He gave me a nod, signaling for my return to the barre. Once I got to my place, I couldn’t help but look at Tyler. I didn’t have time to think about the look he gave me, but it did cause a flutter in my chest.

  “Attention, everyone,” Christophe said to the class, though he was peering at me. “First position.”

  Once class started, I went into my dance. Christophe chose a couple of other dancers for demonstrations, and he walked among us, correcting and perfecting until he finally announced the class was over. A few groans from the men exiting had us all amused as we went to collect our things.

  I didn’t rush as I knew Christophe wasn’t finished with me.

  “Scarlet, come.” He motioned.

  I went over to where he stood with his arms crossed, his disappointment coming over me in waves.

  “We give days off for a reason,” he admonished. “Our bodies need the rest.”

  I lowered my head. “Apologies.”

  “It can’t happen again,” he said. “I don’t want you in any of my other classes or anyone else’s classes on your days off. This is part of being a disciplined dancer. This is the path to longevity. This is the makings of getting the extremely rare opportunity of being a principal in our company.”

  I swallowed hard. “I’m sorry. I’ll go home. I just wanted to be…” I hated to disappoint Christophe. Becoming a principal was what I had been working toward for most of my life, and though rare to achieve, it would be a dream come true.

  He placed his hands on my shoulders. “I know you are disappointed that I chose not to include you in this program and performance. Yes, I believe in your dance. You have potential, but I honestly do not believe you could perform Le Parc. You have been chosen for Sugar Plum Fairy.”

  I nodded. “Yes, and I’m honored to be chosen for it and thankful for all the opportunities given to me. That said, I know I could perform Le Parc too, if given the chance.”

  “You are a natural, precise, and with hard work, you have the possibility of being one of the greats. However, you’re innocent and timid,” he said. “Le Parc is pure eroticism. One day, perhaps, but not as you are now.”

  “It’s acting,” I insisted. “I’m in the acting and expression classes. I can even add in more training on my day off. I swear I can do it. Just give me the chance.”

  He firmly touched the center of my chest. “This performance demands more. It comes from a place deep inside, and it is a well untested for you. Now, I did like having you in the class today as a demonstrator.”

  I blanked my face, though my heartbeat picked up. He could use anyone to do that.

  “I may consider—”

  “Sorry to interrupt,” Tyler said as he opened the door. My pulse quickened. “I think I left my phone in here.”

  I tried hard to remain still. Christophe and I both went quiet and Tyler moved to pick up his phone, a nice shot of his perfect butt on full display.

  “Tyler, actually, I would like to borrow you for a little demo with Scarlet,” Christophe said.

  Tyler gave him a look like he’d been given detention in class, but he came over anyway. My heart now hammered hard in my chest.

  “I would like for you to try this combination with Scarlet. It’s from one of the dances I’m choreographing for our version of Le Parc. Show me what you can do, Scarlet, and I will consider you for the ensemble.”

  “Now?” I gulped.

  That was the way it was, working with Christophe. He expected his dancers to perform on command. He called over to Irena to demonstrate the dance he wanted from us. They started with him looking at her, and I instantly felt the emotion and intensity of his desire for her. She mirrored him, her hands sliding up his shoulders to circle his neck, his hands wrapping around her, pulling her close to the point where she molded to the front contours of his body. She then arched her back and slid down until she lay on the floor at his feet. Their performance was raw, passionate—and, to my horror, it was what he wanted me to do with Tyler right then.

  “Gaze into his eyes like you want him,” Christophe instructed, like he was simply ordering a cup of coffee.

  Never had I dared a lingering gaze at Tyler, but now I had to meet his eyes. When I did, I found they were deep chocolate with honey around the irises, giving off a warm invitation that made me want to melt into them. They were beautiful.

  “Come on, Scarlet. You look startled, not like his lover,” Christophe reproved.

  “Yeah, be my lover, Princess,” Tyler
said. He had his usual humorous expression, completely oblivious to the turmoil raging inside me at just the thought. I couldn’t stop from blinking like I had something in my eye. I inhaled sharply and took in his aftershave, which smelled heavenly. I tried over and over again to bring out the feelings I had hidden, but right in front of Tyler, I couldn’t. Christophe had had enough, so he moved us on.

  “Try the lift into his arms and slide down the front of his body, like I showed you.”

  Tyler placed his hands on my waist and I trembled. If that wasn’t bad enough, I awkwardly wrapped my arms around his broad shoulders and slid, feeling every ridge and plane of the muscles on his chest as I moved my erect nipples down the front of his body. This was insane and freaking hot as hell too. From the feel of the bulge in his pants, Tyler wasn’t unaffected. I had done hundreds of lifts over the years, but none had ever thrown me off my performance before. Being all over Tyler wasn’t something I was used to. My breath came faster and my face burned once I was on the ground at his feet. It was all over in seconds, though it had felt like years. It was as if I’d forgotten all my training. God, could this be any more embarrassing?

  “Thank you, Tyler,” Christophe said, politely dismissing him.

  I peered at Tyler to find he was now looking at me like I’d grown an extra head, and damn was he lightning fast, grabbing his stuff and rushing out of the studio, no doubt desperate to get away from me and my unexpected, uncontrollable response to rubbing against him while being critiqued in front of Christophe. It was a nightmare.

  “I think you have seen today why I came to my decision. Have sex. Fall in love. Get in trouble. Live and dance,” Christophe said. Before he could finish speaking, the door opened and revealed one of the assistants.

  “The door is closed—that means no interruptions,” he yelled.

  “Apologies,” she said quickly. “It’s the Beaumonts. They insist on speaking to you directly. Scarlet, your mom is here.”

  I winced. Another one of my ma’s “errands.”

  Christophe snorted and flicked his hand toward the door. “Off you go.”