Little Dancer Read online

  Little Dancer

  By Brianna Hale

  Twenty-year-old dancer Abby Williams has only ever felt truly herself while she’s onstage. It’s the one place she gets the firm direction and focused attention she craves to keep her whimsical thoughts in order. Offstage she feels out of place, forced to give up her girlish treasures and bombarded at every turn with adult responsibilities. But one missed dance cue in front of the intimidating theater director could take all this away.

  Summoned to Rufus Kingsolver’s office, Abby is terrified the darkly handsome, commanding man is about to end her dream. But Rufus has other ideas. He wants to be her Dom. He wants her to call him Daddy.

  Abby is shocked, but the spark of curiosity and taboo desire have her wanting more. Under Rufus’s firm hand, they explore the erotic depths of their unconventional, yet beautiful, relationship. Abby is falling deeper in love with Rufus and the Little/Dom lifestyle, but it’s not long before she comes face-to-face with her darkest fear—judgment from the outside world.

  Daddy knows best, but what if, this once, he can’t protect her?

  This book is approximately 40,000 words

  One-click with confidence. This title is part of the Carina Press Romance Promise: all the romance you’re looking for with an HEA/HFN. It’s a promise! Find out more at CarinaPress.com/RomancePromise

  Carina Press acknowledges the editorial services of Alissa Davis

  Dear Reader,

  It’s hard to write about April when it’s the day before New Year’s Eve as I’m writing this. I’m still full of good intentions and big plans for 2017, with my head full of ideas and goals. One thing I’m excited about is my new 2017 reading journal that I’ve created in a 4x6 planner I was gifted. I decided to try tracking my reading a little differently this year and go old-school tracking it on paper versus electronically. I’ve completely decorated it and tricked it out with a reading challenge, TBR lists and so much more. I wonder if I’ll still be using it when you’re reading this! Hit me up on Twitter or Instagram (links at the bottom of this letter) and ask me how that’s going—I’ll show you pictures, too, if you want!

  This April, there are plenty of good reads to go in your own reading journal, starting with bestselling author duo Alexa Riley’s next full-length novel, His Alone, which features secondary characters from reader-favorite Everything for Her. A seemingly perfect hero has secrets only Paige can uncover, and his obsession with her becomes her greatest weakness. This sexy, romantic read is available in ebook, audio and print!

  Rhenna Morgan’s first book in the Haven Brotherhood series, Rough & Tumble, received many reviews like this one: “Holy Hell what a great book this is! My first read from Rhenna Morgan and won’t be the last.” And now it’s time for Zeke’s story in Wild & Sweet. He doesn’t always play by the rules, and he’ll do anything for the woman he loves. Available in digital, audio and print at online retailers.

  We have four fantastic male/male contemporary romance titles this month. Author K.A. Mitchell concludes the sweet but sexy story of Ethan & Wyatt in Relationship Status. As a couple, Ethan and Wyatt have faced jealous exes and disapproving parents, but now they face one of the scariest relationship tests ever: living together. Unfortunately, there’s no syllabus for real life. The first two novellas in this trilogy, Getting Him Back and Boyfriend Material, are now available. You can also buy the trilogy as one bundle in audio and print formats in June 2017.

  Sidney Bell, author of Bad Judgment, begins a new series, The Woodbury Boys. In Loose Cannon, Edgar-Allen Church’s violent past is about to catch up with him, and it’s going to put his best friend—aka the man he’s secretly in love with—squarely in the crosshairs.

  When a hard-nosed SEAL lieutenant and widower relies on his best friend’s little brother for child-care help, unexpected sparks fly—but will passion be enough to keep them together after the summer? Pick up At Attention by Annabeth Albert, the follow-up to the book readers raved about, Off Base. Both are available in digital and print at online retailers.

  For fans of romance author Mariana Zapata comes a long-lasting male/male tale of slow-burn romance from debut author M.K. York. In the high-intensity hospital world, there’s no room for romance between surgical resident Neil and his gorgeous superior, cardiologist Eli, but when a near-tragedy strikes, a new question arises: Is a life without love a greater risk than laying their hearts on the line? Necessary Medicine will captivate you from first word to last.

  Science fiction romance fans will be glad to see the start of a new series from Robyn Bachar. In Relaunch Mission, the first in The Galactic Cold War series, Privateer Captain Lindana Nyota faces her most dangerous mission yet, but to succeed she must rely on the one agent in the galaxy she trusts the least—Lieutenant Gabriel Steele, the man who betrayed her and broke her heart. This is a stand-alone romance, but look for the next book featuring secondary characters later in the year!

  Maybe you’re craving something a little more kinky and erotic. Debut author Brianna Hale’s Little Dancer can help with that. Abby thought attracting the ire of the theater owner was going to get her fired, but Mr. Kingsolver has other ideas—he wants to be her dom, wants her to call him daddy and will bring her face-to-face with her darkest fears.

  Last but not least is the rerelease of paranormal romance Bonded Pair from award-winning author Lauren Dane’s much beloved Cascadia Wolves series. Cade would do anything for his pack family, but his life isn’t complete without someone to share it with—only, he didn’t expect to find his reason for being in the heart and soul of the sister of his greatest enemy. Previously rereleased titles in this series include Wolves’ Triad, Wolf Unbound and Alpha’s Challenge, all now available in digital and print at online retailers.

  That’s all for this month, but we’ve given you quite the lineup of romance genres for your April reading! If you’re interested in hearing more about my 2017 reading journal (now I’ll feel like I have to keep it up so I don’t embarrass myself!) you can Tweet me @angelajames or find me on Instagram @angelajameseditor.

  Coming next month: two anthologies of paranormal romance, plus much, much more.

  Once again, until next month, my fellow book lovers, here’s wishing you a wonderful month of books you’ll love, remember and recommend.

  Happy reading!

  Angela James

  Executive Editor, Carina Press

  Dedication

  For my own Rufus, who gives me

  a place to write

  time

  tea and

  endless love and support

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Coming Soon from Brianna Hale

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  “Who was it? Who was the girl that missed her cue?”

  His thunderous face glares around the room, and I shrink back against the wall. The girls on either side of me inch away as if my guilt is catching. We are all terrified of Rufus Kingsolver.

  It was me. I’m the girl who miss
ed her cue earlier, and then during the final number I pirouetted half a second too late. Now I’m going to feel the excoriating wrath of the theater owner.

  Let me just die now, please, I beg silently.

  Out of the corner of my eye I see Mr. Kingsolver searching the face of every dancer in the room. He doesn’t know our names, but why would he? We’re only the chorus, and if he wants us for anything he just says you, and points.

  I should step forward and raise my hand, admitting my mistake like the grown-up I am supposed to be, but I can’t. When I’m in trouble it’s like I’m a little girl again, stammering and blushing and feeling like I’m going to vomit. I feel guilty even when I haven’t done anything wrong, like when Jaime’s leg warmers were stolen. As soon as I heard her yelling in the dressing room I could feel the guilt shining out of my face like a lighthouse beacon, even though I hadn’t touched them.

  I hear the word I dread.

  “You.”

  Blood roars in my ears. I can feel everyone looking at me. I’ve got my eyes fixed on my fingers, which are twisted into a snarl.

  “Look at me when I’m talking to you,” Mr. Kingsolver demands.

  I flinch, then drag my eyes upwards. They start at his shoes. Large black leather shoes, polished to a dull sheen. Long legs in black trousers. A wide black belt with a silver buckle. A broad chest in a blue shirt.

  He’s young, surprisingly young to own a big theater in the West End. The other dancers and I have guessed his age at twenty-six or twenty-seven, which is only six or so years older than I am. His presence and manner make him seem much older.

  When I don’t answer, he raises his eyebrows as if to say, Well? I’m waiting. His eyes frighten me the most. They’re hard and blue, the same crisp shade as his skirt. I feel like I’m going to burn up from their intensity.

  No one moves. I’m holding my breath. I can’t be fired from this job. I can’t. It’s the one thing I have that’s mine. I exist only in the orbit of this theater. When I’m here, my legs clad in nylons, applying my stage makeup, I’m happy. When I’m onstage, and all there is, is the music and the sweet burn of exertion and the glare of the hot lights, I’m me. My parents don’t understand that. No one does, except maybe some of the other dancers. Though, they have other things. Boyfriends. Nightclubs. University. When I leave the theater I’m nothing, just another girl on hard cobbled streets and the underheated train, and I count the minutes until I can come back to myself here once more. This is it for me. This is all I’m allowed to have.

  Mr. Kingsolver speaks in a low growl. “Make one more mistake,” he says, holding up a forefinger, “and you’re fired.”

  If I look away it will only make him angrier. I force myself to look at him even as he grows blurry in my vision from tears.

  He turns to the director at the front of the room. Gregory might hire us, direct us and be our real boss, but everyone has to defer to Mr. Kingsolver in his theater. Ten minutes ago, when I got offstage, Gregory took me aside privately and pointed out my mistakes, telling me I need to do better. Even one mistake is too many when there are hundreds of people in the audience who have spent upwards of eighty pounds to see one of the most popular musicals in London. I understand, but I also want to defend myself and say, It’s not like me. I’m a good dancer, you know that.

  “For god’s sake, Gregory, give your dancers some discipline.” Then Mr. Kingsolver slams out of the room again.

  Gregory closes his leather-bound notebook, looking out over a sea of cowed heads. My gaze drops to the floor and I can breathe again, but they are short, painful breaths.

  “All right.” Gregory sighs, as if he’s had a long day. “There aren’t any more notes this evening. I’ll see you all at five tomorrow.”

  The twenty chorus dancers and I file slowly out of the room. I feel a few hands on my shoulders and whispered commiserations, but my head hangs low.

  Before I get to the door I glance at Gregory. His mouth is a thin, rueful line, and he turns away when he sees me looking. I’ll get no reassurance from him. If Mr. Kingsolver fires me, there’s nothing he’ll be able to do.

  I’m one of the last of the company to leave the theater after I’ve taken my makeup off and changed into my street clothes. At a quarter past ten I step out into the chilly air. It’s technically spring but winter hasn’t yet released its icy grip, so I huddle into my fluffy pink jumper and white jacket as I walk south toward Charing Cross station. The theatergoers are still on the streets, queuing outside restaurants for a late supper or heading to a bar for a nightcap.

  The tears start to burn my eyelids as I board the train. It’s always hard, leaving the lights and tumult of the theater behind, but tonight it’s especially distressing. I lean my head against the glass and watch the street lamps flicker past. I don’t care that I’m crying now, fat tears sliding down my cheeks and plopping on my collar. Feeling like I’ve disappointed someone is the worst feeling in the world.

  By the time the train pulls into my station twenty minutes later I’ve wiped my cheeks and taken a few deep breaths. If my parents think I’m upset about something they’ll start on about the theater not having “long-term job prospects,” and all the other things they like to say.

  Why can’t you act your age?

  Be sensible, Abby. Dancing isn’t a real job.

  You need to be more responsible. You’re not a little girl anymore.

  Sometimes I don’t think you live in the real world.

  When I open the front door I stand in the silent hall for a moment. The house is dark, so my parents must have gone to bed already. Upstairs I stop in the doorway to my room. It’s painted plain white and there are two rectangular pillows on the bed where there were once frills and lace and a dozen scatter cushions, and two dozen stuffed animals. The shelves have lots of empty spaces between the paperback novels.

  This is not how I want it to look. I came home to this a year ago. “There you go!” my mother said brightly, folding up the plastic drip sheets. “It was becoming too silly to have you sleeping in a pink room at your age. I’ve put away all your toys and things, too. They’re in the box room upstairs for now, but we can have a garage sale and get rid of them when the weather is finer.” Then she smiled at me like she’d done something I should be grateful for.

  I couldn’t sleep that night. It felt like I was in a cell, not my own, comforting bedroom. My room had looked the same since I was four years old. It looked like how I felt on the inside, and she’d gutted it. Even now, a year later, it still feels like sleeping in a stranger’s room.

  I leave my bag on the floor and walk quietly upstairs. The box room is uncarpeted and chilly, and I open several cartons before I find the one I want: all my stuffed animals. I begged my mother not to have a garage sale, and she has relented so far. I scoop them out in armloads and lay down on the floor with them. They are my pillows, my warmth and my comfort. I breathe in their furry softness and close my eyes.

  * * *

  “Abby. What are you doing up here?”

  I wake with a start and see daylight. My head is pillowed on Mr. Snuffles and I’ve got my arms wrapped tightly around Chubbles the rabbit. I’ve slept all night on the box room floor. As I look up at my mother my sense of safety and warmth evaporates. Her mouth is twisted with the words she’s holding back.

  “I was just, uh, looking for something. When I got home.”

  “I see.” Her voice is breathy, like she’s annoyed, and she begins scooping up all my toys and putting them back in the box. She even pulls Chubbles out of my arms.

  “Are you still in yesterday’s clothes?” she calls after me as I push past her and head downstairs. “Abby, I wish you’d take better care of yourself.”

  In the kitchen I pour a glass of strawberry milk. It’s what I have for breakfast every morning but I can still feel my father frowning a
t me over his newspaper. I glance at the front page and grimace. War. The economy. Politicians lying. I don’t know how people can bury themselves under a tide of bad news first thing in the morning.

  My mother comes in and looks hard at me. “You haven’t read the brochures yet.”

  There is a pile of glossy flyers on the table, each one stamped with a college crest. She wants me to take a course in marketing or bookkeeping. My grades in high school were decent, and I could probably get in, but taking a course in something I dislike, and then—worse—getting a job with deadlines, performance reviews and presentations? I grip my glass and force myself to breathe slowly. “I didn’t have time yesterday.”

  She purses her lips. “Will you have time today?”

  My parents want me to study so that I’ll have something “to fall back on,” as they put it. They don’t think dancing is a real job. It doesn’t seem to matter to them that dancing is something I’m good at, or that it makes me happy.

  Do the other dancers feel pressured by their parents? I should ask them, but I’ve always felt too shy to get to know the other girls.

  “Abby! I asked you a question.”

  I jump. Why can’t she let up? If I get upset I’ll make more mistakes tonight, and Mr. Kingsolver will surely be watching me like a hawk. His warning rings in my ears. “Make one more mistake and you’re fired.”

  What about all those other times I didn’t make any mistakes? What about all those times I was perfect? I’m a good dancer. I’ll be fine as soon as I can find a way to stand up to my parents. I can do it. I’ll find a way. Somehow.

  I glance at my mother, who is frowning at me across the counter, and feel myself wilt. Today is not that day.

  “Soon. I promise.”

  As I leave the kitchen I hear my mother muttering to my father about my “excuses.”

  It’s a warm, sunny morning, so after my shower I change into a baby-pink leotard and gray leggings and take my yoga mat and e-reader into the back garden. My routine takes forty-five minutes and I force myself to concentrate on the stretches and poses.