The Romance Dance: Castle Ridge Small Town Romance
The Romance Dance
A Castle Ridge Small Town Romance
Book 1
by
ALLIE BURTON
A slow sashay to desire.
After being abandoned by his fiancée and his fans because of a disfiguring accident, former classical pianist Reed O’Donnell returns home to hide. He’s pieced his life back together becoming a landlord and remodel construction specialist, but shies away from a social life.
Ex-ballerina Quinn Petrov moved to Castle Ridge and invested her money to start a dance studio with plans to put down roots. She wants to get involved in the community to promote her business and make real friends, not the acquaintances she’d made in New York. When she meets her secretive and sexy landlord, she’s intrigued but he always seems to be hiding behind a mask.
Reed can’t stop the attraction he feels toward his new tenant, but she’s beautiful and outgoing, while he is not. When his younger brother begs him to help impress Quinn, Reed can’t say no. Using the musical language of love, he woos Quinn for his brother, but when his own mask slips will he reveal his secrets?
In this modern take of Cyrano de Bergerac meets Beauty and the Beast, Quinn and Reed dance their way into each other’s hearts.
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Allie Burton
Other Books in Castle Ridge Series
Where small town love takes you higher.
The Christmas Match
The Flirtation Game
THE ROMANCE DANCE
A Castle Ridge Small Town Romance Book 1
Copyright © 2016 by Alice Fairbanks-Burton
All Rights Reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced, downloaded, transmitted, decompiled, reverse engineered, stored in or introduced to any information storage and retrieval system in any form, whether electronic or mechanical without the author’s written permission. Scanning, uploading or distribution of this book via the Internet or any other means without permission is prohibited.
Please purchase only authorized electronic versions, and do not participate in, or encourage pirated electronic versions.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Table of Contents
About THE ROMANCE DANCE
Dear Reader
Copyright
THE ROMANCE DANCE
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Excerpt from THE CHRISTMAS MATCH
Excerpt from THE FLIRTATION GAME
Excerpt from ATLANTIS RIPTIDE
Excerpt from SOUL SLAM
Other Books by Allie Burton
Acknowledgements
About the Author
The Romance Dance
A Castle Ridge Small Town Romance
Book 1
by
ALLIE BURTON
Chapter One
Reed O’Donnell’s nemesis stood in the center of the room. His stomach clenched and every muscle and tendon in his body tightened, fighting off nausea and anxiety. “What the hell are you doing here?” Muttering to himself, Reed’s voice quivered similar to a tenor carrying a final long note.
Without being aware, his feet shifted over the recently-sanded wooden floor, sidling toward his enemy as if being called by a siren’s song. Even covered by a white tarp the shape was recognizable. His shaking limbs moved slowly—his brain fighting his body’s desire.
“I knew there’d be dancing, but you?” His lungs shrunk and he couldn’t breathe.
Since he’d be moving out of one of the apartments above the rented space, he believed he could put up with the torture of canned music from the new dance studio for a few weeks.
“What have I agreed to?” The annoying, taunting, tinkling sounds struck in his head like an old mistress, summoning him to return to the relationship. A relationship he’d cut ties to after the accident.
It must’ve come during his lunch break. An unexpected and unwanted arrival.
The concrete mound in his chest worked its way up his throat. He moved closer, narrowing his gaze at the enemy. The thing that had made his world and brought him down in a crash so ugly and destructive Reed was lucky to have survived.
He grazed his hand over the tarp, feeling the sharp angles underneath. The familiar object sent a cold shiver skittering across his skin. Glancing around, he checked to make sure no one was watching. Even though the new tenant had recently moved in, he hadn’t met the dance studio owner yet.
It wouldn’t hurt to take a peek. To face his enemy for the first time in years.
The crinkle-crinkle of the tarp lifting off the object sent his pulse racing. He took a step back.
The glare from the baby grand piano with its polished wood and shiny foot pedals afflicted his eyes. The richness of the antique surface placed the piano from the early 1900s. Old, or as some people would say, an antique. The question of whether the instrument sounded lyrical and pitch-perfect would be in the piano’s inner workings. His trained ear could recognize the slightest bit out of tune. Not that he wanted to hear this piano. Or any piano.
He wanted nothing to do with anything or anyone associated with music.
As if a game show theme song ticked in his mind, curiosity and temptation had his fingers lifting the lid off the keys. An old habit, he placed his fingers in position. His hands no longer looked slim and manicured. Scars lined his palm and fingers, and calluses roughened his thumb. These hands, his hands, didn’t belong to a concert pianist anymore, to a composer and lyricist. They belonged to an accident victim and a construction worker.
The horror of the accident returned. Pain struck through his head. He fisted his hands, fighting to regain his equilibrium. It had taken years, but he’d turned himself around and landed on his feet. He’d walked again. He’d found his place in this new life.
Pressing his index and middle finge
rs and holding down a couple of keys, the harsh mingling of notes carried from his fingertips to scrape along his spine. The muscles in his neck tightened, and he trembled. He yanked his finger away, as if he’d been scorched.
An image of his last concert flickered in his head. His adoring audiences, his clamoring fans, his fiancée’s final kiss.
The shivers changed into quakes, rocking his body and his world. The rocking rushed through him, roasting his anger and his loss. Horrifying images flashed through his head, causing more agony and more anger. Images he didn’t want to remember.
This instrument had destroyed him.
A crescendo of grief and anger and guilt crushed together—an acciaccatura of notes taking no space in time, and yet all the space in his chest. His lungs expanded with pain. Pain of knowing these fatal emotions were his own fault. Every muscle in his body wound tight—a wind-up toy ready to let loose. If only he hadn’t…
He kicked the piano.
A loud bang echoed through the dance studio, followed by a discordant tone of the keys knocking together.
“Stop! What are you doing?” The shriek broke through his trance.
Reed wheeled around. A beautiful woman poised on the edge of the dance floor. Her beauty hit him like a percussion section, even with her narrowed, icy-blue eyes and scowl.
“That’s an antique piano.” Her long, tall, graceful frame sashayed forward. A dancer. Black tights under a swaying skirt moved back and forth with her hips. A light-pink sweater tied around her tiny waist emphasized her slender, straight shoulders. Her blonde hair pinned in a tight bun on her head, not a strand out of place. Anger and some other emotion made her skin glow and her gaze light with a royal blue. “Musical instruments should be treated with respect.”
Just like people.
His heart squeezed and a burning sensation pricked his eyes. Kicking the piano had been wrong, but he’d done much worse.
She bent to inspect the spot where his foot had landed giving him a view of her nice backside. Two nice round mounds a man would love to—
He yanked his gaze away. He wasn’t interested. Not now. Not ever. The attraction was as unwelcome as the piano. “What is it doing here?”
She stood tall and straight. Her shoulders pulled back and the glower on her beautiful face was sharp enough to cut. “The piano is for my dance studio.”
A brick dropped in his gut. He was told the tenant was a retired ballet dancer. He’d expected a gray-haired woman with skin hanging from her thin frame. Not this toned and tall goddess. “You’re Quinn Petrov?”
Reed hadn’t wanted the dance studio in his building, fearful he’d hear the music in his apartment upstairs. But turning down the fully-paid lease didn’t make sense, when he’d be moving into his own house when he got far enough in the renovations. Plus, the dancer had been pushy and determined with his leasing agent. He figured while he lived above the dance studio he’d work on other jobs during the day and only return to his apartment at night.
“Yes.” The dancer ran a slender finger across the lid. Her expression appeared sad and sentimental, reminding him of an old love song. “This piano is special. Please don’t touch, or kick, it again.”
“Sorry. I won’t go near the piano. Ever.” He spoke with finality. Once he finished the studio construction, he wouldn’t come near the downstairs floor of this building again. His leasing agent could take care of the details.
Her soft, pink-petal lips lifted into a grin. “What did the piano ever do to you?”
He hadn’t expected a friendly tease. If only she knew what the piano had done. Knew who he used to be. And how the piano had changed his life for the better, and then for the worse.
“Are you one of the construction workers getting my dance studio ready?” She had a clipped New York accent. The one saying she was above him.
He remembered the accent from his years living in the city. New Yorkers found it hard to believe a man from the backwoods of Colorado could become a successful professional pianist and composer. They’d peered down their snooty noses at him, which had caused him to bury himself into the music even more. To work harder and become more successful. So, when he’d lost the music it had been devastating.
The dancer had paid cash for the lease deposit, and for remodeling the main floor of the old Victorian house on Main Street of Castle Ridge. Ballerinas had to make a decent salary, for her to suck this much cash into a new venture.
He’d struggled after the accident to pay his medical bills and find a new career for himself. A career where he wouldn’t have much contact with women. A career far removed from the music industry.
Grumbling inside and knowing he should be polite, he shoved out his ugly, scarred hand. “Reed O’Donnell. Remodeler and your landlord.”
* * *
Quinn Petrov sucked in a chilly breath, the air cold from the unwelcoming greeting. Her landlord was surly and sexy. Animal magnetism. She rarely encountered that kind of man in the world of ballet.
Instant attraction blasted her in a wave of heat. The exact opposite of his reception.
A big guy with a rough exterior. Hard, callused hands and a sucky attitude. His curly, messy, black hair appeared not to have been cut in months. Unkempt facial hair, as if he’d been living in the mountains, not in town. Brawny and bad tempered. Not a good combination.
His bulk reminded her of her grandfather, the one who’d lived in Castle Ridge, who’d hated this piano, too. He’d loved her and her grandmother, though. Her grandfather might’ve been a rough and tumble guy, but he was a softie underneath.
Unlike Reed O’Donnell. He was hard everything and everywhere.
Hard hands. Hard face. Hard body.
The name tickled a memory. She stretched to the tips of her toes, trying to grab the thought. The only thought pounding through her head was she’d planned to make nice with her landlord of both the dance studio and the apartment she rented above, because while they had a signed contract, she was short on funds.
Her possessions were minimal, as well. She’d moved into the apartment last night with only a few suitcases. Her pulse tapped out a quick two-step. She couldn’t wait to come down to see how her studio was progressing early this morning. And she’d been impressed.
Smooth and shiny wood floors across the entire dance area. Floor-to-ceiling mirrors on the long wall, and the shorter, back wall. The bars to be attached to the wall sat on the floor next to the portable bars she could move into any position. A reception area needing carpet and paint. And a curved counter for her to welcome students and keep her computer and files was almost finished.
“I expected somebody older.” His velvety-deep voice brought her attention to him.
She studied his emerald-green eyes. Eyes she bet could smolder with passion. Her attraction at first sight shocked, rooted her in place. She didn’t fall into lust. “Why older?”
“It said on your application you were retired. You’re too young to be retired.” The man was handsome and logical. Again, similar to her grandfather.
“In professional ballet, twenty-five is old.” And she’d survived to the ripe old age of twenty-eight.
In silence, he scrutinized her, as if she was an enemy combatant. Her stomach twisted and jetéd. What was he trying to find? Besides her tenuous financial situation, she was an open book.
“I need to get back to work.” He tugged the tight, white T-shirt over well-worn jeans. Shuffling toward the exit, he dragged his right leg.
“Did you hurt yourself?” She understood physical pain. Ballet looked graceful; in reality, your body was tortured to get into certain positions.
He swiveled and scowled. “What?”
“When you kicked the piano, did you hurt yourself?” She shouldn’t feel sorry for him; he’d kicked one of the few things she had left of her grandmother.
“No.” His harsh, unyielding tone was a big stop sign.
For her.
He didn’t stop. Just dragged his leg and his
ass out of the room.
Absently, she trailed her fingers over the piano keys. She didn’t press hard enough to make a sound. She’d learned the basics of playing piano from her grandmother. Only too soon, her mom had dragged her off to New York and a prestigious ballet school. Once enrolled, Quinn didn’t have time to play an instrument.
She swayed with melancholy. The piano was one of the few precious things she’d retrieved before putting her grandparents’ house on the market. With no place else to put the instrument she’d requested it be moved to the dance studio. No one had probably touched the piano in years, not since her grandmother had died. No one had probably ever kicked it, either.
What was Reed O’Donnell’s problem? She’d heard from the leasing agent he hadn’t wanted to lease to her. The man must have a problem with music and dancing. She didn’t remember Castle Ridge being so exclusive. Growing up, Quinn would visit her grandparents for school vacations. She’d loved the quaintness and friendliness of the town. A perfect place to put down roots and find a community. That’s what she yearned to find.