And I did.
I soared as if I’d been shot from a cannon, giving me more than enough time to do a grand jeté before turning mid-air to land safely on my back in my group’s awaiting arms. I heard the gasps of people watching from the side of the stage as I fell into the net of arms, and a smile peeled back my lips—
Only for it to freeze. I’d been caught, but I had too much energy. I’d come in so hot, that when I landed . . . I bounced.
I rebounded right out of their hold, and was falling again, only this time it was off the end of the stage. There weren’t practiced dancers to catch me now, just the back row of the orchestra pit.
Shit, shit, shit!
I pinched my eyes closed, bracing myself for the pain I wouldn’t be able to avoid.
Only instead of landing on cold, unforgiving ground, I hit something fleshy and warm. There was a thunderous crash. Music stands went flying, people gasped and scattered, but the pain I was certain was coming . . . didn’t.
Arms cradled my body, saving me.
The music petered to a stop, some orchestra members ahead of others.
My eyes flew open. All around, there were panicked faces and people shouting.
“Are you okay?” someone said.
I couldn’t answer them, because the only thing I could do was stare at the man whose lap I’d crash landed in.
He was devastatingly and utterly gorgeous.
His silver eyes focused on me, his sensual mouth quirked, and his dark eyebrows were pulled together with concern. I was pressed against his chest, and he didn’t seem to be breathing, which was interesting. I wasn’t breathing either—I’d forgotten how. The sight of him was that distracting.
It was chaos around us, but I ignored it.
There was a short, dark beard along his jaw. It accentuated the long curves of his cheekbones, and I thought about running my fingers over the grit of his whiskers. It was probably a side effect of the adrenaline, but I wanted to nibble on his sensual, full lips.
Instead, I gripped fistfuls of his shirt to pull myself upright, and Jesus fuck, the guy was ripped. His chest was a plate of muscle. Was he security? How the hell had he made it into the orchestra pit so fast?
“Are you all right?” His voice sounded strange. It had a lilt to it I couldn’t place.
“Yes,” I whispered. And no. When I tried to escape, he only tightened his hold, and the submissive in me melted. How long could I stay in his lap before it became weird?
He wasn’t convinced and gave me a skeptical look. “You sure?”
“I’m okay,” I said. “You?”
The corners of his mouth hinted at a smile. “You might have given me a startle.”
“She’s all right,” the conductor repeated, loud enough for everyone to hear. There were sighs of relief from the crowd that had gathered, and my dance troupe on stage.
I tore my gaze away from the stranger who was still holding me and surveyed the carnage around us. Folding chairs had been overturned and music stands knocked sideways in the crush to escape. A large string instrument lay on its side, its neck bent at an unnatural angle and wood splintered around it.
My voice was filled with dread. “Whose cello is that?”
The man followed my gaze and drew in a long, sobering breath. “It’s mine.”
For a second, I couldn’t accept it. The major disconnect in my brain said there was no way this sexy beast of a man played a delicate, refined instrument like the cello. He looked far more likely to crush skulls than hang with Yo-Yo Ma. It wasn’t the bow he still gripped in his hand that convinced me, but the way he stared at the broken instrument like it was a dead lover.
Oh, no.
In order to save me, he’d sacrificed the carefully crafted instrument of wood and strings that probably cost a small fortune. I scrambled out of his lap, flooded with guilt. “I’m so sorry,” I blurted out. “I’ll pay to fix it.”
He peered up at me with a strange look, almost as if he were sadder I was out of his arms than about the broken cello at his feet. “What?”