The audience applauded wildly, but Lorenzo was already on the move.
“Yum!” Stacy whispered, and Cassie nodded agreement.
Okay, she wasn’t just burnt out. She was going insane. Cassie felt like a besotted teenager, but she couldn’t take her eyes off Lorenzo.
This was not good.
Chapter 2
Cassie didn’t know much about the specifics of magic shows, but Lorenzo made it look effortless. The pacing was relentless, one trick slipping right into the next. The whole presentation was slick and sexy.
He charmed and chatted all through the show, which was longer than Cassie had anticipated. He made a joke of the sparks that kept flying from him to her. The way he incorporated that spark into his patter convinced her that it was a regular part of his show. She’d just gotten the wrong seat.
The hot seat, as it were.
All the same, she wondered how the hell he was doing it. There had to be something in the chair, a magnet or something.
She couldn’t figure it out—she was becoming so aroused that she couldn’t even think straight. Worse, the target of her desire was Lorenzo. She noticed the sweat on his temples and felt an uncharacteristic urge to wipe it away. She watched his hands, liking their elegant strength, wondering how those fingertips would feel sliding across her skin. When he strode across the stage, she watched his hips and her breath caught. The man moved like a sleek and powerful panther.
She was sure he paid a fortune to make himself look this good. She was sure he spent hours at the gym. She was sure he was a complete narcissist, one accustomed to attracting women with the crook of a finger, then casting them off when he was done.
But she was finding serious appeal in Stacy’s idea of fun.
It wasn’t just because he wasn’t short.
Cassie watched, transfixed, as he spoke, achingly aware of the sexy timbre of Lorenzo’s voice and the firm line of his lips. How would this man kiss? She wanted to know, and she wanted to know now.
What was wrong with her?
She liked his easy humor and obvious intelligence, his deliberate management of the audience’s attention. She wondered what it would be like to have his undivided attention—even the glimpses he cast her way, the smiles he bestowed upon her when he was toying with that spark, filled her mind with lusty possibilities.
She kept her arms folded across her chest, as if her body language could stave off her reactions.
Or contain her imagination.
She felt as obsessed as a fan girl for the first time in her life, and she couldn’t explain it. One glance at Stacy was enough to confirm that Cassie wasn’t the only one in Lorenzo’s thrall.
That wasn’t the most reassuring realization. She was supposed to be immune to this kind of spectacle. She was supposed to be the smart one, the one who saw behind the facade.
But on this afternoon, Cassie was snared by it.
Completely.
It was warm in the theater, all the use of flames and pyrotechnics heating the air. The tricks and illusions blurred together for Cassie, becoming a stream of impossible feats. In a way, they were irrelevant. She only wanted to watch Lorenzo, and couldn’t have cared less what he was doing.
She would have watched him brush his teeth.
For hours.
It would have been best if he’d been brushing them while naked.
He did have an uncommon flair. He started fires and extinguished them. He burned items with the point of a finger and those flames rose and fell from the stage several times. The whole time he spoke in that low, melodic voice.
He brought a python on stage soon after the intro, a massive yellow-and-black-patterned serpent that Cassie would have been happier to see as a pair of boots. She hated snakes, but he handled the reptile deftly. He dropped it into a basket, then made it disappear. It slithered down the main aisle a moment later, heading directly toward him as the audience shrieked. It coiled itself obediently into its basket on his command.
Checking on the snake and making it appear elsewhere was a recurring theme, one that the young boys in the audience seemed to especially enjoy.
The tricks became increasingly elaborate and showy, until the two female assistants rolled a huge clear box onto the stage. They were attractive women, beautiful blondes who could have been models.
Cassie figured they were glad to have a job in this town that let them keep their shirts on.
The cube looked to be filled with water and must have been twelve feet on a side. The assistants turned it on the stage, rolling it around on a shiny silver frame with casters, letting the audience see all sides.
Or think they could see all sides. It had to be an illusion.
A shiny ladder was rolled into place and attached to the cube. Cassie ignored the patter as Lorenzo climbed it to a small platform at the top. He went on and on, something about water extinguishing flames, about the human body being able to last a certain number of minutes without air.
One assistant rolled a massive timer onto the stage and stood ready to start it. The other followed him and stood beside him on the platform.
The music began to build momentum.
Meanwhile, completely at ease, Lorenzo removed his short cape with a flourish, doffed his gloves. He talked all the while as he handed garments to the blonde. Cassie doubted she was the only audience member interested in seeing how naked he’d get.
He shed his tuxedo jacket and handed it to the assistant. He stepped into a cloth sack, then halted to take off his shoes.
Then he was handcuffed and his ankles locked into shackles. He made jokes about being at the whim of the blonde and she mugged a bit for the audience. His ankle shackles and handcuffs were hooked together, so that he squatted before them. It was impossible not to note the breadth of his shoulders or the ripple of muscles visible beneath the cloth of his shirt.
He blew a kiss to the crowd and said, “Au revoir.”
The bag was pulled up over his head and knotted. The assistant grinned at the audience, then pushed Lorenzo into the water with one foot. He splashed, then struggled like a fish as the lid locked down on the cube. The timer started. The assistant scampered down the ladder and rolled it away from the tank, even as the cloth bag churned.
The audience leaned forward in dismay.
The assistant crossed the stage and dropped the keys to the tank into the basket with the snake. The snake roused itself in apparent annoyance and had to be forced back into the basket by both assistants. Cassie knew she was supposed to be watching their antics with the snake, so she watched the tank instead.
It was a clever trick because the locked tank was clear. It did appear that Lorenzo was struggling in his bonds in the water. She couldn’t see anything odd about it.
The keys deposited and the timer running, the lights dimmed to a single spotlight locked on the tank and Lorenzo’s struggling form. The timer was illuminated, its letters the same orange-red as the flames that leapt higher in the wall sconces.
There was no sound except the relentless pound of a drum, marking the passing seconds. Cassie could feel the audience’s concern. She was leaning forward herself. Stacy clutched her hand in terror.
There had to be mirrors. Cassie looked for them without success.
The timer ticked past the two-minute mark.
Lorenzo’s body suddenly went still in the water.
Had the trick gone wrong?
Or was this part of the illusion?
Cassie was surprised by how worried she was.
Cassie wasn’t alone in her reaction.
There was a collective gasp from the audience
A ripple of fear passed through the crowd. The assistants eyed each other in obvious consternation. They raced to retrieve the keys to the locked tank, but th
e snake hissed at them. It coiled itself up and looked dangerous. They retreated, conferred, then tried to approach the snake again. It was apparently too annoyed to let them get close.
Meanwhile, the audience became more agitated. Some people rose to their feet. The motionless canvas bag was a chilling sight. Cassie couldn’t look away from it.
Surely he couldn’t be dead?
It had to be a trick.
But as the seconds passed and the assistants visibly panicked, she had a harder time believing it.
“Hurry!” shouted a man at the back of the audience.
His cry was taken up by the crowd, as they urged the assistants onward. The man shouted again, his voice louder than the others.
Cassie had a vague sense that something didn’t add up. She felt the shimmer of heat on her skin, as if there were a forest fire raging all over her body. In fact, when she looked down, it appeared that her skin was glowing with an inner fire.
Radiant.
Just the way it had when he’d launched those sparks. She thought of Lorenzo’s lips and his hands and his drop-dead hot looks, and shivered. Could a man so vital really have died in front of them? That sack didn’t move.
The man shouted again.
Cassie recognized his voice.
She spun in her seat, incredulous, only to see Lorenzo himself striding down the main aisle of the theater.
He was dripping wet and wearing only a black bathing suit.
A very tight black bathing suit.
Her mouth went dry at the sight of him.
His eyes were twinkling as he called again for his assistants to hurry. The crowd gasped in astonishment as they saw him, silence rolling from the back of the house.
Followed by a tidal wave of applause.
Cassie just stared. Lorenzo was a pure and perfect male specimen. He had muscle definition that would put a Chippendale dancer to shame. His wet, curly hair hung over his forehead, making him look mischievous and boyish—an appealing contrast to his very masculine physique. It was a Superman kind of look and it worked in a very big way.
All while being PG-13.
“Oh. My. God.” Stacy spoke in a whisper.
Lorenzo leapt up to the stage, an elegant move of pure power. He pivoted and bowed, muscles flexing. He winked at Cassie, then blew her a kiss, his gesture launching another spark in her direction. The crowd hooted with delight.
Cassie didn’t join in. She was annoyed. Not only had she been tricked, along with everyone else, but he was making it look as if she worked for him. That spark and the way he played it made it appear that she was part of the show.
His use of her as a prop made her want to challenge him.
She wanted to destroy at least part of his illusion.
The applause, meanwhile, was deafening. The flames in the sconces leapt high, flickering as if they too would salute him. Lorenzo bowed a few more times, managing to look both cocky and modest.
“I could eat him up with a spoon,” Stacy murmured.
Cassie simmered. She crossed her legs, wishing this tingling would stop. That last flame had only made it worse. It was almost impossible to think about anything other than sex.
Wild, endless sex—with Lorenzo.
Every woman in the audience was captivated. Lorenzo shook hands with his assistants, gestured the snake back into its basket, and pulled the key out of his swimsuit. He ascended the ladder, unlocked the box, and pulled out his soaked shirt and trousers with an expression of regret.
He cast them to an assistant, then strode to center stage, still wearing only that black swimsuit. He held up his hands for silence and had it instantly. The tank was wheeled away, and a ruffled black satin curtain descended behind him. He was alone on stage, apparently without props or aids.
Cassie didn’t believe it for a minute.
“And so we come to the most popular part of the show,” he said, that low voice doing dangerous things to her equilibrium. “The real Trial by Fire.” He gestured and the house lights turned up slightly. “As usual, I’ll take three questions today, and I hope you’ve brought your most challenging ones. Who will be first?”
That was when Cassie knew how she was going to show him up. She was a hunter, and she liked to expose frauds. This guy was manipulating everything in this theater.
She’d give him something he couldn’t manipulate.
She’d prove that she wasn’t part of the illusion.
She’d ask him a question he couldn’t answer.
Cassie hunkered down in her seat. She wouldn’t be first. She’d gamble on being chosen third. Lorenzo was using that spark for a reason, and she knew he’d want to end the show with a flourish. She’d bet it had something to do with this hot seat.
Well, two could play that game.
The firestorm was more infuriating than Lorenzo could have imagined.
It had only just ignited, but already it burned with an insistence that drove every other thought from his mind. He could think only of Ms. Practicality, sitting there with her arms folded around herself. Everything about her said “prim.” Everything about her was a denial of pleasure and passion, the two things he found most important in life.
The firestorm ensured that he wanted to change her view. He wanted to coax her to relax, make her smile, make her shiver. He wanted to peel off her jeans, unfasten that ponytail, and run his fingers through her hair. He wanted to see her naked. He wanted to caress her skin. He wanted to hear the sound of her laughter.
Of her orgasm.
The firestorm was messing with him by partnering him with a woman so vastly different from himself.
And Lorenzo didn’t appreciate it.
He very nearly screwed up the escape, he was so distracted by the simmer lit by her presence. The persistent lick of the firestorm’s flames drove every thought from his mind except the prospect of sex.
Lots of it.
He could only work with the heat of the firestorm by persuading himself that a brilliantly executed finale might earn her smile.
Even Lorenzo didn’t truly believe that.
It would take more than that to make Ms. Skeptical crack a smile.
Unfortunately, his imagination was more than ready to conjure possibilities.
None of which had anything to do with executing a flawless illusion.
He silently cursed the firestorm.
It made no difference.
When Lorenzo strode down the aisle and found his destined mate still scowling—obviously doubtful of his skills—he nearly roared with frustration. His irritation only heightened his reaction, making him more aware of her. If anything, the firestorm burned hotter, taunting him.
It was enough to tempt Lorenzo to take a real risk. He wanted to provoke a reaction from her.
Any reaction would do. Lorenzo was sure that it was her composure that grated upon him. He was consumed with her and she was completely indifferent to him.
The part of his mind that remained rational—instead of rapturous—recognized that this was a problem. He knew that a distraction could completely condemn his scheduled feat at the end of this week. If the firestorm continued to burn hotter with every passing moment, he’d be a disaster by the next morning.
When Lorenzo invited questions with his usual aplomb, he knew with sudden conviction what he had to do. He had to satisfy the firestorm. Immediately. If not sooner. He couldn’t afford to make a mistake with this upcoming spectacle, the planned pinnacle of his career. He couldn’t afford to lose control of the variables at this precise moment in time.
Perfection demanded the elimination of distractions.
If Lorenzo was to be cursed with a firestorm, he wasn’t going to waste any more time than was necessary in seeing it satisfied. He knew all the stories. He knew
that the firestorm only burned hotter and hotter the longer it remained unsated. He knew that it was supposed to be the mark of a Pyr meeting his destined mate. He knew that Erik argued in favor of creating a lasting partnership with the woman in question.
Lorenzo didn’t care about any of that. His firestorm was an obstacle and a problem. The sooner it was satisfied, the better. It wasn’t as if he believed that this woman would go home from vacation pregnant with a baby dragon shifter. That was just Pyr superstition, perpetuated and buttressed by romantic idiots like Erik, leader of the Pyr, who encouraged the Pyr to make permanent relationships.
He worked alone and always would.
Lorenzo knew he would have been kinder if his apparent mate hadn’t been so determined to believe him a fraud. If she had been softer, more feminine, more alluring, more his type of woman—well, he might have been more inclined to seduce her and savor a few weeks together.
But this one, this one could undoubtedly deal with anything life dealt her and could do it all by herself.
Maybe she preferred it that way. Her hands were devoid of rings and she wasn’t with a partner.
Lorenzo eyed the woman and smiled at her, just as he launched another firestorm spark in her direction. Those sparks annoyed her and he liked ensuring that he wasn’t the only one annoyed. The crowd oohed and aahed at what they thought was an effect.
Lorenzo watched his mate. He saw the quick tightening of her lips, saw her irritation rise. She glanced around herself, assessing perhaps whether other people thought she was in his employ. The notion didn’t seem to please her. He saw her jaw set and knew that she had made a choice, as well.
He doubted it would be very interesting. Humans were terribly predictable. But no matter what she did, this woman—his destined mate—was going to get more than she anticipated.
And she was going to get it within the hour.
Lorenzo didn’t have time to mess around with a firestorm. It would be sated, and it would be sated ASAP.
After Lorenzo had answered the second question from the audience, Cassie raised her hand and rose smoothly to her feet.
Flashfire Page 4
