by Jo Leigh
“Ready?”
She put her helmet on, tightened the chin strap and said, “As I’ll ever be.”
He held out his hand, which she took, and she stood.
So far it wasn’t nearly as bad as she’d feared. Kind of like ice skates. Why hadn’t she done this before?
“The most important thing to know is how to stop,” Trace said. “’Cause unlike Venice Beach, if you fall here, it’s concrete.”
“Then I won’t fall.”
“That’s the spirit.”
He continued to hold her as they made their way to the slow concourse. He was steady as a rock, but he didn’t try to hurry her. Even when little kids whizzed by making rude comments.
She caught him giving wistful glances at the speed lane. “You’re really good at this, aren’t you?”
“Not especially.”
“Liar. I bet you skate like a demon, and God forgive the man, woman or child who gets in your way.”
“Where do you get this stuff?” he said, sounding way too offended. “I’m a pussycat.”
“My ass,” she said.
He cupped the very spot. “And such a pretty one.”
“Oh, please!”
He pulled her to a stop. “You want to do this?”
“Yes.”
“Watch and learn.”
For the next ten minutes, they concentrated on braking. He made her repeat the move until she was ready to kill him, and finally he nodded his approval.
“Can we go now, Teach? Huh, can we?”
He took off before she was the least prepared, turned around to skate backward, and said, “What ya waitin’ for?”
She took off after him, swearing revenge, while he quite literally skated circles around her, but she didn’t care because he was laughing like a kid, and she was happy.
And so was Trace, and God, it made all the difference. In all the years she’d known him, she’d never seen him like this. Even the way he laughed was different.
They worked out a rhythm that wasn’t too fast for her, and for twenty glorious minutes, they simply skated. People passed them, boom boxes screamed music, Frisbees flew by, and all of it was perfect.
“Over there,” he said, pointing to a push cart parked underneath a huge tree.
They made their way to the side of the lane to a hotdog cart.
“Best in the city,” Trace said.
“I haven’t had a hot dog in years.”
“That can’t be good for you.”
She laughed. He ordered two for each of them, but she passed on the sauerkraut. They both got bottles of soda, and then they found an empty spot on the grass to dine.
She folded herself into a sitting position where the skates didn’t bother her, and so did he. Then they ate in companionable silence, still grinning, still enjoying this rare calm as the day waned.
Just as she was finishing her last bite, she felt a tap on her back. Turning, she saw a young girl, flanked by six of her friends. “Can I have your autograph?”
Piper smiled, but she knew it was over. Just like that. She’d been blessedly anonymous, free to enjoy Trace and the experience, and now she had to be Piper Devon again. It was hard not to let her disappointment show as she signed the girl’s backpack.
Trace stood, helped her to her feet, but by the time he’d tossed their trash, there was a full-fledged crowd.
She signed everything from caps to skates to skin, and answered as many inane questions as she could, all the while inching back to the skate lanes.
Trace didn’t even try to hide his displeasure, but she couldn’t make a clean getaway until she’d made an effort.
He probably didn’t realize how ugly something like this could get. He’d never had his hair nearly pulled out at the roots, his clothes torn. Never been spit on. Piper never underestimated the power of a mob.
“Hey, Piper.”
She looked up into the face of a guy with greasy hair and a nose ring, who proceeded to tell her how he’d like to go to her sex hotel and see the sights. Only the way he said it made her stomach crawl.
“Okay, that’s it.”
She felt Trace’s hand on her shoulder pull her back, away from the center of the crowd. They didn’t make their escape until several more rough male voices made viciously lewd suggestions.
Her spirits plummeted as they headed back, skating now with angry strides, the distance between herself and Trace a gaping chasm.
She could feel his anger, and it mixed with her own. It had been going so well.
They made it to the rental booth without a word being spoken, and when Trace had returned their gear, he sat on a separate bench to put his shoes back on.
“Trace.”
He didn’t look at her.
“Trace, they were disgusting morons. Don’t let them get to you.”
He stood up, although he didn’t come nearer. “Is this really what you want? Is this how you want people to think of you?”
“No, of course not. And most people don’t.”
“One person is too many.”
She stood up, and her anger at the men in the crowd was nothing compared to her fury at Trace. “So I’m supposed to live my life according to some uneducated pervert in the street?”
“No, you’re supposed to have respect for the Devon name. For yourself.”
“You can go straight to hell, Winslow. Don’t let the door hit you on the ass.”
She walked away, shaking with fury. Who did he think he was? The arbiter of good taste?
It wasn’t her fault that some people had no concept of the beauty of sexuality, that they lived and died in the gutter. It didn’t mean she was going to change who she was. And if Trace was so offended, it just meant he was more like those creeps than he wanted to acknowledge.
She caught a cab and returned to the hotel. There was still work to be done. And now that her deal with Trace was over, she had to come up with a new strategy. One that might just include the fact that she would no longer be part of the Devon empire.
HE DIDN’T GO back to the hotel. Instead, he caught a cab to his apartment where he cranked up some music as he poured himself a drink.
He couldn’t shake his anger at that street scene. He’d wanted to kill that smarmy bastard, wipe him out for having the temerity to be in the same state as Piper.
Dammit, couldn’t she see what she was doing? Putting herself out there to be ridiculed and denigrated?
It was worse now. Now that he saw how she could be. Who she was when it stopped being a game.
Even if she was right, and her target clients didn’t see the hotel as something tawdry, what about the rest of the world?
Sex was well and fine, but it wasn’t the way to market a hotel. Not her hotel. Not her.
If that little demonstration hadn’t proved his point, he didn’t know what would.
When she’d cooled down, when they both had, he’d talk to her again. Calmly. He’d do whatever he could to help her change the image of Hush. And if she wouldn’t? There was nothing left to say.
13
TONIGHT WAS the final run-through. Saturday night Exhibit A would make its debut at the opening-night party. Major celebrities were flying in from Hollywood, from Miami, from all over the world to be here, and to be among the first guests to stay at Hush.
Everything felt like it was happening too fast. Knowing the opening was just days away, suddenly Piper was overwhelmed by the urge to retreat, to hole herself up in her apartment and think. The events at the park kept spinning inside her head, and not just the last part of it. It had been so incredibly normal and wonderful to do something as simple as skate with Trace.
He’d been a revelation. Free, easy, casual. He’d seemed years younger, his ever-present tight control left behind with his shoes.
There had a been a minute there when she’d been filled with a new possibility. That maybe there was more to Trace than she’d ever imagined, and more to what the two of them could mean to each o
ther.
She’d actually felt like she’d been her true self on that skate path. The self she’d almost forgotten existed.
Of course, her illusions had shattered the moment Trace overreacted to that cretin. Trace was Trace, and a quick skate wasn’t going to change a thing.
He didn’t get it about Hush. He didn’t get it about her.
She walked down the narrow white hallway past the black Exhibit A deco sign, pushed open the door and stepped into cool air, dim blue lights and, ah, the smoke. She’d been very skeptical when first approached about using the smoke machine, because in her experience artificial smoke was really stinky. But she’d been assured that the technology had changed, and that this smoke would not only create a mystical atmosphere, but it would scent the air with a hint of mint.
Piper breathed deeply, and there it was. Really faint, but there. Oddly enticing.
The music wasn’t loud like at a club, but it was all-encompassing from the ceiling, the floor, the walls. It crawled into her head and found the rhythm of her pulse. Whoa.
Banquettes and tables lined the walls, all facing the center stage, all with high curving sides that gave each setting an atmosphere of intimate privacy. When a couple sat at any table, they would be cocooned, and while they would be able to see the stage, no one would be able to see them. At least the parts below the waist.
She nodded at Eddie, who looked like he could use a drink. The performance hadn’t started yet, and still the room worked. Which was important, because the dancers couldn’t dance all the time. The atmosphere was infused with mystery. The music combined with the blue lights drifting over the primarily white space made the bar both soothing and exciting.
“Piper.”
She turned to see Janice Foster and Mick. Janice scooted over and waved at her to sit with them. She did, wanting to see the room from all perspectives. This was a good place to start.
Besides, she liked them both so much. They’d found each other here, in Hush, and while their relationship had begun in the bedroom it had evolved into full-fledged love. She’d just learned that they were going to be married next fall.
It occurred to her as she scooted into the banquette, that Hush had worked its magic even then. Janice had confided how she’d been so attracted to Mick, but thought anything between them was out of the question. He was so much younger than her, and at first, she couldn’t believe he could want her.
But then, as they both let themselves experience Hush, their inhibitions had disappeared and they’d become lovers. “Tell me something,” she said, wanting answers from them both. “Why do you believe in Hush?”
“What do you mean?” Janice asked.
“The concept of Hush. I know you love it, and that you’re proud of working here. Why?”
“Well, aside from the fact that it’s where I met Mick, I believe in the freedom here. The permission to be yourself, to make peace with your sexuality.”
Mick nodded. “I felt it. I still do.”
“What?” Piper asked, leaning in to hear him better over the music. “What do you feel?”
“Uninhibited. I can be with Janice the way I want to be. It’s the only place outside of our place that I can be. We can touch here. Be affectionate.”
“Be sexy,” Janice said, touching his hand.
“And it’s all okay. In fact, it feels kind of weird to hold back.” He smiled at Piper. “People should have a place like this. Where they can be as wild as they want to be. Where the regular rules don’t apply, and still feel completely safe. It’s good for them. There’s so much repression out there, where everyone tells you what’s right and wrong, about what’s acceptable. Hush keeps all that outside the doors, and I’m telling you, it can set people free.”
Piper nodded. “I agree. I think it’s healthy, but evidently, not all folks do. You don’t think it’s tawdry, do you?”
Janice laughed. “God, no. It’s wonderful. Piper, what’s going on? Is it the press?”
She shook her head. “Just taking an informal survey.”
“But you researched the hell out of this concept. It’s genius. You’re not going to be able to keep people away.”
“I know. It’s gonna be great.”
The music changed and smoke built around the circular platform in the middle of the room. As they watched, the platform split, and from the center she watched a couple rise from below as if by magic.
Light and smoke swirled around them, but it was easy to see that they were almost naked. Pressed together, it was their backs she could see, exquisitely toned flesh. They were both tall and lean and beautiful, both from the worlds of ballet and jazz, and they were one of three pairs of dancers who would rotate on the center stage.
As soon as they were completely visible, they stepped lightly to the side of the platform. The silent mechanics closed the trapdoor, leaving them on stage. Piper doubted anyone would notice. They’d be too busy looking at the stunning pair.
They each had on a white G-string. Nothing else.
They posed facing each other, and the dance began. Lifting their arms, they swayed around each other, not quite touching, but almost, skimming just above the flesh, a heartbeat’s distance, creating a breathless anticipation. Piper watched them sway to the music. It was as erotic and sensual a sight as she’d ever seen, and she knew right then that Exhibit A would be packed nightly.
Of course, it helped that while the audience watched the show, they could participate with each other. It would take an iron will not to touch, not to want contact when watching the dance.
She leaned back, sneaking a peek at Janice and Mick, who had moved close together. Mick’s hand was on Janice’s thigh, inching up.
Just as Piper was about to make her excuses and move to another table, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She turned, and suddenly there wasn’t enough air. It wasn’t the smoke, or even the dance. It was Trace.
“Piper.”
She couldn’t believe he was here. After this afternoon…
“Can we talk?”
She wondered how long he’d been here. Had he heard Janice and Mick? “I don’t know. Can we?”
He closed his eyes. His tension was palpable. When he looked at her again, his gaze was pleading.
She turned to the couple next to her. “Have fun, you guys. I’ll see you later.”
“Okay, Piper,” Janice said. “Don’t worry, okay?”
She smiled. “I’ll do my best.” She stood, faced Trace. “Well?”
“Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
“I have to stay, Trace. People are counting on me.”
“Fine.” He held out his hand, but she didn’t take it. Instead, she led him to a table close to the bar. On her way she saw a lot of employees, including Lisa, sitting by herself, staring at the dancers. But it was Trace who held Piper’s attention.
He’d changed from his jeans into dark slacks, a dark silky shirt and a tailored sports jacket. He looked like the epitome of cool grace, someone who’d never find himself eating a hot dog on the grass in Central Park.
She got into the booth ahead of him, searching as she did for the cocktail waitress. The outfits they’d picked for Exhibit A were wonderful in action, and very sixties, all the way from the blue-and-white patterned mini-dresses, to the white go-go boots.
“This is some bar,” Trace said, his voice as tense as his posture.
“Thank you.”
“At least the costumes won’t put you over budget.”
She sighed. “I don’t need another lecture on standards and morals. Thanks anyway.”
The waitress arrived at the table. She smiled at Piper. “Hi, I’m Jessie. What can I get you?”
“Scotch on the rocks,” she said. “Make it a double.”
“And for you, sir?”
“Vodka on the rocks, Stoli.”
“I’ll be right back.”
Piper didn’t say anything, just watched as Jessie headed to the bar.
&n
bsp; The music changed and Piper turned to the dancers. It was a much faster beat, dark and sensual, as was the dance itself. The woman raised her arms and fell back, but the man was there to catch her, and when he leaned over her, his lips almost touched her. Moments passed, and Piper wanted them to do it. Kiss, feel, touch. Connect.
Or maybe it wasn’t the dancers she wanted to make that final move. She looked at Trace and wondered for the hundredth time what had happened this afternoon. It had begun so well.
He was also staring at the dancers. His lips had parted slightly and she could see the rapid rise and fall of his chest. He was caught in the moment, wrapped in the spell.
She moved closer to him, close enough that she could whisper right in his ear. “Let it happen, Trace. Just feel. Don’t think.”
Trace wanted to blink, but his eyes wouldn’t cooperate. Neither would the rest of him. He watched the tableau in front of him, mesmerized as the couple made love in the center of the room. Okay, so they weren’t actually screwing, but they might as well have been. Two little slips of cloth couldn’t disguise that this was mating, it was sex.
Piper could call it dancing all she wanted, but it was more than that. The rhythm, the smoke, the lights. It was a scene from a bacchanal, and as much as he’d like to say it was offensive, it wasn’t.
It was…hot.
God, it was hard to sit still, hard not to reach over and touch her. He was unbelievably aware of Piper’s proximity. Her whisper had gone right through him, twisted in his gut and made his cock come to life. Which wasn’t what he’d wanted. Not right now.
He needed to talk to her. To convince her that it was now or never. She had so little time left.
He thought about what he’d overheard Janice and her friend say. How Hush was a place for freedom, for abandon. Of all the things he’d seen at the hotel, this bar had done the most to convince him that there was at least something to that.
It didn’t change things. Not really. That the dancers were incredible, that the whole place was something out of an erotic dream would only fuel her father’s case.
