by Lacie Thorne
More nouveau style swirls decorated the walls—hand-painted by the look of them. Even the banister matched, the intricate metal curls whimsical and almost dream-like as it seemed to usher us upstairs. Instead of the chandelier I’d have expected, a lamppost greeted us at the top, insanely tall and sprouting more metal curls.
“There you two are.” Garret’s voice cut into my mesmerized state. “I thought you’d gotten lost.”
Sam squeezed my fingers and then let go so Garret wouldn’t catch us. “We’re not even five minutes late, Garret.”
“Really? I thought we were meeting half an hour ago.”
I’d all but tuned them out, my gaze locked on the beauty around us. The high ceiling held a glass dome right at the center, above the spiraling staircase we’d just walked up. I imagined light would flood the space during the day, but it was encased in darkness now, no matter how much I squinted, desperately hoping to see the stars.
All around the skylight, art nouveau ladies had been painted, their half-naked bodies curving down the walls, even more risqué than those of the posters in the café downstairs.
“What do you think, Emmy?”
I jerked my head around to Garret, his face alight with excitement. “It’s beautiful.”
“Not too much?”
“No.” Maybe it was overdone, but it had been designed in a way that didn’t make it feel like too much. “It’s perfect.”
“I’m glad. We spent a lot of resources and time on this place, but the client is happy, and I think everything looks fucking amazing.”
I frowned. “Wait. You—this was you?”
He beamed, lips curling with pride. “Yeah. Well, just the architectural design. It’s been my pet project for the last—shit, too long.” He glanced up at the soaring ceiling and painted walls. “Even brought in a friend of mine, a local artist, who hand-painted the walls, which look even better than I expected.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about this place?”
“Wanted it to be a surprise.” His cobalt blue eyes sparked. “And I got us all tickets to tonight’s show. First time they’ve opened their doors and only to special guests with invitations. It’s supposed to be a teaser, so not the full schedule, but just the highlights. You’re welcome, by the way.”
I laughed, still unsure what kind of performance we were about to see, but if it was anything like the décor style, I suspected I’d love it.
“Come on,” Sam said. “We should head in before we are late.”
I followed Garret down a short hallway, Sam behind me with a hand on my back, fingers grazing my skin through the slit in my blouse. A shiver swept down my spine at the light touch.
Garret stopped at a round doorway with a wrought iron gate bisecting the sphere in detailed swirls like those on the walls. He stepped to the side so I could enter first, but tension tightened my chest. I felt like I was walking into a dream. Or maybe I was Alice going down the rabbit hole. Beyond the gate was another tiny foyer, dimly lit in a red glow, with a young man smiling at me.
“Tickets?” he asked.
Garret handed them over, and I marveled at the whimsy of it all as the man pulled aside a black curtain, revealing a sort of club. Music drifted from inside, a seductive tone that called to my muscles. Eyes wide and taking in everything around me, I followed Garret deeper into the large room. The art nouveau style still dominated, but it was darker—sexier—everything bathed in deep red lighting.
Wine red tub chairs were laid out in an informal setting around black tables, curved to face a half-moon stage, the red curtain drawn closed. Already most of the seats had been filled so clearly we were edging on being late as Garret had chastised. He led us to a table near the front of the stage, pulling out the middle chair for me to take a seat. Between the two men.
Yeah, that wouldn’t make the night any more awkward.
Sam sat to my right, shifting his chair a few inches closer while Garret caught the attention of a waitress. The music drowned out the light chatter, and the waitress had to bend her head beside me to take my drink order, repeating the process with Sam and giving me clear view of her scanty outfit. She wore little more than underwear, rhinestones reflecting the red lights and silver high heels that had to be a killer on her ankles.
When she wandered off, my gaze tracked her to the bar where, sure enough, two other waitresses stood in matching outfits. I turned a frown on Sam, earning a chuckle instead of an answer. Fine, if he wanted to play that way. I swiveled to Garret, leaning over to his chair. “What is this place, Garret?”
“Didn’t Sam tell you?”
I jerked my head in sharp denial.
He was about to respond when the waitress set our drinks on the table and before Garret could say a word, the curtains opened, revealing a gorgeous backdrop painting of a huge moon. It shone over swamplands—perhaps even the Louisiana Bayou. A middle-aged woman wandered to the center of the stage, a microphone to her mouth.
“Good evening, special guests. As most of you know, I’m Penelope Foster, and I’m so happy you joined us tonight for our very first and special show. We have six individual dancers tonight, but they will only be performing a portion of their final act. We’ll have short intervals between each, so please try to refrain from ordering drinks and such during the actual performances out of respect for our artists. Once we open our doors to the general public, each of these talented ladies will be the star of their respective nights of the week.” She smiled at the audience. “So, without further delay, please welcome Madame La Lune.”
The red glow disappeared, so only a few lights twinkled like silver stars surrounding the moon painting. Moody notes rang through the house, a slow, seductive beat that resonated in my chest. A lone spotlight came from above the stage, a glowing shaft of blue illuminating the hoop descending in the middle.
A woman draped the hoop, her nude unitard giving the illusion of her being naked except for the millions of sparkling rhinestones. Her extremely long, white-blonde hair added to the moon effect, transforming her from woman to something else entirely. An ethereal moon goddess. She relaxed against the aerial hoop, casually swaying one leg over the side.
With a slight shift in the music, a cue I suspected she was waiting for, she started to move. Slow, sensual twists and turns, curling herself around the hoop like it was part of her. Not a prop. But an extension of her body, another limb to use at her disposal.
I leaned forward in my seat, trying to get closer to the magic she created, combined with the exquisite dips and peaks of the music. She timed it all perfectly, maximizing the notes in the melody so it worked with her lines to the best advantage. The music picked up rhythm, and she moved into a series of gravity-defying tricks, dangling from the hoop with growing skill.
The music slowed, shifting her back into the seemingly-lazy moves—which of course were even harder to hold, those slow, muscle-straining lines. She hung upside-down on the hoop, one foot holding the top, likely to keep her balance, her lower back resting in the curve of the hoop, and her torso dangling free, arms stretched down to the floor. The music faded, and back up she went with the hoop, gradually disappearing above while the audience applauded.
It was the most amazing thing I’d ever seen in person. Part cirque aerialist and part dance, but a whole lot sexier. Martin would have heart failure if he knew there were performances out here like this.
I had no idea how much time had passed while I’d been engrossed in the performance, but the curtains drew closed again and something touched my shoulder. I tore my eyes away to look at Sam. He smiled, seeming to understand why I was practically catatonic in the wake of the performance.
Sam and I were still lost in the moment together when Garret’s hand curved around my back. “Holy shit, that was insane. I didn’t expect it to be that good. I mean, they told me their basic concept, but I didn’t expect—that.”
He moved even closer, fingers slipping through the slit in my blouse to touch skin. Sam’s fa
ce tightened, gaze narrowing on my back. Shit. I tried to shift Garret’s hand discreetly, but we’d been friends for so long that neither of us usually minded touches like these.
Now it felt wrong. Far from a friendly gesture.
And Sam’s tension wasn’t helping.
***
The night continued much the same. Every time Garret touched my shoulder or hand, or ordered my drink, Sam stiffened beside me. He sat pin-straight in his seat, gaze locked on the stage. When Garret excused himself at one point and leaned down to kiss my head, I swore Sam might break his glass he gripped it so hard.
I reached out to placate him, remind him that I was his, not Garret’s. Sam tensed, the muscles in his jaw tightening as I brushed my fingers through his hair and down his neck, massaging his nape until he relaxed. He finally tilted his head to meet my eyes, offering the tiniest smile I took as a huge signal we were good.
I returned his smile, letting my hand fall away before our mutual friend saw us. “Sam, you know there’s nothing between—”
The lights changed color and Garret returned, cutting off my reassurance. He edged his chair closer to mine and tapped my legwarmer-clad knee under the table to get my attention. God, I hoped Sam didn’t notice, but he was still looking in my direction and the odds were slim he couldn’t see where Garret’s hand had disappeared to.
“I hear this next act was one of the original burlesque dancers,” Garret whispered to me, breath tickling my ear as his hand drifted higher up my thigh. “She was their star or something and when shit went down, Penelope asked her to stay on. They’re calling her the Papillon since she dances with fans, and apparently it looks like a butterfly. Well, a sexy butterfly, if that’s possible.”
Garret laughed, but I didn’t, my focus zeroing in on the heat from his hand and the tingles in my neck telling me Sam was all too aware. I was about to subtly shift Garret’s hand away when he did so himself, leaning back in his seat as the stage curtains opened, momentarily saving me from the awkward situation.
Despite my growing discomfort between the two men, the gorgeous performances captivated me every time the lights changed color and a new dancer graced the stage. True to Penelope’s introduction, there were six total, each one as unique and skilled as the last.
The waterbowl act sent little sprays across the audience, tiny droplets hitting my cheek when she flicked her hair. The fire dancer was perhaps the most surprising and dangerous given the limitations of the space, but it was La Fée Verte who redefined everything I’d ever thought about pole dancing.
Of course her act was sensual, but also so much more. Artistic and graceful. She used the pole like I depended on Joel—my ballet partner—for stability and support, gifting her the ability to perform amazing feats with her body. There was a definite balletic quality about her movements, and I wondered if she’d started her career in classic dance.
Hours later, when the performances came to a close with a belly dance inspired by the whimsical movements of a jellyfish, I was sad to leave. My body swayed towards the stage, desperately wanting to try every single one of the different apparatus. Garret disappeared to talk to Penelope while Sam and I exited through the intricate gate. We waited at the top of the stairs, a few patrons passing us as they headed down to the café.
The moment we were alone, Sam wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me closer to whisper in my ear. “Have fun?”
I nodded, about to burst with excitement and likely ramble at him more than he expected, but his hand dipped. He slid his fingers over my ass, down to the edge of my shorts where he toyed with the little turned hem, then lower still. I shivered as he lightly ran his fingertips over the bare skin of my thigh until he reached the legwarmers.
“These have been driving me crazy all night.” He slid his hand under the woolen sock, teasing the back of my knee with light caresses.
I closed my eyes on a moan, surprised that such an innocent part of my body could feel so good under his touch. His hand moved higher again, fingers firmer as they traced my upper leg, over the shorts to the crease where thigh met ass. God, it was the slowest circuit ever, yet it left me shaking, longing for more. He squeezed one cheek, then dipped his fingers right between my legs the way I wanted, but this wasn’t the time.
I gasped, gaze flashing to the hallway in case Garret saw us. “Sam—”
“Shh,” he whispered, lips brushing my ear. “Speak of the devil, and he might appear.”
He gripped me tighter, fingers delving deeper between my thighs until he stroked my pussy through my shorts. I grabbed his waist, trying to steady myself, clutching at his shirt and uncaring if I left wrinkles in the fabric. Laughter drifted from down the hall—Garret’s, I was sure of it. I thought Sam would let me go, but he didn’t.
He brought his free hand up to my neck, gently holding it, not tight enough to leave marks or redden the skin. Even as he licked the shell of my ear, I swore footsteps echoed against the marble floor.
“Sam,” I said, more urgent this time.
He went rigid under my hands, his touch on my neck and pussy stilling. “He’s allowed to touch you, but I can’t?”
There was a hard edge in his tone, one I doubted I’d ever heard before. “Sam, it’s not like—”
He let me go before I could say another word, shoving his hands into his jean pockets and taking a couple steps away from me. My cheeks were flushed, heat rising up my neck, and I was sure I was an unusual shade of pink.
“Please.” I didn’t know what else to say. Garret was about to join us, I knew it, and I didn’t have time to explain myself to Sam. Besides, he should understand. He always understood. Why was he acting like this now?
I reached for his wrist, needing his hand on mine, but he pulled away, denying me. My mouth opened, but Garret came striding down the hallway, his face alight with excitement. Sam turned and briskly stepped down the stairs, earning a frown from Garret.
“What’s up with Roche?” Garret asked, cupping his hand around my elbow. I shrugged, trying to plaster a smile across my face, but it only deepened his confusion. “You know, you two seem to have a knack for ticking each other off.”
I laughed, because from Garret’s perspective, we did. Only a day ago, I’d been ranting about Sam helping Martin to force me into retirement. So much had happened since then, but Garret didn’t know that. And I wanted to keep it that way until I was ready to explain. Until I’d figured out how to explain without hurting Garret.
Garret put a finger under my chin and tipped my head back. “Are you okay, Emmy? You look flushed.”
“Excitement over the performance.” Part truth, I consoled myself. “It really was spectacular.”
Garret smiled and linked our arms, leading me down the staircase, through the little café that was somehow fuller than it had been hours ago, and out to the curb. Sam stood under the café sign, casting him in a red glow that made him seem even angrier. I quickly disengaged my arm from Garret’s, worried it would push Sam over the edge, more aware than ever of how often my best friend touched me.
It had never been an issue. Not when I saw it as innocent gestures. But with the realization that he cared far more deeply—that he loved me—the touches felt different. Less appropriate for friends and something better suited to lovers.
Sam stared out at the street, a little less crowded than before, but turned when Garret called him. “Want me to give Emmy a ride home?”
I stiffened at Garret’s question. Sam’s gaze darted between us, but when he started to answer, I cut him off so he couldn’t let Garret take me home. “Actually, I’d like to talk to Sam. About the show. So, we could talk on the way?” My voice lilted at the end, turning it into a question for Sam.
His jaw clenched, muscles working, but he nodded. “Sure.”
He was the one withholding his words now, and it felt like a punishment, but what other choice did I have back upstairs? The last thing I wanted was for Garret to find out like that—catching us togeth
er before I had a chance to talk to him. It’d be disaster, no matter how we played off a platonic relationship. He’d be devastated, just as Sam had said. And I refused to do that to him. Even if my actions pissed Sam off.
I kept my goodbye with Garret as brief as I could, but he still wrapped his arms around me in a tight hug. I swore I could feel Sam’s tension like waves of heat on the back of my neck. We walked in the opposite direction as Garret, Sam a silent block of ice beside me. When we turned off of Bourbon, I couldn’t take it anymore.
“Sam—”
He cut me off, moving so quickly I barely had time to process his actions before I was pinned to the side of some building, the wall digging into my back as Sam caged me in from the front. His mouth crashed into mine, thrusting his tongue between my lips when I gasped. His hands clutched me everywhere at once—or at least it felt like he did. I set mine on his shoulders, unsure what else to do with them, wishing they were bound instead so I didn’t have to think about it.
Sam palmed the back of my leg and lifted it, grinding his hips between my legs, pressing his hard cock right against my pussy. I moaned into his mouth, but he held me harder. His other hand found my throat, squeezing my neck so much more than he had inside Le Salon Rouge. This would definitely leave a mark, but I didn’t care. I wanted him too much.
He nipped my lip, pulling back so he could whisper against my mouth. “I told you I could be a jealous bastard.” Hand tightening around my neck, he made it harder for me to breathe. “You’re mine. I don’t want his hands on you. Ever, Emily.”
I nodded, unable to force any words out.
He kissed me again, softer but somehow more intense, every stroke of his tongue slower and more demanding. His hand on my thigh teased the edge of my legwarmers, and I wished he’d slip his fingers under the wool again. Instead, he ground his hips into me one more time, then dropped my leg. He licked my swollen bottom lip, then released my throat and stepped back. I shivered, suddenly cold without his heat bracketing my body to the wall.
