The Virgin’s Dance_Older Man Younger Woman Romance

by Michelle Love

  “Hah, convoluted grammar, but okay then.”

  Quickly rinsing her hair, she straddled him. “Touch me, Scamo.”

  His hand slid between her legs and began to massage her clit and she moaned, pressing her lips against his neck. Pilot slid two fingers into her cunt, seeking her G-spot, and she ground her sex against his hand.

  Her own hands reached down to stroke his cock, so thick and heavy against her hand, her fingertip tracing a line over the sensitive tip, making Pilot shiver with pleasure. His free hand fisted her hair at the nape of her neck and pulled her face down to his so he could kiss her, his tongue massaging hers. “I want to be inside you, woman.”

  Boh grinned and they shifted so she could take his cock deep inside her, sighing happily as he filled her. They moved slowly, the bath water slopping around them as they moved. Pilot sucked on her nipples as they fucked and Boh closed her eyes, giving herself over to the sweet pleasure of it all.

  Later, in bed, Pilot drew her close, his arms curving protectively around her. Boh closed her eyes but couldn’t sleep, too amped up by everything that had happened. Such a close call. He owed Lexie big-time for getting that knife from Kristof, but she truly didn’t believe Kristof meant to hurt her, no matter how high he was. Which left Serena. Boh was still in shock about the fact that Serena could go as far as wanting to kill her. Jealousy was a powerful thing.

  Across the city, Eugenie listened to Serena’s excuses of how Boheme Dali was still alive and felt nothing but rage. “You stupid little bitch … you assured me this would work.”

  “I did everything I was supposed to—and now I need you to come through. I have to get out of the city.”

  “Not my problem.”

  Serena hissed. “I could go to the police and tell them everything, don’t forget that, you stuck-up piece of crap. I’m sure your ex-husband would love to know you tried to kill his lover.”

  Eugenie snorted. “The only thing wrong with that is that he’ll know that if I wanted her dead, she would be dead. This is why I shouldn’t work with amateurs. I’ll deal with it myself.”

  “And me?”

  Eugenie smiled. “If I were you, Miss Carver, I’d get out of town before either the police or I catch up with you.”

  Hearing the click on the other end of the phone, Serena smiled. The call was recorded on her phone now. Mutually assured destruction, she thought. Serena had taken as much money from her account as possible and grabbed what she could to sell from Kristof’s apartment all in preparation days ago, but there was no way she was going to leave town without bringing everyone else down with her.

  She stuck her phone in her pocket and drained the last of her coffee. She pushed her way out of the coffeehouse into the night and stood at the crosswalk.

  She never saw the car which aimed straight for her and took her out before coming to a stop. Serena was crushed under the front wheels as people around her started to scream. The driver got out and retrieved Serena’s phone from her. As she gasped for life, her chest crushed, her right leg almost severed by the huge SUV, the driver frisked her then got back into the car without saying a word and sped off.

  As Serena bled out, her last living thought was that Eugenie’s psychosis far outranked any she had ever known, and that somewhere deep inside, she felt sorry for Boh and Pilot, knowing they would never have a moment’s peace while Eugenie Ratcliffe-Morgan was alive.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Dead?”

  The detective nodded. “At the scene. A hit and run as far as we know. We’re interviewing witnesses.” He looked at Boh sympathetically. “I know you would have rather Miss Carver faced legal justice.”

  Boh nodded. “I would never have wished her dead.”

  Pilot, next to her, made a noise. “In all honesty—good riddance. I doubt anyone will mourn for her.”

  Boh knew he was angry, but she squeezed his hand. “It’s over now.” She looked at the detective. He had come to see them at the ballet company, where Boh and Pilot had been asked to attend a meeting with the company’s leadership. Liz, Celine, Nell, and even the founder, Oliver Fortuna, a stately Englishman in his late seventies, sat listening in silence now as the detective broke the news of Serena’s death.

  The detective bid them goodbye. “Any further information, we will, of course, let you know.”

  Liz told them all that the board had appointed Grace as the new artistic director of the ballet company, effective immediately. “We need stability now, after everything. Kristof’s showcase was very well received, but we would be naive to think that what happened won’t hit the newspapers. Randall McIntosh is already sniffing around. He noticed something, despite you and Lexie doing an excellent job of covering up.” Liz smiled at Boh. “Given the circumstances, you were a warrior, Boh. How are you feeling?”

  “Honestly? Kind of numb. Physically, fine, really. Lexie …”

  “She’s fine, shaken. We gave her the rest of the week off, but still, she’s in the studio with Grace this morning.”

  Boh smiled. “That’s our girl.” She looked shyly at Oliver Fortuna. “Mr. Fortuna, Lexie is an exceptional dancer, and her work ethic is second to none. I hope we can take that into consideration when discussing her future with our company.”

  Oliver smiled. “You can bet we will, Boh.” He looked at Pilot. “Nell has shown me some of the work you have been doing—sensational. We’d like to keep working with you, if you have the time and the capacity.”

  Pilot nodded gratefully. “Thank you. I’m honored by that.”

  “We’re all looking forward to your exhibition on Friday. And, personally speaking,” Oliver continued, “I’d like to make a contribution to the Quilla Chen Foundation. Now, before you get excited, I’m thinking we could hold performances which benefit the Foundation … believe it or not, I’m not cash rich.”

  “Any contribution would help, thank you.” Pilot looked at Liz. “But I understand some of the ballet’s financiers are getting skittish?”

  Liz sighed. “What with Oona’s suicide, Eleonor’s accident—my apologies, Celine—and now this …”

  Pilot nodded. “Liz, Oliver … the Scamo family will make sure that you never, ever have to worry about funding for this company. We will make up any shortfall and contribute extra if required.”

  Both Oliver and Liz looked stunned. Nell smiled at her old friend. “I might have known.”

  “What do you want in return?”

  Pilot looked surprised at Oliver’s question. “Nothing. Apart from … treating your dancers well. That’s all I ask.” He squeezed Boh’s hand.

  Pilot sat with Boh as she changed into her leotard and shoes. The changing room was empty—Saturday morning, most of the dancers had the day off. They had passed the studio where Grace and Lexie were rehearsing—or rather, gossiping—and spent a few moments with their friends.

  “I know I should use this time to rest,” Boh said, “but I really want to dance. Just for an hour or two. Practice the piece for your exhibition.” She tapped his camera. “You can use this or just watch, if you like.”

  “I do like.”

  He sat against the mirror. Boh realized she always felt calmer when he was near, when he was watching her. She had someone to whom she could channel the passion that she felt when she danced. As the beautiful music played, she used Pilot’s handsome face as her focus, her body curving toward him, yearning, loving.

  When she finished, he applauded her, and she could see how moved he was. She went to sit next to him and he kissed her. She grinned and ruffled his curls. “Pretty boy.”

  Pilot laughed. “Lunatic. Boh, Jesus, it’s a privilege to watch you dance.”

  She leaned against him. “It’s an honor to know you, Pilot Scamo. You bring out the best in me.”

  “We do that for each other, I think.”

  “You’re right.”

  There was a knock at the door and Elliott, pale and wan, stuck his head in the door. Boh and Pilot scrambled to t
heir feet. “Hey, El, come on in.”

  Still on crutches, he hobbled in. “Can I talk to you both? It’s important.”

  An hour later they were back in Liz’s office. This time Celine was the one who looked pale. After Elliott told them the story of how Eleonor had caught him and Kristof in the bathroom, he explained how Kristof told him that Serena had known and had offered to “fix” the problem. The shock of learning Eleonor’s death wasn’t accidental was palpable, but Celine nodded.

  “I did wonder if someone led her up to the roof. It wasn’t one of her normal routes she took when she was confused. I honestly believed no one would want to hurt my love … but now we know Serena Carver was a psychopath.” She looked at Boh. “Thank God she didn’t succeed a second time.”

  Pilot was on edge. Boh could sense the tension in his body, but when he spoke, his voice was calm. “What I don’t get is how someone like that could exist in this environment, where everything is shared. People walk around exposed, physically and mentally, and no one saw the madness in her? What about her family?”

  “Estranged.”

  Pilot sighed. “Celine, I’m so sorry for your loss. I just want to understand why Eleonor died and why Boh was nearly murdered last night.”

  “I think we all do.” Liz said. “But now that Serena is dead, we’ll never know. We have to move forward.” She looked at Elliott, whose shoulders slumped down. “And I need to talk to Elliott alone for a few minutes.”

  Boh squeezed Elliott’s shoulder as they left the room, then she and Pilot walked home to their apartment.

  “So much damage,” she said, and Pilot nodded.

  “We’ll get through this, baby.”

  She smiled at him. “I know. I love you.”

  He stroked the back of his hand down her face. “As I love you. Come on. Let’s have lunch, then maybe you can help me at work.”

  “Love to.”

  The good thing about being filthy, stinking rich, Eugenie thought, was that one could afford a fleet of private detectives to stalk one’s ex-husband and know what he was doing every second of every day.

  Now, as her detective streamed his video, she watched Pilot and his dancing girl walking to his studio—the studio he thought Genie knew nothing about. The Carver girl, now thankfully silenced—what an amateur—had failed in her mission to kill Boheme Dali, so now Eugenie had to step up.

  And, by God, did she know how she was going to do that. This time next week, two more lives would be destroyed, but hers would be the happiest it had ever been.

  She couldn’t wait.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Grady Mallory introduced Boh to his wife, Flori, and two friend who had accompanied them. “Boh, Pilot, these are Maceo and Ori Bartoli. Pilot, Maceo is interested in showing this exhibition in Italy. Discuss.” Grady finished with a grin as Maceo and Pilot laughed, shaking hands.

  Flori bore Boh and Ori away to get drinks. “This is the boring part. Listen, I know Quilla will be here soon, so let’s get a head start on drinking.”

  Boh giggled. The two women were a lot of fun, but Boh’s attention was always being drawn back to her lover, being feted by his peers, the press, art critics. The had exhibition opened an hour ago, and Boh had just about gotten used to her most intimate parts being on display for the public.

  She had to admit, Pilot had photographed her nude in such a way that it wasn’t exploitative at all. Most people were commenting on the love in her eyes and she knew Pilot was pleased. It truly was a collaboration between her and him—Pilot might not be in the photographs, per se, but he was right there with her in every shot.

  There was one shot of them, a small shot for Pilot’s biography at the end of the exhibition. Both of them were laughing, foreheads touching, so much love between them. Boh had made Pilot promise not to sell that shot.

  “I have the original on my computer,” he’d laughed at her but he’d promised.

  “I just don’t want anyone else to have that shot. It’s us. It’s everything we have been through together.”

  Pilot had already had some offers from people, but he wanted to wait until he’d shown the exhibition around the world. Boh knew Maceo Bartoli was big in the European art world, the equivalent to the Mallorys in the States, and that a world tour would be the shot of confidence that Pilot needed right now.

  And she would be by his side for every single moment.

  Quilla Chen Mallory was a staggeringly beautiful woman, Boh decided, and one of the loveliest people she’d ever met. When the head of the foundation arrived with her husband Jakob, she walked around the entire exhibition, arm in arm with Boh, and talked to them both about each photograph in detail. Boh watched her greet both Ori and Floriana with hugs—obviously old friends—but she still included Boh in their conversations. She introduced them to her friends from the ballet, and soon Boh felt as if she had known them for years.

  Quilla, her lovely almond eyes twinkling, took Boh to one side. “Sweetheart, these photographs are astonishing. I do hope that you and Pilot continue to collaborate. I’ve never seen him so fired up. I don’t mind telling you, Grady and I were a little concerned that he’d lost his mojo over the last few years.”

  “I think that was mainly the stuff going on in his private life.”

  Quilla nodded, her smile fading. “Yes. I had the misfortune to meet Eugenie a few times. Vile woman. I could never figure out what he saw in her.” She squeezed Boh’s hand. “But he has the right woman now.”

  She looked at the audience, all seemingly entranced by the photographs on display. “It seems to be a success.”

  “And then some,” Grady said, coming up behind then with a beaming Pilot. “I’ve already heard from the critic from the Times—major awards were mentioned. Congratulations, man. Both of you.”

  Pilot put his arms around Boh, burying his face in her hair. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice full of emotion. “This is all because of you.”

  Boh shook her head. “No, baby, this is your night.”

  “Our night,” he insisted and she chuckled.

  “Okay, our night.” She checked her watch. “Almost time to dance. I’d better go get ready.”

  “I’ll come with you.”

  Boh grinned, knowing exactly what he had in mind and as they escaped to her dressing room, Pilot locked the door and took her in his arms. Boh grinned at him as he kissed her. “Feeling frisky, Mr. Scamo?”

  “You know it.”

  They made love quickly in the cramped dressing room, laughing and celebrating as they did. “God, I love you, Boheme Dali.”

  “You are my world, baby. My entire world.”

  They tidied themselves up and Boh changed into her costume, a beautiful floating dress, made for her by Arden at the Company. It had layers of light silk which would float around her body as she danced, in various shades of blue and gray.

  They walked hand in hand to the little stage and waited for Pilot to be announced by Quilla. He would make a short speech and then introduce Boh’s dance.

  Quilla spoke for a few minutes, then, with a huge round of applause, Pilot walked on stage.

  “Thank you, thank you. I’m overwhelmed by your kind words, and by your presence tonight. I have to be honest. I never thought I’d show again. The last couple of years, I doubted myself, my passion, even my will to carry on. That all changed six weeks ago when I met the woman in the photographs. In Boheme Dali, I found inspiration, confidence, life, and love. We truly are a partnership, something I’ve never had before. It is Boh who should take all the plaudits here, and I’m delighted to say she’s agreed to dance for us. I know that you will fall in love with her, as I have done. Ladies and gentlemen, Boheme Dali, prima ballerina.”

  Boh’s eyes were full of tears as she walked on to the stage. “I love you,” she said to Pilot, who grinned and kissed her cheek.

  “Knock ’em dead, baby. I love you.”

  He left the stage and Boh took her position. She felt no
nerves as she began to dance, her mind completely on translating her feelings for Pilot into dance. Her body felt as light as air as she danced and when she was finished, it took her a few seconds to hear the rapturous applause from the audience.

  “Wow,” Quilla said, coming back onto the stage and hugging Boh. “That was so beautiful, Boh, thank you. Incredible.”

  Pilot came on to take Boh’s hand and they walked back to the dressing room, unable to stop staring at each other. As Boh changed back into her dress, Pilot took her hands.

  “Marry me,” he said simply, his eyes full of emotion. “I never, ever thought I’d say that to anyone ever again. I was determined not to. But finding you, Boh … I know it’s crazy fast, and if you say no, I swear, there’s no pressure …”

  “Dude, chill,” Boh said, her voice shaking, grinning at the repeated moment from when he’d asked her to move in with him, “Chill.” Her voice broke. “Yes,” she said, tears dropping down her cheeks, “yes, Pilot Scamo, I’ll marry you. Of course, I’ll marry you!”

  He picked her up and twirled her around, whooping loudly as they both broke into delighted laughter. Finally, he put her down. “You have truly made me the happiest man on Earth.”

  “Me too. I mean, the happiest woman. I haven’t got a secret dong.” Boh was giggling now and Pilot laughed.

  “You sure?”

  “I am. I definitely haven’t got a wing-wang.”

  Pilot threw back his head and laughed. “No, you doofus, are you sure you want to marry this old man?”

  “Not so old. And yes. God, yes, just try and stop me.”

  “Ha, I won’t even try. We’re engaged.”

  Boh kissed him and they began to walk back to the party. “How grownup of us.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  Back at the party, they told Blair and Romana about their engagement and both were delighted. “Thank God,” Blair said, kissing Boh’s cheek. “I was hoping he’d lock you down.”