A spike of—arousal, awareness?—lanced through his thoughts. It wasn’t Vella. He spun around and stared in disbelief at the woman sitting on a chair waiting her turn to audition.
There she was—Kristen Lowe—sitting in the club with the other dancers, legs primly crossed. She wore a peacock-blue leotard with a skirt over the top. At least she didn’t have the dreaded ballet dancer’s legwarmers. She’d removed her boots, which stood carefully lined up by her chair, and had donned a pair of practice shoes.
The other dancers wore an assortment of costumes. Some had come dressed to kill in miniskirts and tight tops, which would no doubt come off when they auditioned. Others were dressed similarly to Kristen, but all were ready to strip. The manager wouldn’t employ them if their bodies weren’t up to scratch.
Recalling Kristen’s small though beautiful breasts, Nathan knew she didn’t have much of a chance. She had to present something really special to make up for the lack of a boob job. This wasn’t a ballet audition. The attendees needed spectacular bodies, something to flash at the men as well as dancing ability to please the women guests.
Some of them had stood around and jiggled. Until he’d put a stop to it. He wanted dancers, not strippers.
A few had come with partners, men who lolled around waiting their turn, watching the others with the predatory stares of hunters.
Nathan couldn’t blame them. His instincts told him to race downstairs, scoop Kristen up, and bring her here, where nobody would reject her. Because he knew she must have been rejected at her audition earlier. Why else would she come? Unless she told them to shove their job up their asses and was finished with the dance world. Ballet was a hard career. Even the successful ended with ruined bodies and exhausted souls.
She’d found him. Of course she had. All it took was an Internet search. Disappointment lanced through him. He was sure she hadn’t sought him out in the country, but maybe she was hoping to cash in on her luck. Who wouldn’t? Except he wouldn’t show himself. Absolutely not. He’d let his manager deal with her. She need never know he was here.
Nobody could see him up here. The gallery was lined with one-way glass so the staff could keep an eye on the patrons when the club was open without being too obvious. Only a few staff remained, the ones who’d served his and Vella’s lunch and some of the office staff working on their laptops. Except for the view, it could be an office anywhere.
Downstairs, another woman climbed on to the stage and began her act. Some people didn’t realize what the club was about, and this woman was one of them. She stripped, posing with a practiced routine that should have been retired years ago, plenty of bump and grind, but no dance steps. He prayed she didn’t have a snake. Snakes were so last century. No snake, just a boa and an attempt at fifties glamor.
She was a stripper, and he didn’t employ those. Couldn’t afford to, because if they went too far, he’d lose his license to sell liquor. Chicago laws said they could either make money with scantily clad women exposing their bodies or by selling liquor. Nathan had added the men, the dance, and called it a dinner and dance club. Perfectly respectable. Not. That and liberally greasing a few palms got him what he needed.
Vella glanced at the woman gyrating on the stage. “She needs a pole. Then she’d be right at home.”
“Yeah. If Matt employs her, I’m firing him.”
But Matt didn’t. He waited until she’d removed her bra, revealing a pair of breasts so enhanced they resembled beach balls, and then held up his hand. “Thank you,” he said. Nathan didn’t need to hear the words. He’d said them often enough himself. “You’re not quite what we want. Next, please.”
Someone else moved up. A pretty blonde girl, petite but curvy. She seemed to understand what the club needed, but to Nathan’s critical eye, she lacked something. Fire, something that made a difference. Her salsa was well rehearsed and executed, but it had nothing he’d remember.
This time, Matt told her to step aside. That meant he was considering her.
“No,” Nathan muttered. “She’s not right.”
Vella looked up from her laptop. “Why don’t you go downstairs where you can see them properly?” She smiled. “Go on. You don’t want to be here. I can carry on. I need to work up a few ideas and get a package together on this proposal. Running the figures will take a day or two.”
Yes, it would. He had a break. With a heartfelt word of thanks, Nathan headed downstairs.
Kristen didn’t know he was here, he kept telling himself. She wanted a job. He touched the edge of her mind. The blank despair struck through to his heart.
Just in case she could detect him as easily as he could her, he kept his thoughts carefully shielded and took a seat at the back.
The club was only lit at the front, near the stage, so he could sit in the gloom. The staff here was used to him, so nobody turned and stared. That was the way he wanted it.
He settled down to watch. One or two of the dancers were promising, but he wanted to devise a new show, and none of them were giving him the inspiration he needed. He could carry on for some time with what he did. His twist—sexy dancing with ballroom steps—was still new enough to last for some time, but part of success was to think ahead.
What’s next? What’s new? Maybe the dining club was the way to go. Maybe he should try something else. He’d know when he saw it.
The next couple had something. Too slick, sure, but he could scare that out of them. He wanted the emotion, the depth of feeling that went with the dance.
As was the norm at these auditions, they went with Latin. They danced smoothly, a salsa that didn’t miss a trick. In a ballroom competition, they’d do well.
Matt wasn’t a Talent, but he knew about his boss, so Nathan communicated mentally. “Get them to strip. Knock them off balance. They’re too practiced.”
“Yeah.” Matt had good telepathic ability for a mortal, but in Nathan’s experience, artistic types often did. He waved at the couple.
The man looked almost indignant they’d been interrupted, the woman propping her hands on her hips.
“You know what this club specializes in?”
The dancers nodded.
“Tell me.”
Nice. Let them tell him what they expected. The man cleared his throat. He was a blond, which Nathan liked. They didn’t have too many blonds at the moment. “Well, it’s about sex with class. Dancing with sexy moves.”
“And stripping,” Matt said flatly. “As much as we can allow. Are you ready to do that? Both of you? We’re not X-rated, we don’t want simulated sex or gynecological close-ups, but we do need some flesh.”
Kristen shifted in her seat. Did that bother her? She was dejected, ready to give up. The fog could be hanging around her head. Even her body language, slumped with her elbows on her knees, her shoulders hunched, spoke of depression.
Matt signaled for the music to be replayed. The tryouts could bring their own music or have a pianist play a tune for them. These two probably had a whole program of music. This was a pop song that lent itself to the salsa.
The man brought his partner into his arms and this time removed her skimpy top. It was separate from the bottom part, Nathan saw with interest. The woman had decent breasts, very small nipples, and…yes, of course a boob job, but this was a good one. Her breasts jiggled and swayed in a naturalistic way. It was only when she was stationary that the shape seemed a touch too perky, too full for her rib cage. But needs must when the devil drives, and she hadn’t skimped on the cost of the surgery. The man was a little surgically enhanced, but he hadn’t gone too far. His skin still held a healthy glow instead of an unnatural orange shininess and his muscles were good.
Okay, the topless part gave them a bit more raunch, and when the man’s hand skimmed past his partner’s breast, her nipple tightened invitingly. But Nathan had appointed Matt his manager, and the decision was up to him. Nathan wouldn’t interfere with that. He’d just wanted to give the couple a chance to show what they could do.
If Matt could get them to explore their emotions a bit deeper, they could be good. They’d never be headliners, but they could become solid performers, and if they did well here, he could send them on tour around the rest of the clubs.
After the woman pulled her top back on—with no sign of embarrassment— Matt asked them to sit on the chairs for the reserved group.
The next candidate was a bust. The next was fair. Nathan would have chosen to see him again. So did Matt.
Two more performed. Matt dismissed them both. Then Kristen had a turn.
She took the mike and told Matt her name and experience. “So far I’ve concentrated on ballet and contemporary, but I want to see what else I can do.”
“So do we,” Matt said drily. “Is nudity a problem for you?”
She shook her head. “I’ve worn skintight costumes most of my professional life, where I might as well have been naked. I’ve danced in a thong in contemporary pieces.”
Nathan shifted in his chair as his cock perked up.
“Any experience in ballroom?”
Regretfully, she shook her head. “I enjoy dancing, and we have to learn a number of ballroom steps for certain ballets. But I’ve been trained to learn.”
Matt nodded. “I hear you. Ballroom is a very different discipline to ballet.” Matt indicated the dance outfit. “Usually dress like that, do you?”
“No.” She must have realized she’d made a mistake. “I went to an audition at the ballet earlier.”
“That’s some way away. What are you doing in this part of town?”
She smiled brightly. “If your auditions were earlier, I might have come here first.”
Clever. If Nathan hadn’t wanted to stay hidden, he’d have laughed. No lie, but it sounded as if she’d planned to come here anyway. He’d advertised the auditions in a few places. She could have seen one of them. When he touched her mind again, he knew she didn’t know he was here. She actually didn’t expect to see him. Hadn’t she researched?
“What will you be dancing for us today?”
“Ah… It’s a waltz.”
Matt laughed. “On your own?”
Nathan could feel her pain as if it were his own. She was stretched tight, close to breaking. Since he’d started working in the entertainment field a long time ago, he’d thought himself immune to the agony and ecstasy. In the face of the bravery of this woman, he couldn’t bear it. She deserved so much better.
And she would get it.
He was an idiot, pushing her away like he had. They weren’t done, not by a long shot.
Rising to his feet, he said calmly, “You need a partner to waltz. May I offer my services?”
Her eyes widened as he emerged out of the gloom, and her chest moved sharply when she gasped. He could only imagine what she was thinking, because her mind whited out as if affected by the snowstorm.
He waited, flicking a look at Matt and the other dancers, who were glaring at him with what looked like hatred. “This is your business, Matt, but I can’t see a solo waltz. I’m a bit rusty, but I can still do the steps.” He spared Kristen a glance, all he could bear right now. In a minute, she’d be in his arms. Either that or out the door. “It’s still your decision, naturally.”
“Yeah, boss.” Matt folded his arms. “I’ve seen you at work.”
He gave Matt a brief smile before he hopped up on the raised area the club used as a stage. Instead of reaching for her or even holding out his hand, he went back to his roots in the ballrooms of the Regency and swept a deep bow. She wouldn’t expect that.
Chapter Five
Kristen watched the bow in astonishment and the man who was performing it. It was accomplished, graceful—perfect. She blinked at him as he rose out of it, trying to clear her vision. “You dance?”
“Yes.” He raised a dark brow. “Surprised?”
“Frankly, yes.” Heat rose to her cheeks.
For now, he had her under his thumb. Fuck, he had from the moment she’d met him. Now she had no choice but to go through with this grim farce and then walk away with her head held as high as she could put it.
This would be a disaster. It was bound to be. She should have chosen a tango, something sexy like that, but she wasn’t at all sure she could pull it off, whereas she’d revised the waltz. If she’d won the job at the Ballet their next production was Sleeping Beauty, and there was a waltz in that. But she hadn’t been thinking straight. Her decision, together with the spur-of-the-moment impulse that brought her in here, had driven her to this point but no farther. With all her confidence drained away, she only had her professionalism left.
“Is there room here?”
He glanced around. “We can manage. Sometimes the couple will dance on the main floor. Do you want to try that?”
The main floor was a dancer’s dream of sprung, polished wood. “Yes.” It was better for a quick getaway too. He was the boss here. No wonder he’d suspected her back at his house.
Pieces of the jigsaw fell into place. He’d suspected her when he’d seen her feet, but when she talked about the ballet, he’d accepted her explanation. That made sense. But now that she’d shown up at his club, would he make her look stupid? He had the chance. He could humiliate her if he chose to. After all, what did she really know about him, apart from the tiny mole he had above his right nipple?
Before he could touch her, she jumped down and waited for him. He leaped to join her and then bowed again—a breathtaking, fluid movement that brought him close to her when he rose.
He nodded to the piano player. “Just not the ‘Blue Danube,’” he said. “I’ve heard that too often. Do you know the waltz from Der Rosenkavalier?”
“Good choice,” she murmured before she could stop herself. Lilting, spiky, and romantic, the tune was one of her favorites. She knew it well, even had it on her personal music player.
“Thank you.” He even sounded different, his accent changing for a moment. Then he glanced down at her, slid one hand around her waist, and held his other for her to take. She did so, and the pianist began.
From then on, Kristen forgot where she was, only what she was doing. Effortlessly she slipped into the zone, that place that made all the heartache worthwhile. When she’d failed to do that earlier in the day, she’d feared she’d lost it along with her career. Okay, so she was having one last dance with a man who’d given her what was undoubtedly the best sex of her life. That was all.
He was surprisingly good. But after a couple circuits of the floor, he changed subtly. Gazing into her eyes, he moved slightly more jerkily, halting, but still in the flow of the dance. “Trust me?” he murmured.
“Not for a minute.” That was true enough.
He chuckled low in his throat, achingly sexy. Then dragged her close and took her mouth in a kiss. An audible gasp rose up from the spectators, but he released her before she had a chance to protest and spun her in his arms so her back was to his chest.
He was hard. Fuck, his cock pressed against her back, and he knew it, rubbed it against her shamelessly. He lifted his arm, then his hand to cover her breast, and he was still dancing. How was she keeping in time with him in this position? The waltz was danced face to face. She didn’t understand how they were doing it this way, but something in her mind kept her steady and moving.
Her professionalism, most likely.
“If your professionalism is called Nathan,” he murmured.
Or did he? She felt no heat against her ear as she would have had he spoken, and his jaw didn’t move against her skin.
He pressed one side of his face to her head, as if dreamily dancing in a romantic sway. He slid his hand down and tugged at the fabric of her top. If she’d been wearing something other than Lycra, he’d have bared her breast and displayed it to the audience. Then he cupped it through the fabric, lifting it. He moved in time while he caressed her and tilted his head to kiss her ear.
She shuddered and closed her eyes briefly, the better to enjoy the sensation.
His mouth ghosted over her skin, and then she heard a click and her hairclip came undone, releasing her hair to cascade over her shoulders.
Needing to make contact with him, she leaned back and spread her hands over his thighs, claiming him as hers in the movement of the dance. Between them, they kept up the rhythm of the waltz, until he clasped her waist and spun her around again so they were once more face to face. Then he took up the correct waltz position once more, their bodies apart but brushing together as they moved in the elegant one-two-three rhythm. She even managed a fleckerl, a step particular to the dance, when he turned her around.
They finished with a deep dip. Her body was balanced on his outstretched knee as he sank down on the other. He cupped her face, covering her mouth with his own.
The wonder of his kiss, when she thought she would never know it again, caught her unaware. She grasped his bicep, holding him to her as he explored her.
She only came around when she heard the applause. Vaguely she recalled how much she’d enjoyed hearing that. But it didn’t seem to matter now. Only Nathan’s tongue and hers mattered, twining together in their own version of the waltz.
“Now that,” Matt said with emphasis, “is how to make classic ballroom sexy. I want you, Ms. Lowe.”
Nathan separated them slowly and kept his hand against her cheek. Smoothly he lifted her to her feet.
Kristen blinked, coming back to reality. “What?”
“If you want a job here, it’s yours.” Nathan grasped her hand, held it tight, as if afraid she’d run away. “Thank you.”
“I can’t remember when I last saw you dance,” Matt said to Nathan.
As the memory of his closeness ebbed away, Kristen’s anger rose, heating her through. “You—”
Swiftly he turned, pressed his finger to her lips. “Don’t tell them we know each other. Let’s say we met here.”
She pulled away. His lips hadn’t moved, but she’d heard his voice as clearly as if he’d said the words aloud. “You’re a ventriloquist too?”
The Thorndyke Trilogy 2: Dancing at Midnight Page 7
