What Lola Wants (London Dolls Book 1)

by Kenrick, JoAnne

  “Too right I did. So, when the bloody hell did you get into town? How long are you here for? Where’s sexy Al?”

  “I’m single. Dumped his sorry arse.”

  “Independent woman, good for you.” Sally snorted. “I wish I could be as strong. This Sweetheart needs a man to feel safe.” She prowled to Dennis and parked in his lap. “What do you say, gorgeous, since you’re single and all? Wanna be my man?”

  “Single?” Louisa narrowed her gaze. “You’re not getting married?”

  “No, lovey, he isn’t. Not anymore, anyway. But, no matter, I’ll see him right. Like I said, it’s my turn.” Sally wiggled over his lap, pulled a lipstick from her purse, and smothered crimson gloss on her already red lips. She flicked her attention back to Louisa. “So, about those classes, lovey?”

  “Classes? For Louisa? Ha, she’s been dancing since nappies.” Her friend pirouetted then grabbed her by the hand and yanked her to her feet. “I want you to come backstage to meet the nice dancers.”

  “Louisa…or Lola?” Sally tapped a finger against her chin.

  “Only Dennis calls me Lola.” Louisa frowned.

  “I like Lola better. You should use that. It has a more…glitzy vibe. Hmm, it’s sexy. She’s got London Doll in her genes, has this one. I give her one month before she’s on that stage performing in some way or another.”

  “If you give her a month, Sally, she’ll have your spotlight,” Dennis quipped.

  Louisa couldn’t contain her grin. Dennis, he never could help sticking up for her.

  She followed Jane down a set of narrow steps into the common dressing room. Women were dressing, pulling up stockings, and fastening bras while sharing backstage buzz about the audience and lighting. The air, thick with a mix of perfumes gave off a sickly sweet scent, and pots of creams and makeup containers were scattered over every possible surface. Bright lights surrounded each of the dressing table mirrors. And pink. Everywhere. Her cheeks strained under a smile. She loved the excitement of performance, but the post-show happies were her favorite part of dancing. She vicariously soaked in the pleasures and the celebratory mood.

  “This is Louisa. Reckon she could be a Doll?”

  “Jane.” Louisa shook her head. “I didn’t say I wanted to work here. Besides, I’m not as confident as you, and I could never take my clothes off in public.”

  “Sweetie, you can do anything you put your mind to. You are very determined when you want to be. And beautiful.”

  “I could use more cash, but not that badly.”

  “Are you saying–?”

  “No, no. I’m not saying it’s wrong to striptease. You all danced so wonderfully tonight. I’m just saying I couldn’t do it. Not confident enough. Not nearly.”

  “In half an hour, the place will be empty. How about you give it a try, with only us girls watching?”

  “I couldn’t. Besides, wouldn’t the owner mind?”

  “I may not own The Doll House, but what happens on that stage happens at my say-so. I guess you could call me head Doll.”

  “You really love dancing here, don’t you?”

  She nodded. “Burlesque is all about teasing the audience, but you also gotta have a gig to go with it, a persona. It’s wonderful therapy when you’ve had a bad day, and girl, you look as if you’ve had a whole week of bad days. Oh, I know.” Jane slid hangers along a skimpy costume rack and pulled out a tutu and points. “You could be a music box ballerina.”

  “Maybe not so much.”

  “Yes, it’s perfect. You go out there and pointe your darling pert bottom off. From time to time, remove an item of clothing and give a sexy shimmy.”

  Louisa grabbed a pair of pasties from a dressing table. “Do I have to strip down to these things? How do you get those sequins to stick to your boobs? Don’t you worry about them falling off?”

  A mostly nude dancer passed by.

  Jane grabbed her shoulder and tugged at the flower-shaped pastie stuck to the woman’s nipple. “They’re stuck on firmly, see?” Jane tugged again. “It’s body glue and the power of suction.”

  The dancer pushed Jane’s hand away and yelped, “Hey, that hurts,” then crossed her arms over her chest and sulked off.

  Jane continued. “Sure, accidents happen, and they’ve been known to fall off if you sweat too much. But you don’t need to stress about that. Remember, just us girls.”

  “And Dennis.” A striptease down to bare boobies seemed a little too ballsy with him there.

  “Of course. He’s my escort home.” Jane swept her arm out and faked a swoon. “He protects me from all my adoring fans.”

  Louisa cringed. “I can’t do it if he’ll be watching. I’d be too self-conscious.”

  “Okay, so you don’t have to get down to pasties if you don’t want to, but at least give it a shot down to the bra and knickers. It’ll be fun, and I’d love to see Sally put in her place.”

  “Hmm, I would like to see Sally squirm. But me? Stripping on stage?”

  “Yes, you.”

  “You’re not going to let up until I agree to do this, are you?” Louisa sighed. “Fine, let’s get me dressed up, then.”

  “Yay.” Jane thrust a pair of pasties at her and a bottle of body glue.

  “Why am I doing this?”

  “To shut Sally’s mouth, and so you can make up for losing contact with me for four months.”

  “Oh, yes. That.”

  Chapter Four

  Dennis sat front and center, slammed his feet on the table, and leaned back in his seat, ready for the performance. He’d seen Lola dance many times, long before she’d become a big-shot ballerina. Never had he seen her remove her clothing while doing so, though.

  She entered from stage left with her head low and her shoulders slumped.

  Poor thing. He clapped. “Atta girl. You can dance anywhere, Lola.”

  Jane, seated beside him, gave a two-finger whistle. The sharp pitch pierced through him.

  Lola lifted her white-powdered face. Heavy fake lashes fringed her eyes, and crimson circles reddened her cheeks. Her lips sparkled with glitter. She looked like a china doll. A very sexy china doll.

  She shuffled into first position. What kind of a surfer or teacher would know that? He’d spent too much time waiting on his sister after dance classes.

  The haunting introduction to a popular alternative rock song bounced off the high ceilings. Like a music box ballerina, she cocked her head and arched her arms. With stilted movements, she jerked her body to the rhythm of the dark melody. On pointe.

  Snare drums attacked the dark, brooding tune and mixed into a faster beat. She stumbled but snapped back to standing.

  Sally sat beside Jane and leaned over to Dennis. “I don’t think she knows what to do.”

  Jane stood and pulled at her skirt.

  Lola nodded then tugged at the tutu, letting the netted material tumble to the ground. Then, with stiff movements, she raised her arms, pinned on a smile, and leapt the length of the dance area in one effortless movement. Light bounced from her silhouette, skimmed her body, and shimmered over her glitter-covered stockings. She unpinned her hair and slid the nylons off. Bless her, she kept at it, slinking and maneuvering her body provocatively, the music leading her way. Fist pumps, twists, and turns. She danced hard. Dressed in pastel pink, she moved as if wearing scarlet. Her energy and passion amazed him, turned him on like crazy.

  The music faded. She curtsied and glanced up, pleading for a verdict.

  He rose from his chair, stamped his feet, and cheered. Damsel in distress. His damsel in distress. Irresistible. Trouble.

  She clasped her hands and set her sight to her feet.

  Lifting her gaze, she stared over his shoulder. He turned and scanned the empty theatre. No one there and nothing out of the ordinary, but still, she entwined her fingers so tightly they turned white. She focused on the exit, her shoulders shaking.

  “Lovey, you forgot the purpose of the performance. Look at you, still dressed.�
� Sally waggled her finger, her mouth pursed and her eyes slanted.

  “I’d like to see you do those turns and leaps.” Jane probed the woman’s ribs. “Green doesn’t suit you at all, Sweetheart.”

  Lola grabbed her discarded tutu, pulled it to her chest, and raced backstage. Gut instinct told him the fear Al had instilled in her had something to do with it. He hopped onto the stage and made his way to the dressing room through the narrow, dark corridors. He’d made that journey many times looking for his sister, but tonight, uncertainty nagged at him and he forgot which way to turn. Left or right? Right. The other way led to the restrooms.

  Rounding the corner, he prepared for the worst. His heart pounded and nearly jumped into his throat.

  She slumped in a corner of the dressing room, frilly garments and glittery things scattered around her, a pink dressing gown draped over her shoulders and her hair over her eyes.

  “Lola?”

  “I’m such a ninny. Such a paranoid ninny. For a minute there, I thought I saw Al…and reality came tumbling back to me.” A whimper fell from her full, quivering lips. “Why the hell did I let Jane talk me into trying burlesque?”

  “I thought as much by the look on your face, but I didn’t see him.” He paused before adding, “Are you sure you saw him.”

  “Not at all. I think I’ve lost my mind…and my ability to dance.”

  “But you were amazing.” He strode to her and crouched, sweeping the tendrils of hair from her perfect heart-shaped face. “So beautiful. The way you owned the space, the way you moved...your symmetrical lines.” He sighed. “Your passion.”

  “And that’s the problem. When I dance without choreography, I lose myself. I’ve escaped life too long, Dennis. I need to experience what it is to be alive. Really alive. And not when I’m on stage being someone’s puppet. It’s hard for me. I don’t know who ‘me’ is anymore.”

  “You certainly looked alive, thrashing out those leaps and turns. And, Lola, I’m glad you’ve changed, glad you’re not the girl I knew back in Torquay.”

  “When I’m dancing freestyle, my emotions spill out and take over my movements. I’m not in control. That scares me.”

  “Don’t be.” He caressed her shoulders. “You danced beautifully, you’re more than talented. You’re born to dance. Hell, you are dance.”

  Shaking her head, she sobbed. “I need to stop, have to learn to express myself off the stage. Need to—”

  “Poppy-fucking-cock,” he growled. Even as the mascara-tinted tears rolled down her cheeks, her inner light sparkled through, and pulled him back to their younger years. Her as the beautiful dancer he’d protected from an overly controlling father and a drunken mother. He still wanted to protect her. Fix what her arsehole parents had broken. But mostly, he wanted to let himself love her fully, to release the ache in her heart. Fear of heartbreak kept him in check, though. He needed a clear head to be on the ball. The interview to run a new technical college in Torquay was coming up. He’d laid all the groundwork, had schmoozed his way through endless dinner parties and local education meetings. After all his hard work and dedication, he had to get it. Then he could move back to his hometown and enjoy a quieter life while inspiring teens to aim for bigger things than serving ice cream or surfing during the summer months.

  She blinked. “I wish I could express how—”

  He planted a soft kiss to her lips and murmured, “You’ll be all right. The Lola I know always lands on her feet.”

  She moaned.

  His barely audible words melted against her sweet sounds, and his heart unraveled. He froze. Too scared to interrupt the intimacy, yet he didn’t want to taunt himself with more kisses. His body urged him to take the dangerous path, but his heart pleaded with him to back the hell off.

  She pulled back a touch, her eyes wide, and she stuttered, “Kiss me again? Wait, you are single, right?”

  Dragging her top teeth over her bottom lip, she let out another moan.

  A guttural growl cut loose from him, and he had to have her. He cupped her face. “I’m not seeing Bianca anymore. We’re definitely over, have been for months now.”

  “Is there a chance for us?”

  Heat stirred, snaked to his heart and stirred his dick. “I’ve missed you far more than I should have,” he blurted. “But—”

  She put a finger to his lips then met his mouth with hers.

  Trailing kisses to her neck, Dennis couldn’t help but take in her scent. “Hmm, you smell like a perfect surf day. I can see you in those white dungarees you always wore, doing cartwheels on the sand and laughing at my backflip attempts.”

  “You’re the reason Al could never satisfy me, in any regard.”

  He inched backward. “You had to, didn’t you?”

  “What?”

  “Ruin the perfect moment by talking about Al. You and me, it’s just not a good idea. The distraction… No, I can’t be pulled away from my goals again. And Miss Lola Lone would never be happy back in Torquay. No, you’re a Londoner through and through. You were born to live here.”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and pleaded for his approval with a soft gaze. “What was it you said? That you’d be there to support me, to love me while I worked toward my goals? I could do that for you, you know. I could be there for you. Go anywhere to be with you.”

  “I’m not ready for this.” He pried her loose and strode to the door. He reached out to turn the knob but paused then pivoted to face her. “I’m not ready for you.”

  Her eyes widened, and a tear trickled down her cheek. Oh, crap. No matter how much she’d hurt him, he hated himself for making her cry.

  “You’re exhausted. We should probably get you back to Jane’s flat. Come on.” Before I say something else I regret.

  Chapter Five

  Louisa tossed and turned and fretted through her first night away from the safety net of the company. Al’s sinister, black stare had flooded her slumber and induced several nightmares. They all ended with him forcing her into his grasp and back to The Royal Ballet. She climbed out of bed and rubbed at her puffy eyes. Sucking in a breath, she fluffed her hair then pulled back her tense shoulders and painted on a smile to fake a good night’s rest. If she pretended all was well, it would be eventually. Wouldn’t it?

  But if she looked like she felt….

  Nervous energy shattered her confidence, and her hands trembled. She climbed over a pile of boxes Jane had stashed in the spare room and opened the door to sneak to the bathroom for a shower before anyone saw her. Damn shame there wasn’t an en-suite.

  Creeping through the large, open living-dining area, she admired the sparkling white kitchen set off by a long bar with high stools. Jane had given her a brief tour of the three bedrooms, two baths, and laundry room the night before, but she hadn’t really taken it all in. “Wow, this is some place.” A home better suited to a young professional than her artsy friend. Though the junk piled in the room she’d slept in last night probably housed all the glittery clutter her friend usually adored about the place.

  “Why, thank you.”

  Jane was awake? So much for the sneaky trip to the bathroom.

  She twirled. “Where did you come from?”

  Jane pulled her auburn hair into a scruffy bun. “I was about to take a shower when I heard footsteps. I figured it’d be you.” Jane yawned. “So, you like my place? I had Dennis decorate for me before I moved in, tried to go for a more grown-up feel. I’ll add a pink crystal chandelier when I find the perfect one.” Jane retrieved a ceramic mug from a sleek glass coffee table and took a swig. “Sleep well?” Decked out in candy-colored sweats and a smile, Jane’s perky attitude seemed unnatural considering the sun hadn’t risen yet.

  The sweet, warming aromas of fresh coffee and cake wrapped Louisa in homecoming comforts and eased her tension.

  “Sort of, but one of your baked delights would help wake me. And a scrub in cold water.” Louisa stretched her arms toward the ceiling and yawned.

&nbs
p; “Was it the bed? It’s new, so maybe a little stiff?”

  “I have a lot on my mind. And even with the double glazing, the cars zooming past kept me from falling into a deep rest.”

  “Yeah, London doesn’t sleep. You’ll get used to that again. Here, grab some coffee and a fairy cake.”

  “Don’t mind if I do.”

  She pushed her suitcase farther behind the huge sofa to keep it out the way for now, then grabbed one of the baked goodies topped with fondant icing and wrapped in a pink paper baking cup from the coffee table. Biting into the fluffy sponge, she savored the melt-in-your-mouth treat. The cake was vanilla’d perfectly, and the topping so very creamy, but it was sized far too small to stop at just one. Delish. Devouring the first, she went straight for another then washed them down with smooth, French-press coffee. “I’ve missed your breakfasts.”

  “You’re still piggy, I see.” Jane cocked her hip and rolled her eyes. “I’ll need to go shopping if I have any hope of keeping up with your appetite.”

  “Oh, I have something for you.” Louisa shoved a third treat in her gob—the beauty of fairy cakes versus cupcakes; they’re smaller—then raced to the room she would call home until she got on her feet and could afford her own place. She rummaged through her bag and dug out the performance programs she’d saved from each of her shows.

  She returned to the living room and handed them to Jane. “I got these signed by the casts for your collection.” Glancing at the concrete polished floor, words stalled and caught in the back of her throat. How could she articulate everything in two seconds flat without sounding foolish or have her friend call her a deserter?

  Jane poked her. “Do you remember when I started hoarding programs?”

  “When we managed to get backstage and that hunky dancer signed your torn memorabilia. What were we? Fourteen?”

  She nodded. “Wasn’t he delish in those tights?” A faraway haze washed through Jane’s eyes and she sighed. “And boy those thigh muscles were thick…” She sighed again.