Ballet Shoes and Engine Grease (18 page)

For six weeks, he’d rattled around China,
checking out electronics suppliers
, using the business as an excuse to stay away
while he wrestled with the demons from his past. Even with the
crowds teeming around him, people yammering away in that high
pitched, staccato noise that was rapidly spoken Chinese, he’d never
felt lonelier in his life.

He wanted Crimson.
Needed her. He was ready to admit that
much to himself. She didn’t trust him, but he wouldn’t let her say
no to him. Not again. Not this time. For, as far as he was
concerned, there was no better way for a man to gain a woman’s
trust than to occupy her bed, and then prove that he wouldn’t
stray.

When his eyes grew gritty with fatigue,
Nick stopped for a coffee at a service station, drank it black and
strong. He took out his phone and dialed Longwood Hall to alert
Soames to his arrival.

The butler showed no surprise.
“Welcome back, Mr.
Constantine,” he said. “Miss Crimson is at the office. The film
crew is staying at Longwood Hall overnight.”

“
Film crew?”

“
For the commercial, Sir.”

Nick ended the call and resumed his
journey
. While he’d been
away, he’d exchanged impersonal, businesslike emails with Crimson.
She had told him about the promotional video and the limited
edition Constantine Spur. Pride stirred inside him. She might be a
ballet dancer, but she was giving any MBA graduate a run for their
money.

He parked outside the office, next
t
o a minivan and an old
VW bus, and walked over to the showroom across the lawn. The cool
evening air revived him. Autumn leaves rustled beneath his feet,
reminding him of how long he’d been away. He eased through the
darkness, guided by the spill of light through the glass wall of
the showroom and the gentle, tentative sounds from a solo
violin.

When he reached
the building, he curled his hands against the
glass wall to peer inside. The showroom had been rearranged. The
race cars were gone, except for the antique Spur, suspended on the
glass platform. Beneath it, five finished Panthers stood in a
semicircle. In one of them sat a young man, dressed in a leather
helmet and a pair of small, round racing goggles that spoke of a
bygone era.

The violin
let out a discordant note and fell silent. The
makeup girl, a gangly redhead, gave the racing driver a final puff
of powder. A young man with long hair caught in a ponytail rushed
around, adjusting the Klieg lights. Then he retreated into the
corner, next to the cluster of curious onlookers, and yelled,
“Action.”

The ceiling
lights went off. Darkness shrouded the vast room.
In the next moment, the violin started again, a slow, haunting
tune. One of the Klieg lights came on, a dim glow that formed a
golden circle on the polished stone floor. Something stirred in the
center of the light. A flutter of white. Slim arms lifted. A
slender body uncoiled, rising inch by each, each gesture brimming
with tension, with impatience, as if waiting to explode into
motion.

A purring sound joined the violin. Like
a
n engine. Crimson broke
into a swift sequence of steps and began to dance, round and round
in a circle over the small floor, leaping, gathering pace, her
movements growing more and more urgent as the violin burst into
deep, hectic sounds. The other instrument kept pace, roared and
then faded again, like a race car that travels around the track,
slowing for the turns and accelerating on the straights.

In
the dance, in the music, Nick could see and hear a race
unfold. Finally, the violin broke into a crescendo, the purr grew
triumphant, and Crimson darted across an imaginary finishing line,
chest thrust forward, arms flung back. She came to rest draped over
the racing car that another Klieg light had picked out at the last
moment. The driver reached out to wrap his arms around her, pulling
her head to rest against his shoulder.

“
Cut!” the young man with a ponytail
yelled.

The ceiling lights came on. Nick hauled
air into his lungs, which had stopped working. A massive, aching
arousal strained in his jeans, and he thanked his lucky stars that
he’d not gone inside to join the others.

“
There’s a shadow on the glass.” The
ponytail stormed over, across the room, adroitly skipping past the
trailing cables, and yanked open the glass door. His eyes fell on
Nick.

“
Who to fuck are you?” he grumbled. “You
just ruined the shot.”

“
I’m sorry.” Nick stepped forward, using
the movement to adjust his jeans. “I’m Nick Constantine. I’ve just
flown in from China. I wanted to stop by the office and saw the
lights. Sorry, I didn’t want to interrupt…I didn’t realize I’d
cause a problem standing out here.”

“
Come inside.” The young man moved out of
the way, holding the door open with one hand, a clipboard clutched
in the other. He gestured down at their feet. “Watch out for the
power leads.”

Nick went through. The young man shut the
door behind him and held out a hand.
“I’m Todd Watkins. My brother Gregg works here.”
As he spoke, he waved a hand toward the people gathered in the
back. Nick could see Gregg, and Anna, and Patrick, and Jorge. Todd
Watkins kept talking and pointing. “Kathy does the makeup and
wardrobe. Sohaila provides the soundtrack, with help from a
synthesizer.”

With
each step, they were getting closer to Crimson. She stood
beside the driver in the Panther, her hand resting at the top of
the door. Nick had never been so conscious of the presence of a
woman. Not even when he’d been in bed with one, pounding flesh to
flesh.

“
Hello, Nick.”

Two short
words. They made his skin tingle. Had her voice
always been so husky, so full of promise? Her skin shone milky
white, bare shoulders rising from the flimsy costume. The outfit
had some kind of a gossamer trail that fluttered in the air while
she danced. Her hair had been styled, and it tumbled in soft waves
down to her waist.

“
What did you think?” she asked.

“
I’ve always loved to see you
dance.”

She blushed, one of those slow rises of
color that started at her breasts and swept up to her
hairline.
Nick knew that
she remembered. Remembered the frantic minutes in the boardroom the
last time he’d seen her dance. His arousal stirred again, and he
hastily spun around to face the violinist, a small, dark girl with
a hooked nose and huge dark eyes rimmed with kohl. In contrast with
her harem girl appearance, she was dressed in a bright orange tank
top and denim dungarees.

“
That was cool,” Nick said. “Made me think
of the Monaco Grand Prix.”

The girl—Sohaila, he remembered—broke into
a huge smile.
“I love
this man,” she announced to everyone at large, then returned her
attention to him. “I watched tapes of the whole season of Formula
One to find the perfect sequence of engine roar.”

“
Good job,” Nick said with a
nod.

“
This is David.” Todd Watkins slapped the
shoulder of racing driver who had taken off his goggles and leather
helmet and was now raking a hand through his thick, dark gold hair.
David. A blond young man, with clean-cut preppie looks. Nick’s
rational mind knew it was just a name. Just a coincidence. But the
corrosive acid of jealousy burned in his gut.

He
spoke without thinking. “That’s all wrong.”

“
What’s wrong?” Todd asked, and waved for
Patrick to join them.

Patrick hurried over. His chubby face drew
into a frown of concern. Behind him, Jorge followed with lazy,
confident steps, one finger smoothing the beginnings of a moustache
on his upper lip.

“
The girl. The race driver.” Nick made an
impatient flap with his hand toward Crimson, who remained standing
far too close to David. “The ending is wrong. I don’t like the way
she drools over him.”

Patrick shrugged.
“The winner gets the girl. That’s the
story board.”

Todd
gestured toward the car, where Kathy was fluffing David’s
hair and powdering his forehead. “It’s not going to be the Panther
in the final cut,” he explained. “We’ll film the vintage Spur and
digitally superimpose it. The old Spur will then change shape and
morph into the new Spur. By doing the shot digitally, we avoid the
hassle of taking the vintage Spur down from that platform.” As he
spoke, he indicated the car up overhead.

“
So,” Nick said. “The aim is to sell the
new Spur.”

Patrick nodded.
“Right.”

“
But you’re not selling cars to racing
drivers,” Nick pointed out. “You’re selling them to rich men.
Fathers, husbands, sons. Think of the adverts for Patek Philippe. A
watch to be handed from father to son. That’s what we’re selling.
The American dream. Family values. Tradition. The car you’ll never
replace.”

Jorge’s eyes flashed
with interest. “I get it.” He turned to
Todd, and Nick got the impression that Jorge’s enthusiasm was
partly based on the opportunity to wrench control back from
Patrick. “We don’t want a racing driver,” Jorge was saying to Todd.
“We want a guy in evening clothes. A guy picking up his date. A
good looking guy, with a debonair aura of success. A guy that men
can aspire to be, if they can afford a Constantine
Spur.”

Todd
tugged at his ponytail. “I see the point, but we have to
wrap tonight.”

Kat
hy finished fussing with David and ambled over. “We could
use
him
.” She
pointed a long, bony forefinger at Nick. A tall, skinny redhead,
she had bold, angular features that lacked symmetry but probably
photographed like a dream. At a close range, Nick could tell she
was older, possibly in her fifties. He would have bet money that
she’d been a top model in her youth.

She
studied him, green eyes bold and intrusive, almost level
with his, despite his six foot two. “Is that an afternoon shadow or
a day old beard?” she asked.

Nick rubbed his bristly jaw.
“In between. I shaved in the
morning, but that was Chinese time. Twenty-four hours
ago.”

“
Perfect. The handsome rogue look. Goes
with your dark coloring.” She poked her fingers into his hair and
teased and tugged. “I have a dinner suit in the van that’ll fit.
I’ll be back in a sec,” she said and strode off.

While the others launched into revising
the final scene, Nick eased over to Crimson. She’d been watching
and listening, with a cautious look on her face. As he approached,
she marshaled forth tiny scowl, but she could not hide the shine in
her eyes, or the rise and fall of her chest as her breathing grew
rapid again, after having already steadied since her
dance.

He lifted a hand and trailed his fingertip
over the edge of her bodice, just as he’d done once before.
“You’re mistaken if you think
that I’m going to let pictures of you draped all over some other
guy be circulated around the world.”

There was no mistaking the shiver
that
rippled down her
body, but she made a valiant effort to put up a fight. “It’s none
of your business,” she informed him.

“
As of now, I’m making it my
business.”

“
I’m your dreams.”

“
Yeah, baby,” he drawled. “And you’ve been
starring in them all.”

That
sent another fiery surge of color up her skin. Nick
suppressed a grin. For six weeks, he’d been thinking of her, day
and night. He could see within Crimson the same stubborn pride that
drove him. He’d suffered enough for it, had made others suffer
because of his pride. He sure as hell wasn’t going to let Crimson
compound his mistake by pushing him away and stopping him from
finding out what could be between them.

Before Nick had a chance to say anything
more to Crimson, Kathy returned, clothes folded across her arm.
Right there
and then, in
the middle of the showroom, she stripped him down to his boxers and
dressed him in a perfectly cut dinner suit, with a white shirt and
a black bow tie. She poked and prodded at the clothing, tugged and
teased at his hair, coated his skin with pancake, but he drew the
line at letting her smear mascara on his lashes.

When Kathy declared him finished,
Sohaila fiddled with the boom
box by her feet and tucked her violin beneath her chin. Todd
ushered Nick into position beside the Panther. Guided by Nick’s
gentle suggestions, the production team had decided that he should
be leaning against the car, and Crimson should rush into his
arms.

“
Action!” Todd shouted.

Patrick hit the light switch, plunging the
room into darkness.

The s
ingle beam came on, made a yellow circle the floor. Music.
Crimson. Nick’s heart pounded as he watched her dance. At the end,
when the violin reached the crescendo, he steadied his stance,
propping his hips against the side of the open-topped vehicle, and
spread his arms wide. Crimson completed the final spin and flew
against him with a force that slammed their bodies
together.