Master's Flame

• Chapter One: The Flame
  
• Chapter Two: Vesuvius
  
• Chapter Three: Singed
  
• Chapter Four: Suffering
  
• Chapter Five: Drama
  
• Chapter Six: Mastery
  
• Chapter Seven: Well and Good
  
• Chapter Eight: Very Bad
  
• Chapter Nine: On Track
  
• Chapter Ten: The Reality
  
• Chapter Eleven: Control
  
• Chapter Twelve: No
  
• Chapter Thirteen: Bobble
  
• Chapter Fourteen: That's It
  
• Chapter Fifteen: Deal
  
• Chapter Sixteen: Demands
  
• Chapter Seventeen: Back Room
  
• Chapter Eighteen: Sad
  
• Chapter Nineteen: I Do
  
• Chapter Twenty: Mine
  
• Epilogue: One Year Later
  
• A Final Note
  
• An excerpt from Training Lady Townsend, a kinky historical romance coming soon from Annabel Joseph
  
• An excerpt from the m/m romantic suspense trilogy My Brother’s Keeper by Adrienne Wilder
  
• About the Author
  

MASTER'S FLAME

Copyright 2014 by Annabel Joseph

Cover design by Adrienne Wilder

AdrienneWilder.com

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, shared, or distributed in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This work contains acts of sado-masochism, objectification, anal play, BDSM punishment and discipline, and other sexual practices.

This work and its contents are for the sole purpose of fantasy and enjoyment, and not meant to advance or typify any of the activities or lifestyles therein. Please exercise caution in entering into or attempting to imitate any extreme BDSM relationships or activities.

Michel Lemaitre looked at the clock, then shuffled posters on his desk, rearranging the second and third. All of them were trite, lacking in creativity. Since the final choice would become the promotional face of Cirque du Monde’s new show,
Cirque Élémental
, trite was not good enough. A waterfall? A white cat? Ridiculous.

He drew an engraved note card from his desk and composed a curt message to the art department:

If you ever send me another white cat on a poster, you will all be fired. Sincerely, M. L.

He piled up the posters and placed the note on top. “Jeanne,” he said into his intercom. When his secretary entered, he held out the packet to her. “Art Department,
s’il vous plaît
.”

“
Oui, monsieur
.” She took the papers and bustled out.

Michel stretched back in his chair, then reached past his laptop and took a file from the left side of his desk. He flipped it open, leafing past clippings and documents to find the headshot. Heart-shaped face, large, luminous hazel eyes, and vivid red hair that had earned her nickname.
La Vampa
—the flame. When a sharp knock sounded on the frosted glass door, he closed the file and barked, “
Viens.
”

Jason Beck, one of his Directors of Artistic Development, stepped into his office. You could take the coach out of California, but you couldn’t take the California out of the coach. Even now, after years in urban Paris, Jason was tanned to a subtle bronze, his chestnut hair streaked with inexplicably natural highlights. At the moment, his healthy charm was sullied by a ponderous frown.

“Well?” Michel asked, pointing to a nearby chair. “How was the practice? What do you think of her?”

Jason threw himself into the armchair and scrubbed his hands over his face. “What do I think of her? She’s a fucking maniac. She’s fearless. She’s terrifying. She’s...” His voice trailed off as he searched for an adequate descriptor. “Insane. I think that’s the simplest way to put it. Batshit insane.”

Michel steepled his fingers and pursed his lips. “Insane is a strong word. Let’s substitute eccentric, or visionary.”

“No, sorry. Did you talk to her? Did you converse with her even a little before you hired her?”

Converse with her? What did conversation matter with a performer like
La Vampa
? At twenty-six, she had twenty years of performance under her belt with one of Italy’s premiere circus families, starring in a banquine act that was considered the best in the world. When he’d passed her his card, he’d experienced a strange sense of recognition, or maybe precognition, that he was meant to meet this performer and bring her into his company.
I’m with Cirque du Monde
, he’d said.
Would you like to come?

Yes, of course
, she had said in luxurious English. With her accent it sounded like
off course
, and honestly, he had felt a bit off course as she held his gaze. Now, just in time for
Élémental
, Michel had procured his flame-haired flyer. Well, after he paid an ungodly sum to her family troupe as compensation for their loss.

He cleared his throat and frowned at Jason. “Whether she is insane or not, she is a highly skilled performer for whom we paid an exorbitant amount. Allowances must be made.” Insanity didn’t worry Michel Lemaitre, but Jason’s exasperated expression did. He pitched his voice to a low, soothing lilt. “Tell me about your first practice with
La Vampa
. I’d love to hear what has you so worked up.”

Jason’s rough exhale shifted the hair that escaped his ponytail. “Okay, where do I start? She arrived on time in the company of a gentleman purported to be her father.”

Michel raised a brow. “Purported?”

“I’ll get to that in a minute. We talked for a while, got to know each other.”

“Her English?”

“It’s good, but when she gets excited she can be difficult to follow. And she gets excited a lot. By everything.”

“How delightful.”

Jason gave him a look that communicated a different opinion. “Anyway, she gave me a short demonstration of her skills.”

“Her acrobatics are excellent, yes?”

The director’s eyes shone with reluctant approval. “Her acrobatics are world class and her agility is astounding. Nearly as astounding as her lack of inhibition.”

Michel waved a hand. “What need have we of inhibition? We are Cirque du Monde. What else did you discover? What are her strengths and weaknesses?”

“Strengths? She’s athletic, with great natural ability. She’s amazingly comfortable in her body. Flawless balance, flawless control. She’s creative and energetic. Weaknesses...” He paused with a grimace. “Well, there’s only one real weakness. She doesn’t seem to possess an ounce of self-preservation. I spent ninety percent of the practice expecting her to break her neck. She’s insane.”

Michel shook his head. “She is an artist. The best art is fearlessly rendered.”

“That’s a real pretty saying. She still scared me to death. She also has the attention span of a flea. She stopped halfway through practice because she spotted a scrap of nylon fabric across the gym that she had to have.”

“Had to have? Why? What did she do with it?”

“She stuck it in her gym bag, God knows why. She also spent a good bit of time flirting with Adei and some of the other gymnasts.”

“Not you?” Michel asked, lips curling in amusement.

“Oh, me too. Halfway through practice I put a hoodie over my tee shirt because she was undressing me so hard with her eyes.”

Now he laughed out loud. “How wonderful for you.”

“Wonderful? First of all, I’m engaged to your daughter. Second, I’m supposed to be Valentina’s director, not her love toy. Speaking of love toys, her father—”

“You said ‘purported’ father,” Michel reminded him.

“During the break I found him with her in the locker room showers.”

“Showering?”

“Fucking her against the wall. It didn’t look very fatherly, but Valentina seemed to be enjoying it. She wasn’t the least bit embarrassed either. She looked at me like she expected me to join in.”

“Did you join in?”

“No!”

“Come now, confess. I’m not one to judge.”

Jason ruffled with impatience. “Again, I’m engaged to your daughter. And I’ve never slept with any of my performers.” At his boss’s doubtful glance, he amended, “Well, except for your daughter.”

Michel smiled at the correction. He’d sent Jason to scout his daughter last year at a circus in Mongolia, and by the time they returned, the two were embroiled in a relationship. Before then, Sara hadn’t realized she had a father in Paris, or that he owned the world famous Cirque du Monde, and Michel hadn’t realized he wanted to be a dad. At Jason’s urging, Michel had grown close to the twenty-two-year-old woman, and given her the trapeze act in his new elemental-themed production. His daughter was air, wispy and ethereally lovely.

La Vampa
, he hoped, would bring the fire.

Michel tapped at the file on his desk. “Aside from Miss Sancia’s fearlessness and her voracious appetite for her fake-father, how did you find her artistry? Her tenacity? Did she take direction well?”

“Yes, but—”

“Did she seem capable of intricate technique and concentration?”

“Yes, but—”

“Energy, vitality. Conflagration,” Michel said with a sigh of pleasure, enjoying the feel of the word on his lips. “She’ll be perfect for
Élémental
.” Michel flipped open her file to show Jason the sketches and notes he’d made while the talent department labored to bring her into the fold. “Do you know what they call Valentina in Italy?”

“What’s the Italian word for ‘nymphomaniac’?”

Michel ignored this. “She is called
La Vampa di Napoli
,” he said. “The Flame of Naples, roughly translated. I imagine this ‘Vampa’ as a central character in our production, a motif. A woman of unbridled passion and strength, a blaze igniting inspiration wherever she goes.”

Jason scratched his temple. “Okay. But she’s crazy.”

“
Excentrique
,” Michel corrected.

“
Excentrique
,” Jason repeated with a passable Parisian lilt. “However you want to say it. She’s something else.”

Something else.
Michel felt the familiar rush of inspiration. “We have earth, air, water, spirit, and now fire,” he said. “I see oranges and reds, a dynamic, vigorous act, a performer who embodies a blaze with flames reaching to the sky.”

“A character called
La Vampa
?”

Michel nodded. “What do you think?” He felt heartened by his director’s thoughtful expression. “These are just preliminary plans. Visions. I’ll need your help, Jason. I’ll need Valentina’s most magnificent efforts and your expertise in refining them.”

“And a magnificent insurance policy for
La Vampa
, who seems determined to break every bone in her body.”

Michel stood with a smile. “Where is our flame now? Did you leave her in her father’s arms?”

“Last I saw, they were headed to the cafeteria for lunch.”

“Let’s join them. I would like to welcome her personally to our community of artists.”

Jason threw up his hands. “Sure. Why not?”

Michel strolled through the corridors of the main Paris complex with his usual sense of pride. He had begun his circus career as a traveler, a vagabond juggling on street corners. Even then, homeless and poor as a beggar, he’d found creative beauty in the ebb and flow of life. He’d built the Cirque empire from the ground up, scratched and begged and bullied until he achieved his perfect vision, until he got the results he wanted. It was a mode of operation he still practiced today, although he did considerably less begging and considerably more bullying.

The man beside him, Jason, was a trusted colleague as well as his future son-in-law. He could be depended on to whip the acrobatic acts into shape; his light manner belied a steely core. Perhaps he was an effective director because he shared Michel’s dominant proclivities. As a player in the Cirque’s BDSM subculture, the younger man’s depravity rivaled his own.

No small feat, considering Michel’s depravities.

They turned off the wide corridor into a community dining space dominated by panoramic windows and bright murals. A scan of the tables revealed no splash of red hair.

“I don’t see her,” said Jason. “But there’s her fake-dad.”

“I’d love an introduction.”

Michel and Jason crossed to the man’s table. Michel extended his hand. “Good afternoon, Mr...”

“Forenze,” the Italian provided with a thick accent, leaning forward.