Master's Flame (2 page)

“Mr. Forenze, I am Michel Lemaitre, the owner of Cirque du Monde. Welcome to our happy little enclave.”

“Happy?” Forenze leaned back again and made a disgruntled sound.

Michel looked around. “Where is your daughter?”

“She is not my daughter. She told me to pretend I’m her father so I can stay with her.”

“You’re not her father?” said Michel with feigned shock. Jason poked him in the back.

The Italian shook his head. “I meet Valentina last week at a café. She beg me to come, crying that she will not know anyone. She has already made several new
friends
,” he sneered. “As for me, I have a ticket home tomorrow.”

“Well.” Michel turned to Jason, who’d flushed red around the ears. The American hated awkward scenes. “You’ll be missed. Safe travels.” He scanned the cafeteria once more. “Do you have any idea where she is?”

Mr. Forenze pointed to one of the doors. “She left that way holding hands with a large black man.”

“Of course she did,” Jason muttered under his breath.

“Adei?” Michel guessed.

“She did a lot of staring across the practice space at him. So probably. Yeah.”

“This is serendipitous. He topped my list of prospective partners for Miss Sancia.” The first meeting room in the hall was empty. Michel closed it and proceeded to the next. “I picture a hand-to-hand routine. Adei’s strength and presence contrasted with her delicacy.” He opened the next door. “Ah. You see what I mean?”

“Good lord,” Jason said, turning away.

But Michel didn’t turn away. Why would he deprive his senses of such a lovely tableau? Valentina sprawled atop a conference table, pants and panties around her ankles, her legs held open by Adei as he licked her bare pussy with abandon. “Lovely,” Michel murmured. “See how he worships her?”

To say Michel Lemaitre was sex positive was like saying a fish was water positive. He didn’t just love sex; he needed it to live, to breathe.

“You are not required to finish what you’re doing,” he said to alert them to his presence, “but I would enjoy watching the finale.”

Across the room, the two performers froze, and two alarmed sets of eyes turned to him, Valentina’s half-dazed with pleasure. Michel winked at Adei, who winked back and tightened his grip on the woman’s thighs.

Jason made a noise behind him. “I’m out of here.”

Michel was too absorbed in the scene to care when his director stalked away. He pulled the door closed as Adei hunched over
La Vampa
’s glistening mons. She held Michel’s gaze another moment and then threw back her head in pleasure. Adei slid his hands under her legs and lifted her, bobbing her up and down on his tongue. There was nothing on earth like watching athletes fuck. They were so energetic and flexible. He envisioned an act in flame orange, Adei sending Valentina skyward with his thick, muscular arms so she flew like a comet, trailing that fire-red hair.

As he daydreamed, Valentina gripped Adei’s head. “
Sì, sì, sì, sì, sì,
” she hissed. A moment later, Adei’s efforts had her bucking through a prolonged climax. How beautiful she looked caught in the throes of orgasm. He watched the sleek muscles of her legs as she twitched through aftershocks. Her pussy glowed like a flower and he found himself wanting to take his own sample of her nectar. He found himself wishing to force open those shapely, strong legs and explore her many charms. He found himself wanting to tuck the delectable creature into a cage so he might fuck and torment her whenever he wished.

Such lurid fantasies. His cock ached, rock hard, but he smoothed a hand over it, willing it to subside. This little spitfire was not for him. Too young, too fresh, and certainly too undisciplined to satisfy his exacting tastes.

Michel gave her a moment to rest and compose her clothing before he held out his hand. “Come, Miss Sancia. We have things to discuss.”

“You are angry?”

“Why would I be? I am not angry in the least.”

She studied him, her light, gold-hazel eyes still glowing with pleasure as their fingers intertwined. Ah, he remembered that light in her eyes, that lively spirit from their single previous meeting. Her erotic hedonism, though, was a delightful surprise.

To Adei he inclined his head. “Bravo, young man. To give is sometimes to receive. Come to my office at four o’clock. We have things to discuss.”

He turned back to Valentina. The reckless flirt blew Adei a kiss as Michel drew her out the door.

*** *** ***

Valentina had to walk fast to keep up with Michel Lemaitre’s purposeful strides—and she
had
to keep up, because he hadn’t yet loosened his grip on her hand.

Not that she minded. She could barely believe she was walking through the halls of Cirque du Monde’s headquarters on the arm of the powerful, sexy CEO. She’d liked Naples, and liked performing with her family as part of a traveling variety act, but they never left Italy. City festivals and community fairs were small time. She wanted to see the world and the surest way to do that was to join Mr. Lemaitre’s company, with shows in numerous countries and touring productions that spanned the globe.

And the man beside her? He was nothing less than a genius, and that excited her. He exuded an intensity, an electric energy that made her heart pound. No, not her heart. Her sex. The moment she met him, the moment he took her hand so many months ago in Italy, she had recognized him as a sexual creature and responded in kind.

Mr. Lemaitre was tall and muscular, his swarthy physicality as attractive to her as his piercing, ice-blue eyes. He was in his mid-40’s, seasoned, elegant and handsome, the type of man who commanded attention and knew what he was about. His features were prominent, finely carved, their aristocratic haughtiness softened by his head of unruly hair. Glossy black waves tumbled over his forehead and behind his ears, tapered and tamed to a neater arrangement in back.

It was an effort for him, she understood, this tame front. His exquisitely tailored suit, his styled hair, even his neatly manicured facial hair spoke of tamed impulses. Control. Nothing fascinated Valentina like an intriguing, complex man. Adei was charming and enthusiastic, but so much on the surface. So sweet.

Michel Lemaitre was not sweet. He was something else.

Mr. Lemaitre had stood and watched with no compunction as she enjoyed the pleasures of Adei’s agile mouth. She knew it was bad behavior to steal away and have sex with Adei, but as always, in the moment, desire won out over reason. Anyway, Mr. Lemaitre had seemed far from scandalized. Another reason she wanted to be here. Performers talked, and Cirque du Monde was known around the world for its culture of sexual abandon. Adei had answered her come-hither stare without a second thought.

“Oh, I’m so happy,” she burst out, skipping beside him. “This place is...
magnifico
.”

He dropped her hand so she could complete an exuberant pirouette. “I do not doubt you think so,” he said drily, “considering how you spent the last half hour.”

“Half hour? It was only twenty minutes.”

He raised a brow. “And before, in the showers?”

“Oh. That.” Perhaps he didn’t completely approve. “I told Mr. Beck that man was my father, but he isn’t really.”

“I rejoice to hear it.”

She couldn’t pin down his tone. Angry? Teasing? Bemused? “My father is home in Italy,” she said. “I met Lugo at a cafe and he wanted to come.”

“He wanted to come, or you compelled him to come?”

“He had nothing better to do. He’s very much a...what is the word? Slacker? Anyway, I think he’s leaving.”

She hoped he was leaving. Lugo’s avid, clumsy lovemaking had thrilled her at first. She loved big, brutish men who grunted and groped. Then again, she loved cultured, urbane men too. She slid a look at
Signore
Lemaitre, who was large and had dark hair like Lugo, but was so much more attractive. She wondered what it would be like to share a bed with him. She’d heard that the Cirque founder was omnisexual and intensely dominant.

Fascinating. A fascinating and intriguing man.

He paused, bringing her to a stop. “In here, if you please.”

He guided her through a set of double doors into an office complex. There was an outer waiting area with conference rooms and cubicles, and Cirque posters decorating the walls. She loved design and art, and the entire office sang with artistic energy. The area was flanked by a frosted glass wall and a door that read
Michel Lemaitre, Cirque du Monde
. She suppressed a frisson of excitement as he led her inside with a light touch on her back.

“Please have a seat.” He nudged her toward a worn leather arm chair facing his desk as he removed his suit jacket and hung it near the door. She looked around at the memento-laden shelves, at polished wood furniture that spoke of refinement, wealth, and success. These walls too were decorated with photographs of Cirque performers in rehearsals and shows. She recognized some of them. They were the trailblazers, the outstanding ones. She hoped she would earn a place on his wall one day. He only had to give her a job to do. She would perform the hell out of it, whatever he wanted. Valentina was an adrenaline junkie who loved challenges. She lived for the high of performance, for that soaring feeling of expressing herself.
Please
, she thought, turning her eyes back to him.
Please let me express myself here.

His gaze locked on hers across his desk and for a moment she felt frightened by the depth of his scrutiny, not that she had anything to hide. She lived in the open, true to herself as much as society allowed. She hoped he would respect that. “Well,” she said, as silence spun out between them.

“Well,” he repeated with a slight quirk to his lips. “First, I must commend you. Your English is excellent. Much better than my Italian.”

She smiled at his compliment. “I have never had problems learning things.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“I can help your Italian if you like.”

He tilted his head. Did he hide a smile? “I believe we’ll limp along just fine in English,” he said. “Miss Sancia—”

“You can call me Valentina,” she interrupted. “Or Tina. My friends sometimes call me Tina.”

“I am your employer, not your friend.”

His curt reminder both devastated her and turned her on. “Of course,” she said, sitting on her hands to keep them still.

He pushed a thick file forward across his desk. “Miss Sancia, do you know what this is?”

“My dossier?”

“Yes. Do you know what is inside?”

She bit her lip, thinking over his question. “Complimentary things, I hope. Any police reports...they are not to be believed. I did not vandalize that fountain, merely went wading in it because the water sparkled so beautifully that day.”

“Miss Sancia—”

“And I was only naked because, well, I had on my favorite dress and I didn’t want to ruin it. I was not even fully naked. Just mostly naked.”

“Miss Sancia—”

“And that other time, no matter what the report says, I did not force the Sicilian councilman’s sons into any inappropriate behavior.”

His blue eyes widened. “Sons? Plural?”

“
Monsieur
, I never would have. I merely—”

“There are no police reports,” he said, cutting her off. “Although we may continue this discussion at another time. This dossier contains my talent scout’s notes, photographs, and my own notes from our brief meeting last year. Do you remember?”

She nodded, wondering about the purpose of this conference. Was she not officially hired? Had he gone over her dossier and decided she was not, after all, a Cirque du Monde-caliber artist? She was beginning to regret stealing private time with the handsome gymnast. “About before, about the man who was...”

“Going down on you on my conference table?”

“Yes. It was a matter of impulsive urges.”

“Obviously.”

“The man—”

“His name is Adei. Please do not disappoint me by stammering out excuses. I admire your carnal enthusiasm. However, we are not in the habit of constant, promiscuous, and public sex here at our headquarters. The focus must be on training for roles and performances.”

“Of course,” she said.

“That is not to say we don’t satisfy our sexual urges at other times, in other, more appropriate locales,” he added. “But while you are here in the training facility, please refrain.”

“Yes, sir.” She tried to appear duly censured but couldn’t help looking at him sideways with a flirtatious smile. For a moment he gazed at her, a probing, prolonged study that wasn’t flirtatious in return. Then he shook himself and looked down at the folder on his desk.

“Anyway, about your file. You have probably realized by now that you’ve not been brought here to blend into the background of some existing cast. Like many who see you perform, I find myself compelled. Inspired.” He leaned back in his chair and fixed her with a look. “Do you know what it means to inspire a man like me?”

Valentina wasn’t one hundred percent sure she knew what it meant, but she acted on her best instincts, rising to her feet and crossing to kneel before him. She could barely keep her excitement in check as she reached to unbuckle his belt.

“No.” His hands came over hers, stilling them. “No, my dear. Not that.”

“Oh.”

“Oh, indeed. You begin to alarm me. Is there some...condition? If so, we’ll work with it as well as we can.”

“A condition?” she asked, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

“A medical condition which requires you to have sex at least once an hour? Be honest, my dear. There will be no repercussions, and we will make allowances as we may.”

“No, there’s no medical condition.” She straightened, wishing there was a way she could instantaneously be sitting back in her chair. “I’m sorry. I misunderstood what you were asking.”

“That seems patently clear. When I want sex from my partners, I am very direct about it.” He indicated that she should go sit down. “If I am not demanding sex from you, you may rest assured it is not desired.”

“I’m sorry,” she said again, miserably. His cool tone wasn’t mocking, but Valentina nonetheless felt mocked. “I do have a bit of a condition. I am too...enthusiastic. Too impulsive and passionate, not just with sex, but everything.”