Master's Flame (3 page)

“These are excellent problems to have, in my opinion. Before I knew you were called
La Vampa
, I sensed you had a bit more fire than everyone else. I need your fire, Miss Sancia.”

She stared at his broad, classically handsome face, his generous mouth. “You can have my fire,
signore
. As much as you want.”

“What if I want all of it?”

Did he mean—? She rose to go to him again.

“No.” He held up a hand. “I do not mean that. I mean that we are to mount a new production here in Paris. New cast, new performances, new blood. I have conceived a show about the elements, but it needs a central symbol. A flame, a fire, an explosion of life to anchor the rest of the acts. You understand? The show needs a spirit to drive it. You have this spirit and I want to use it to delight Paris audiences. The production will be named
Cirque Élémental
.”

“But...” She wasn’t sure what he asked. “I’m an acrobat, a banquine flyer. I don’t have an act to last an entire show.”

“Not an entire show. There will be other acts, but you’ll be the show’s figurehead, the vision on the poster. We’ll create an entire production with ten or fifteen other acts. Dance, lights, costumes, humor and pathos, feats of strength and agility. You know...circus.”

The steady tone of his voice never altered, but some deeper challenge in his gaze excited her almost beyond bearing. At the same time, he’d made it clear he wanted her artistry, not her sexual advances. He hadn’t wanted her on her knees before him. Very sad.

“I will do whatever you like, Mr. Lemaitre. Simply tell me.” She gave him a look, one she hoped communicated that she was his vessel to use, artistically or otherwise. “Whatever you want from me, sir, I am yours.”

Valentina squirmed on the massage table as Priya dug relentless knuckles into her
latissimus dorsi
muscles. It was the end of November, six weeks since she’d arrived at the Cirque, six weeks since Mr. Lemaitre took her to his office and told her he needed her spark. No, not her spark. Her
fire
. Since that day, she’d been burning to please him, training hard and working with Adei and Jason Beck to develop an artful and intense hand-balancing act. Unfortunately, since that day, she hadn’t seen him once.

The Cirque was building a venue in Brussels, so Mr. Lemaitre was needed elsewhere. During his absence, new acts for
Élémental
arrived from all corners of the globe. Valentina liked practicing her hand-to-hand act with Adei. He was alternately her pedestal, her trampoline, her stairs. He lifted her, supported her, threw her in the air and caught her. He held her motionless while she balanced on his upstretched arms. He was strong and steady for the most part, and when he wasn’t, she let him have it. They were no longer lovers.

She had a regrettable habit of getting bored fast.

Because of that, Valentina spent most of her nights at
Le Citadel
, the Cirque’s secret sex club. Jason had taken her the first time, along with his fiancée, Sara, who was Mr. Lemaitre’s daughter. Valentina liked Sara because she was beautiful and exotic, with light blue eyes just like Mr. Lemaitre’s, but she wasn’t sure Sara liked her. Valentina never would have flirted with Jason if she knew he and Sara were engaged to be married. Even after Valentina apologized, Sara had given her baleful looks.

Valentina had a way of alienating people even though she tried to be warm and exuberant. Jason called it “recklessness” and he didn’t like it. He warned Valentina that he would monitor her activities at the Citadel, and bar her from the club if she couldn’t control herself. People laughed and embraced at the Citadel, kissed and flirted and fucked right in the open if they felt like it. In the back rooms, men and women played more serious games. Dominance and submission. Power exchange. Mr. Lemaitre had his own private dungeon built of stone and steel, where people bowed before him and called him
Le Maître
, a variation of his surname that meant “The Master.” Valentina heard all this secondhand since Jason wouldn’t let her go to Mr. Lemaitre’s back room, or any of the back rooms.

“Not yet,” he said. “Not until he approves it. Those are the rules.”

But Mr. Lemaitre wasn’t around and Valentina was dying to know what went on behind those walls. She wondered what it would be like to be one of his slaves, to yield to his barely-leashed sexual power. She’d never considered such things, but she thought, with someone like
Le Maître
, she might enjoy it. She loved trying new things and he’d said that she inspired him...

Speaking of which, she hoped she would inspire Mr. Lemaitre today. He was finally back in Paris to judge the progress of
Élémental
’s acts. She hoped he loved her work. In her fantasies, he loved it so much that he rushed over and took her in his arms and whispered, “I want you,” or something gruff and demanding like that. But what if he didn’t love her act? What if she fell or messed up? She moaned just thinking about it.

Priya paused and frowned down at her. “What? I hurt you, girl?”

“No, it’s okay. Don’t be gentle,” Valentina said. “We’re performing for Mr. Lemaitre today. I need to be really loose.”

The masseuse’s dark brows snapped together. “From what I hear, you are already loose enough.”

Valentina ignored her, concentrating instead on relaxing her muscles and joints. She began a mental exercise where she visualized herself in performance, imagining her body’s alignment, the placement of her limbs, even the graceful form of her fingers. Priya moved from her shoulders to her spine, digging her palms into the vertebrae and carefully realigning them. It felt so good that Valentina moaned again. “Priya, you’re a goddess. Don’t stop.”

“Hush,” said the Indian woman.

“Oh,
yes
. More. That feels so good.”

Priya’s magic fingers massaged away all the tension and worry, until Valentina sailed on a sea of relaxation. A good masseuse could make you feel like a brand new person. Valentina’s moans rose with the increasing pressure of Priya’s fingers. Suddenly, the door flung open.

Jason scowled at her, arms crossed over his chest. “Just checking.”

Priya flashed him an irritated look. “Mr. Beck, I am almost done. She want to be loose. I’m making her loose.”

Jason lounged against the door frame. “I think she’s already loose enough.”

“What?” Valentina’s temper flared. “Priya made that same joke five minutes ago.”

“You might ask yourself why.”

“It’s insulting.”

“Insulting or accurate? I could hear you moaning all the way down the hall.”

Director and artist scowled at one another as Priya gave her a final pat down. “Go, you,” she said, helping Valentina up. “Do good for Mr. Lemaitre. You very loose and open now.”

Valentina glared at Jason, daring him to make another comment, but he stayed silent as he led her out of the physical therapy office and down the corridor toward the practice facility. The relaxation of the massage ebbed away, replaced by the usual tension she felt at Jason Beck’s side.

He looked over at her. “Nervous?”

“No. Yes.” She frowned. “Priya doesn’t like me. I’ve put in several requests for a male masseuse. They have stronger fingers.”

He looked away to greet a passing coach, then back at her. “Males are called
masseurs
, and we don’t have any who are appropriate for you.”

“What does that mean?”

“We don’t have any that wouldn’t cave to your inevitable seduction.”

Valentina set her teeth. “You know, I am tired of being made fun of. I am a single, healthy woman who enjoys physical pleasure and connection. I’m safe with sex.”

“That’s good to know.”

“It’s not hurting anyone.”

“Isn’t it? Adei just stopped moping over you last week, you almost ended Peter and Silas’s twelve-year gay relationship, and now you’ve got the Russian juggling troupe at each other’s throats.”

“I didn’t realize they were all brothers. I didn’t know!” She thought a moment. “They are all very good in bed.”

“Valentina,” he said in a tone of warning. He pulled her into the smaller practice studio and shook a finger under her nose. “I appreciate that you’re comfortable in your sexuality, but you’re here to work, not seduce the entire company. If you keep causing havoc Lemaitre will step in and you won’t like it when he does.”

She jerked away and sprawled on the closest blue mat to stretch and warm up. Other performers did the same in various corners with other, nicer coaches. Because she was one of the production’s stars, she had to work with stern, exacting Jason, who scolded her all the time. Her sex life was none of his business, and as for her various partners’ interpersonal nonsense, that was no fault of hers.

Jason watched her, stepping closer from time to time to offer support or resistance as she worked her flexible limbs. She braced a leg on his shoulder and did a back bend, stretching and lengthening her spine. As much as he annoyed her, he was good at his job. And handsome. She liked the deep blue of Jason’s eyes and the nature-tones in his hair. Gold, auburn, mahogany, dark-bark brown. She collected leaves the color of his hair from the autumn streets, which was weird, but she was always weird. That’s probably why he was so snappy with her. When she righted herself and stretched her arms over her head, he narrowed his eyes.

“What?” she said in exasperation.

“Instead of taking the world tour of Cirque cocks, you should be in the gym lifting weights. You haven’t gained any muscle mass. You need to be strong to do eight shows a week. Everyone’s expected to be fit.”

She did a couple back flips and faced him when she regained her feet. “I am not a strength performer. I’m an agility performer. If I develop big muscles I’ll be too heavy to lift.”

“Give Adei some credit. He can lift twice your weight without breaking a sweat. If you don’t bulk up, Lemaitre—”

“Lemaitre, Lemaitre. Blah blah blah Lemaitre. I’ll do my act, I’ll do it beautifully, and he’ll have nothing bad to say. He hired me as I am.” She gave Jason an arch look. “He understands me better than you do.”

Jason chuckled as she stretched her hamstrings and did another series of flips to warm up her back.

“What’s so funny?” she asked when she finished.

“Your bravado,” he said. “But whatever. This will be fun. Come on, you and Adei should run through it a couple times before he arrives.”

*** *** ***

Michel headed for the practice studio. His train from Brussels had been gratifyingly prompt, and the construction there on schedule. Everything in order, just as he liked it, and now he got to view the seeds of what would grow into the new Paris show.

As always, he felt impatience mixed with a rousing sense of possibility. So many personalities, so much creative spirit to mold into a unified program. Creating art was, to him, an exercise in discipline. One took risk and inspiration and harnessed them for the enjoyment of audiences, controlling elements that resisted control.

Speaking of elements that resisted control...

Michel pondered the issue of
La Vampa
. He hadn’t heard much directly from Jason, but word got around. She was every bit as disruptive as he had expected. She was either loved or hated by her colleagues, and sometimes loved and hated at the same time. Michel didn’t have the luxury of forming any emotionally-based opinion of her. As with all his performers, he would support Valentina Sancia as long as her art and performance merited his care.

A few moments later he arrived at the practice space and took a seat on the perimeter with his artistic team. He scanned the large room, noting the various types of rigging and the groups of artists stretching on mats near the walls. He beckoned each act in the order he wanted to see them, saving
La Vampa
’s act for last. He saw a fantastic high bar act, a Russian Swing routine with a lot of potential, a group of rhythmic dancers who were not as fey as he feared they would be, and a fire-eater that downright unsettled him. He watched his daughter’s emotional solo trapeze act, developed over the summer in Marseille. As many times as he’d seen it, it still amazed him.

Overall, he was thrilled.

To his left, Adei stretched bulging muscles while Valentina bent backward and arched her minute frame into a near-perfect circle. He thought of the
ouroboros
, the snake swallowing its tail in a symbol of eternity and reinvention. She rolled out of the unnatural position and came to her feet with a grace he found arousing. Michel was a carnal man; when she did those things, he thought about sex. If she could do
that
with her body, what else could she do?

But this wasn’t the time to fantasize about exotic sexual positions. He focused on Valentina and Adei’s showmanship as the pair began their act. They already had music, West Indian in origin, with modern beats and dance influences mixed in. His musical director would refine and expand it based on the final version of the act. For now, it provided a blueprint as far as tempo and length. Michel was struck by Valentina’s musicality as she twisted and strutted about the floor. Adei was the sun to her skittering planet. In a sensual bit of choreography, she shimmied up Adei’s body and stood, perfectly balanced, on his upraised hands.

The lifeblood of his circus—any circus really—were artists who could do what other people couldn’t. This hand-to-hand act fell firmly in that category, perhaps too firmly. Valentina’s daring alarmed him. She went into a handstand on one arm—hers and Adei’s—and bent her body back in a defined arch. She did splits and turns, her eyes locked with her partner’s. She flipped in the air and Adei caught her on his upturned palms. It wasn’t all his skill. She used her body to position herself perfectly and to land with a soft touch. With a grin, Adei flipped her up again, making it look like nothing more than schoolyard shenanigans. The things they did could only be achieved through the melding of two singular sets of talents. Even then, each new leap, arch, and stunt shocked him a little more.

“
Dieu
,” he whispered at one point to Jason beside him. “How is it possible?”