Offensive Behavior (Sidelined #1) (30 page)

The
chair had rungs and she used them like stirrups to ride him, hands on his
shoulders for leverage, eyes locked on his. “You’re so goddamn fucking sexy,
Zarley.”

She bounced
on him. “You make me feel it. I love it.” She pulled his head down for a kiss
that made his feet lift from the floor. She’d said it, not him, but he’d take
it. His spine was shot through with electric sparks that zapped him every time
she bore down. In the park, he thought he might die if he couldn’t have her,
now he might die from having her.

She didn’t
look out the window, she never broke eye contact. He had no breath, no thought
beyond the ache of heat and shock she generated. He felt the pull of her in his
gut, in his thighs, in his chest, in his shins, and enough power arched up his back
as his balls drew tight to blow the top of his head off.

He came
first, holding her hips to stop her drawing off, unable to contain his shout. She
followed, shuddering and gasping, her teeth clacking, then collapsing into him.

When it
was over and he could breathe normally and she was limp and draped across his
chest, he turned his head to check the window.

The
room was empty, but in condensation on the glass someone had drawn a heart. The
sight of it made Reid’s clench. He’d never wanted to hold on to something as
badly as he wanted Zarley, or feared he wasn’t up to the challenge.

The
ordinary domesticity that followed was welcome, it gave his head the chance to
clear. It would be too easy to spook her with feelings he didn’t have a firm
hold on. Zarley cooked and they ate and while he cleaned up, she checked her messages.
There was a one from Madame Amour offering a choice of performance times. It
was hard to tell which of them was more excited. She chose the first time
offered, which gave her two days to finalize her routine, music and costume. She
made him promise to keep her busy in the meantime.

He had
no trouble with that instruction.

Unlike
the Louvre, the Mus
é
e d’Orsay, where
they went the next day, was fantastically civilized. No cameras allowed. You
could experience the art as it was meant to be viewed, or you could watch the
woman you were in love with take it all in with curious delight.

He
loved her. That’s what the fear and the joy and the safety he felt with her
told him.

He
watched Zarley move from room to room, from painting to painting, mood to mood
and knew he’d want to watch her for the rest of his life. He was in love with
her. Had been from that first night he’d watched her dance, but he hadn’t
understood it then.

Still
didn’t.

He had
no idea what loving a woman meant from a practical point of view. From a purely
selfish point of view it meant he couldn’t keep his eyes or hands off her. He
wanted her smoky voice in his ear and her commentary in his life. He wanted to
hold her when she slept and chase after her when she was awake. She was an
adventure and he was on it. She was a disturbance in the routine of his life
and he needed her as his new habit.

But
what did she need?

A job,
a chance, a degree, a place to live, a future. And she didn’t see him playing a
part in any of that, not if she wouldn’t let him pay for an airfare or a fancy
meal.

She
stood in front of Degas’s bronze,
Little Dancer Aged Fourteen
,
unconsciously patterning the sculpture’s stance, feet turned out, hands clasped
behind her back, chin up.

“Isn’t
she wonderful?”

She
might’ve been talking to herself. He stepped in close behind her and she leaned
her weight into him. He touched his knuckles to her cheek. “She is wonderful.” He
was talking to himself and to Zarley, and to anyone else who could decode how
he felt about his little pole dancer, could tell him what to do with his
feelings, how to make them into something solid that didn’t need sex or money
or privilege to explain it away.

She was
so struck by the ballerina figure she let him buy her a desktop-sized copy in
the gift shop. He’d have bought her the original if it was possible.

She
cooked again that night, then she played around with music, working routines in
her head, going over dance and acrobatic moves that didn’t depend on a pole. It
was disjointed, repetitive, and her focus was introverted, as if he didn’t
exist, but he watched her with a tightness in his chest he didn’t know how to
release.

If he
told Zarley he loved her, would he push her away? Did you go from a thing to
girlfriend to beloved so quickly or was this his failing, his lack of emotional
maturity. He needed Sarina but he dared not ring her for this. What would
Sarina tell him to do? Not brood on it, that’s for sure. Not get weird about
it, which is what he was doing. Let this fester any longer and Zarley would be
all over him to account for himself.

He quit
any pretense of reading and simply watched her move about, humming to herself,
eyes focused outside this room, well beyond him and his tight chest and his asinine
indecision.

He was
deep inside his own head when she spoke. “I need a sexier costume.”

The
pieces she’d brought were laid out in the room. The red leather was over the
back of a chair. The snakeskin hung on a hanger off the curtain rail. “Can we
buy something?” They’d passed a lingerie shop and though he’d suggested they go
inside, he’d passed an excruciating half hour not knowing where to look. He
knew better than to offer to buy her something then, especially after the
ballerina, but now he wasn’t sure.

She
pulled the band from her hair. “Yes. I can have one expensive night out with
you or something amazing from that shop.”

“Not
both?”

She
shook her hair out so it fell around her face and shoulders. “Not both.”

A woman
who rationed herself like she did had respect for limits. She wasn’t being
stubborn for the sake of it. If he told her what he felt he’d suffocate her. “Then
you need a new costume more than you need an expensive meal.”

She
plopped down on the sofa beside him. “And what do you need?”

Live on
your feet or die on your knees. “I need you to fall in love with me so I can
admit I’m in love with you.”

Her
mouth opened, her intake of breath was sharp. Oh fuck. He was a useless cowboy.

She narrowed
her eyes. “But I have to go first.”

“Yes,
because you’ll never believe me. You’ll always think it was only about the sex.
You’ll always think I don’t know what I’m doing, don’t have enough experience, that
I’m lust struck.”

He got
off the sofa, but then he towered over her so he sat again. “I know what I’m
doing.” Right, couldn’t even decide whether to sit or stand, fuuuck. No choice
but to commit. “You’re it for me, Zarley. Air and water and sunlight. All the
mathematics I never knew I needed and now I can’t live well without. I want to
be in your life for the rest of mine.”

“Oh,
Reid.”

He
stood again. Took a couple of steps, put some distance between his words and
her reaction. He’d never seen her look so tense. “If you’re not in love with
me, it’s not like it’s the end of the world. I’ll go on, I’ll have a good life,
a great life, but it’ll be less if it’s without you.” It would be choosing to
stay on his road alone when he’d learned there was another better way. “It will
be less everything.”

“Reid,
stop.”

“I
learned my lessons. I know about sex. I know how to please a woman. I don’t
have to be embarrassed anymore. You were an excellent teacher. You got the job
done.”

“Reid,
please.”

Zarley
was on her feet too but he had to get this finished before his chest tore open.
“But you fucking ruined me for anyone else. If you don’t think it’s possible to
fall in love with me, you should tell me now, because I can’t pretend any
longer and I need to get my expectations straight.”

She
took a step toward him and then another. He couldn’t read her expression. It
didn’t seem possible he could get his life back together if she wasn’t part of
it, but he’d just asked her to treat loving him like a key performance
indicator.

“You’re
impatient.”

He let
a breath go but his lungs were still seizing.

She advanced
on him. “You’re pigheaded. You’re argumentative. You sulk. You look at me as if
I make the planet spin.”

One of
those items was out of place. “What are you saying?” He felt like he might
bring up the supper he’d eaten.

“You’re
the most bullheaded man I’ve met. Worse than any coach I ever had.”

He wanted
to turn his face away so he didn’t have to see his own unending as it rammed
into him.

“You
weren’t supposed to mean anything.”

Wait. He
shook his head. “You’re angry with me, because I mean something?”

“I’m
furious.”

“Well,
fuck.” What was he supposed to do with that? Why did anyone bother with
relationships? They made no sense.

“I
don’t have time for you.”

That
was easily fixed. They had open date tickets. “When we get back—”

“Shut
up.”

He bit
down on his tongue.

“I love
you.”

Then
nearly bit through it.

This woman
could make him weak and desperate, bring him to his knees a thousand different
ways, but hearing her say that made him bulletproof.

TWENTY-SIX

Oh, this impossible man. Zarley poked Reid in the chest. “That was
an asshole thing to do.” He grinned, eyes alight with excitement after being distressed
with the weight of his confession. “You made me go first.”

“Believe
me, Flygirl, if I thought there was any chance of faking it till you broke, I’d
have been there. Not sure I’ve ever been so terrified, way worse than air
travel.”

“Hah.” She
folded her arms. How could she love him, he was infuriating. “You don’t know
terrified till you say those words, because we’re still at me having said them
first.”

He
moved in, crowding her. “Can’t fault your logic there.”

She was
forced to step back or look up. She was never stepping back from him. She flattened
both palms on his chest and pegged his eyes. “I hate you.”

“Not
what I heard.” He brought his arms around her back.

“The
ego on you.”

“Did I
mishear, Zarley?” He brought his face close, brushing his cheek against hers,
whispering in her ear. “Did I fantasize you saying those three little words?”

She
wrapped her arms around his neck to hold him, knowing the lightest touch would
have him cleave to her; and every glance, every halted breath, smoky spoken
word or held thought mattered to him. She mattered to him, when she was
inconvenient and unflinchingly honest, when she was competitive and bossy and
distracted and prickly. When she wasn’t sure who she would become or what she
had to offer. He was willing to love all those things, respect all that she was
and encourage all she hoped to be.

That
was more romance than anyone deserved.

He
tucked his face against her neck. “Apparently there’s nothing wrong with my
ears. You love me.”

In a
way that made her feel both panicky and perfectly in control. Loving Reid was
putting it all on the line, win, lose or draw, and knowing it was the only
thing you ever wanted to do.

She
kissed him, soft and tentative because this was a first kiss. Not a lover’s
kiss, a tease, not part of a performance designed to build to a crescendo, but a
statement all of its own. This kiss said, I found you, I trust you. I love you.
He read it for what it was. He didn’t take it deeper, didn’t up the stakes. He
let that kiss rest pure and strong between them and then he gave her words to
raise its value higher.

“That
means I can tell you I’ve been in love with you since the night you decked that
guy in the alley.”

She
gasped. Reid was a dickhead that night, staggering drunk and questioning her
choices.

He
cupped her face. “You called me on my shit that night and you’ve never stopped.
That’s when I knew how much more you were than a dancer who wanted to fly.”

She’d
almost left him on the sidewalk the next night when he was sick, and if she
had, they’d never be here.

“That surprises
you, baby.” She nodded and he brushed his thumb along her cheekbone. Stupid
tears were building behind her eyes. “I wanted you. God, I was insensible for
wanting you, from the first time I shuffled into Lucky’s looking to lose myself
in a bottle and saw Lux on stage. But every man who sees Lux wants her. And you’re
so much more than the sex I never dreamed I’d have you. Never thought you’d stay.
I was lost, Zarley. I never knew I’d find a better self in you.”

She
stepped onto his feet, stood on her toes, wiping an irritating tear away.

He
caught the next one on his finger. “Is that good or bad?”

She
sniffled. “If you break my heart, Reid McGrath, I’ll kill you.”

“Oh
Christ.” He hugged her closer, hands going under her thighs, lifting her so she
could wrap her legs around his waist and they were eye to eye. “Won’t happen. You
won’t let it happen.”

“I need
a rule.” Otherwise all her good intentions could unravel in the sheer force of
Reid’s personality.

“Whatever
you want.”

“You
don’t get to buy me.”

Frown
lines across his brow. “I don’t get the rule.”

“I pay my
way. I make my way. You get to stand beside me, prop me up, but you don’t get
to clear the path, or make the road.”

“That’s
going to be hard on me.” He walked them to the sofa and sat on the edge, she
stayed wrapped around him. He gathered her hair in his hands and brought their
foreheads together. “I hate you stressing about money.”

And it
would be so easy, too easy to love Reid for the sheer economic sense of it. He
would keep her financially secure without a qualm. She sat up straight. This
was important.

“I
can’t do this with you unless you accept we’re in different places. I was
nowhere for too long. It’s taken me years to work out who I am, and I’m still
not sure what I want. I can’t have being with you decide that for me.”

“But
it’s—”

She put
her hand over his mouth. “You don’t want that either. You want me to love you
for being you, not for what’s in your bank account.”

He peeled
her hand away, ticked off. “I get to buy you things you need.”

“You
get to buy me the occasional present, like any good boyfriend.”

He
breathed a stream of exasperation out. “An expensive dinner and lingerie for
Lux.”

“I knew
you were trouble.” She could virtually see schemes forming in his brain. “I
never doubted you respected me. Not once, despite the fact I dance in underwear
for men to throw money. That was unexpected. But I need you to respect this
decision, or you’re—”

“Just a
rich guy who gets to call the shots.”

She put
her hands to his face and nodded.

“Tomorrow
we shop.”

She
laughed. “I love you. Tonight you get to tie me up.”

“Hold
on.” He stood, staggering slightly till he got his balance. “And after I’ve
tied you up?”

“Make
me wish you hadn’t.”

He put
her in a sex coma. Too many orgasms to count, she lay replete in Reid’s arms
feeling his heart thrash around in his ribs. The way he loved her was almost
too good. He’d learned to use his body more to please her than himself. She
only had to think about what happened in front of the window and she lit up,
even now when all of her nerve endings were out cold.

“What’s
your fantasy?”

He
stroked a hand down her hair. “Got it right here.”

“You
don’t have to be a suck-up. I’m yours. There has to be something you want that
we haven’t done.”

“Flygirl,
you looking me in the eyes and telling me you love me, that’s all the fantasy
come true I need.”

“I
don’t believe you.”

“I’m
wounded, but I’ll deal.” She double checked his expression—cocky grin. “Gives
me something to work at.”

“What?”
Challenging tone.

“Proving
it to you. What about you? The window?”

“Was
amazing.” Her face got hot, which was ridiculous given what she did for a
living, given what they’d done together. Not ten minutes ago he had her so
revved up, they almost tipped out of the bed. “I didn’t expect it to be so,”
she groaned, “naughty.”

He
laughed softly and she kissed her thanks into his chest, up his throat and over
his lips. She would never have had that experience without him. Hadn’t known
she wanted it.

In the
morning they went lingerie shopping. And that too was an experience she’d never
had before. Reid was no Cara. Cara would’ve loved the shop Zarley chose. It offered
everything from baby doll to boudoir. There was a naughty librarian costume she
considered for a few moments, but for Madame Amour she needed to be more
sophisticated.

Reid
had to warm up to the merchandise. At least this time he looked at the
garments, telling her what he liked—way too tame; showing her what he was
afraid to like with a nervous quirk of a smile. He blushed over pasties with
tassels and cupless bras, black lace cage wear and fishnet bodysuits, but was
fascinated by crotchless thongs with stimulating beads.

“Women
actually wear those?”

There
was still a good deal of fifteen-year-old boy in Reid. She tsked. “So much
still to teach you, Back Booth.” She pointed out the panties with the built in
vibrator and his eyes nearly bugged out of his head.

“Do I
get to buy you those?”

She
caught his chin in her hand. “I have you, what do I need those for?”

She got
a wry grin; he was pleased, but not entirely convinced. And it reminded her to
put a little vibrator play on their list.

She
needed something sophisticated, but sturdy enough to stand up to the rigor of
the pole, for one wear at least. The sheer variety made it hard to choose and
given she was more your boy shorts kind of lingerie wearer, and many of the
styles called for more tits and ass than she had, this was a challenge.

It’s
why she’d always gone for cute and flirty, sassy and playful instead of fuck-hot.
But Reid was right all those weeks ago to challenge her on that and for Madame Amour
she needed to sex up her game.

She’d
woken with Pharrell William’s “Freedom” in her head, an omen. That’s what she’d
dance to. It had an old-style jazz swing feel to it, a ripping rhythm that you
couldn’t help toe-tap to. It wasn’t your usual sultry or hard-core pole dance
sound, and that’s exactly why she liked it. She needed something to wear that
worked that sense of sophistication and funk.

It
couldn’t be anything wet-look and she didn’t want frills or bows. Waspies and garters
were out and so was clothing remotely fetish wear; absolutely no rubber or
studs, they’d be lethal. The cat’s ears might work. They made Reid sidle up
behind her and purr in her ear. She banished him to a café across the street after
that so she could focus.

A hot
pink bustier with thigh highs had potential, but the deal was sealed with a
black fine-mesh teddy leotard with a swirling jacquard pattern that ran from
the high neck to the leg line and matching thigh highs. She’d wear a black G-string
underneath it and be more naked than she’d ever been on stage.

Maybe
she should warn Reid, but he’d been watching the Madame Amour website so he
knew she had to push the limits to compete. And anyway he was the one who’d
encouraged her to own her occupation, and owning it on stage at Madame Amour
meant the barest of coverage.

She
used the cash Reid’d poked into her pocket to pay for the lingerie, throwing in
the cat’s ears at the last moment. If she did her hair just right, all blown
out and big, they’d look fantastic.

They
spent the afternoon strolling down the Champs-
É
lys
é
es, had lunch at
one of those caf
é
s with the red
and white chairs under a shady awning, and ate ice cream and people watched in
the sun in the Jardin des Tuileries.

Two
hours after strolling hand in hand under plane tree shaded arcades, she was in
the guest artist dressing room at Madame Amour, having warmed up and then vomited
the steady confidence she’d been channeling all day in the sink.

She’d
never barfed before a performance in her life. She sat on a chair in the
dressing room, hands gripping her thighs. Maybe it was the cheese or the salted
butter caramel or the fact that there was a famous DJ here tonight and he’d
brought his equally famous popstar girlfriend who was currently on stage
belting out her latest hit.

She was
a long way from Lucky’s and this felt like a kind of bridge between one part of
her life and the next, whatever that was meant to be.

She
straightened her cat’s ears. Reid was in the audience. He loved her. It
mattered that she was trying, not if she won. This wasn’t the goddamn Olympics.
Except that was crap, not the part about Reid loving her, it was all over him
and had been for longer than she cared to think about it. She hadn’t recognized
it as far back as the altercation in the alley, but soon after. The way he’d
looked at her could melt concrete it was so filled with heat, but the way he
wanted to know her beyond their bodies was hotter still.

It was
a lie she’d cope with not winning. She wanted to win to the bloody roots of her
teeth. It wasn’t a gold medal, it wasn’t a job or a new place to live, it
wasn’t a career. But succeeding was part of who she was and it’d been a long
time since she’d had a win.

She
reapplied her lipstick, watching the other two competitors she shared the dressing
room with warm up. Both were going on stage before her. A German woman who did
a striptease with big feather fans in a burlesque routine, and a Chinese
contortionist who’d toured with a Spiegeltent show and was performing naked but
for a flesh-colored thong, a fire-breathing dragon tattoo on her back and red
lacquer chopsticks in her hair.

“Ladies,
good evening.”

Madame Amour’s
entertainment manager, known as the Stage Master, stood in the doorway. He wore
an old-fashioned dinner suit with tails and a top hat, but with no shirt he
showed off his gym-earned abs and a suntan. The Stage Master was pretty but his
performance was all business.