Offensive Behavior (Sidelined #1) (31 page)

“Welcome
to Madame Amour. My friends call me Master,” he said with no hint of a laugh,
which concertinaed Zarley’s into a stilted cough. “Heidetta, Biyu, Lux, we’re
delighted you could be here.” He executed an elaborate bow. “If there is
anything I can do to assist you tonight, please let me know.”

“Is Madame
Amour here tonight?” Heidetta asked.

“Madame
Amour is always here on contest night and sends her regards.”

“Where
is she sitting?” The woman gestured with a fan. Excellent question. It was
always a good idea to know where in the room your judges were.

Master
tutted. He wasn’t answering that. Madame Amour’s real name was Eglantine Archambault.
She’d qualified as a surgeon using her married name, Foss. She’d be in her late
sixties now, and it would be difficult to pick out anyone under the stage
lights, let alone a no doubt still beautiful older woman.

Master looked
to Heidetta and Biyu. “Please take your places at the side of the stage.” Zarley
had a half hour wait until her slot. The two women left the room, Heidetta
taking her gorgeous pink ostrich-feather fans.

“Could
I ask about my pole?”

“Indeed,”
Master inclined his head. “The pole is titanium rose gold-plated chrome, forty-millimeter
grip. It is fixed floor to ceiling. Do you wish for it to be spinning?”

She
wouldn’t need beeswax grip with that pole. “Please.”

She got
another polite head incline but it was followed by an obvious eye-fuck that
made her skin goose-bump. “Your audition tape did not do you enough credit,
Lux. Your skills, yes; your body, no. You are delectable.”

“Are
you hitting on me?” He might as well have swung a bat.

He
smiled, showing a dimple. “I hit on all beautiful women who affect me.”

“Since
you’re surrounded by them, that must be very tiring.”

He
laughed in a spider who catches the fly manner and left the room. Gymnastics
judges were figures of fear and officials could be dragons, but the Stage
Master was another species entirely. He was seductive. And she didn’t feel sick
anymore. His appraisal had given her back her confidence.

And as
she stood in the wings five minutes before her music cue, she felt it bubble in
her veins. This wasn’t the Olympics, and while twenty-five thousand dollars
would make her life easier, it wouldn’t change its course. It wouldn’t bring
her fame or sponsor dollars or a permanent record of her achievement. She was
still a student with debts who needed a job and somewhere to live. She was
still estranged from her family. She was still a woman who danced for men for
money.

But she
was holy rolling good at it.

In the
flare of the spotlight and the opening playful la, la, la of the song she
strutted onto the stage and proved it.

If this
had been a gymnastic competition she’d have ninety seconds and a twelve-meter
sprung surface at her disposal. She’d have had up to five judges scoring her
every move, deducting percentage points for an imperfect angle or the slightest
wobble.

Here
she had a titanium rose gold-plated chrome pole, two minutes forty-five and an
audience of rich men whose appreciation would go a long way to defining her
ranking.

She
made that pole and the small stage it was on her kingdom and every man in the
audience her subject.

And
when the applause met her ears she wasn’t looking for anyone’s judgment because
she’d already won. She had a man who loved her, who’d complicate things in the
most wonderful way, and if her parents didn’t want to see she was making a new
life the best way she knew how, if they couldn’t see the Madame Amour in her,
then she didn’t need to miss them.

When
she stepped off stage, Master was waiting. “Exquisite. Allow me to buy you a
drink to celebrate your experience.”

She
gestured at the bar where she’d left Reid. “My—”

“Will
wait. This is business.”

There
was no sign or Heidetta or Biyu. What kind of business was this? She looked
down at herself. “Like this?”

“But of
course. Madame Amour wishes to meet you.”

Well,
all right.

The bar
Master took her to, easing their way through the crowded main floor of the club
with an arm at her back, was roped off. The drink he put in front of her was
champagne. She looked for Reid and found him across the room, before a crowd of
people passed between them and she lost sight of him. He’d understand.

Master
stayed close, touching her, never inappropriately except with his eyes, but it
made her uncomfortable. “How long are you staying in Paris, my lovely one?”

“I’m
not sure.” They’d not set an end date on the trip, but she had to be home for
the start of semester. She looked for Reid again. The bar he sat at was busy. A
stunning woman in a dress split to her waist stood next to him. Zarley got a
flash of plump fake boob.

“How
long did you train as a gymnast?”

The
woman had her hand on Reid’s arm. “I’m sorry, what did you say?” The woman
whispered in Reid’s ear.

“Your
training. Rigorous, no?”

Zarley
switched her vision to the Stage Master. “Yes.” And back to Reid. He was
laughing at something the woman said. She was so close to him she was almost in
his lap.
Bitch
. He didn’t push her away.
Bastard
. “No.”

Master
tapped her shoulder. “Contrary. Perhaps when Madame asks these questions you
will more forthcoming.”

Her
stomach rolled. She closed her eyes. “I’m sorry. A little distracted.”

“Easy
to do here. So many glorious sights to see.”

The
sight she saw was that half-naked bitch rub herself against Reid.

“So
many.” She took a mouthful of champagne, it burned going down.

“You
see something you do not like, luscious Lux.”

She saw
Reid’s woman put a finger to his chin, turn his head and kiss him on the lips. She
saw Reid’s hands and they weren’t pushing the woman away.

Master
snapped his fingers in front of her face. “Tell me and I’ll make it all go
away.”

She
took another mouthful of champagne, that’s what she needed, something to make
her feel numb. Otherwise she was going to blow this for a man who didn’t know
what saying I love you meant. She hadn’t thought she’d needed to give Reid a
rule for not touching other women. Her own fault. She’d trusted him. But he was
a boundary pusher and a rule breaker and a maverick and she’d known that.

She
should’ve been more explicit.

She’d
be more explicit when she told him to fuck off.

She
turned her attention back to Master and told him about her training and didn’t
look at Reid again. When Madame Amour arrived wearing a tailored man’s evening
suit that looked sensational, Zarley repeated the story of her training. She
told Madame how she’d planned on receiving gold for her floor routine, how her
team were game favorites, and how she’d wrecked her chances for love.

She’d
never make that mistake again, but she’d come very close.

Madame
sipped champagne. Her makeup was delicate and not at pains to camouflage her
age, only enhance her features. She wore large diamonds at her ears and on her
fingers, and seven-inch heels like the ones Zarley wore on stage, only a
hundred times more expensive. She was slender and still wore her hair long, but
in an elegant twist. It was hard to imagine that her daily surgeon’s uniform
would be scrubs.

Zarley told
Madame about her studies, about Lucky’s and how she wished there was a place
like Madame Amour back home.

“You
should make the place. It’s what I did,” Madame said.

“That
can’t have been easy to do? I’m in awe of you.”

“You are
a champion. You know about struggle. What is easy is often worth very little in
the end, don’t you find?”

Zarley
had never done easy. But loving Reid had been easy, so easy it had slipped
under her skin without her noticing.

“My
coach used to say easy is for lazy and lazy is for going home a loser.” Costin
had said it to gymnasts whose heads got too big, who stopped pushing
themselves.

Madame
laughed. “I like the sound of your coach. You could dance here professionally. We
provide a salary and housing, but I don’t think that is what you want.”

For a
second it was everything. She looked up at the dancer on the stage now, another
talented performer. To live in Paris, to work here. But dancing was never what
she’d wanted, it was simply the only way she’d been able to hold on to the
definition of herself as a gymnast.

“How
old were you when you knew you wanted to be a surgeon?”

“La.” Madame
laughed. “I was not so smart as you think. My family was very poor. I simply
wanted to be rich.”

“But—”

“It is
no shame to be uncertain. The shame is in never making your own chances.”

Madame Amour
was a smart woman and Zarley knew good advice when she heard it and some
chances simply weren’t worth the shame.

TWENTY-SEVEN

Zarley had been naked. Reid had trouble looking at her. Not naked,
but that thing she wore, there was nothing of it, a swirl of black pattern on
her skin like ink to emphasize her gorgeous little body and muscle-packed legs.

Desire
and anxiety went to war in his head. The woman on stage was impossibly hot. She
was a blur of scorching sex, dangerous and untouchable, but achingly beautiful
and all the more threatening because of it.

She put
his central nervous system on the defensive, pins of heat attacked his body and
formed up across his chest, but it didn’t make him ready for the assault of
her. There wasn’t a man in the room who didn’t want to touch her, feel her silk
heat in his hands. Own her. But that woman on the stage flew higher than the
sun, and she could conquer anything.

She’d
conquered him.

He’d
been holding her hand two hours ago. How did he get to be the man who got that privilege?
He’d licked ice cream off her chin and kissed caramel off her lips when they’d
played tourist in the park, but on stage she made his heart crawl out of his
chest cavity and lodge in his throat.

How would
he ever hold on to her?

This
wasn’t the kind of club where lust drunk men threw money at the stage, or
tucked a bill into a thong. Here they paid a significant membership fee and
flew in from all over the world, and the dancers were paid a professional
salary. Didn’t make the men who watched Zarley any more civilized. He had to
uncurl his fists when his hand cramped.

Much as
he loved her on that stage, the two minutes forty-five couldn’t pass quickly
enough. He wanted her back by his side where he didn’t have to worry she’d be
lured away by someone more put together than he was, who hadn’t loused up his
career and had a better fix on the future.

It was
a relief when she left the stage. He relaxed enough to drink his bourbon,
enough not to be sure he didn’t bump the woman beside him with his elbow.

“Excuse
me.” He held up a hand. “I’m sorry.”

“You
are not so sorry, I think.” She was tall, blonde and very curvy.

“I
bumped you. It was an accident.” He moved his stool to give her more room at
the bar and she took it, turning her body to face him. The tits had to be fake.
The thing she wore didn’t have any structure, two pieces of fabric falling over
her boobs. When she picked up her drink, it gaped and he got an eyeful of
raised coffee-colored nipple.
Jesus
.

“No
accident. Fate.” She had a heavy accent. He couldn’t pick it. She put her hand
on his forearm. He wanted to rip it away.

“Can I
help you with something?”

“You
are tourist. Americano. Businessman?”

“Yes.” He
extracted his arm. Not so much the businessman part anymore.

“My
name is Marja. I am from Poland.”

“Owen
Reid.” That’d do. Her name probably wasn’t Marja. How long would it be before
Zarley was back?

“You
looking for some fun in Paris?”

He
smiled. “I’ve found it, thanks.”

“But
you are all alone, Owen.”

“Not
anymore.”

Marja
did a pantomime of looking around. “I don’t see girlfriend.”

“She
danced on stage tonight.”

“Ah. She
is skinny stripper?”

“She’s
a dancer.” But closer to a stripper than he’d ever seen her and the shock of
that loitered inside his body. He wanted out of here, he wanted the Zarley he
knew naked in his arms.

Marja
waggled her fingers over her head. “She is with the ears, no? I see you watch
her special. But she is no better than me. She is only baby girl.”

Reid
finished his drink, made a deliberate move of putting the empty glass back on
the bar. “Look Marja, I’m waiting for my girlfriend, okay.”

“Okay,
I am very sorry for your trouble.”

Whatever.
And finally Zarley was here with some guy in a suit, make that half a suit. Oh
God, she was so naked, it felt ruder than when she was on the stage, this
walking around where other people were fully dressed, mostly. Why didn’t she change
first? Where was she going?

“I only
wish to make you happy, Owen.”

“What?”

Marja
was all up in his space, warm breath in his ear. “You are darling man, here
alone. I only think to make you not sad.”

Zarley stood
with that man in a private closed-off section of another bar. This place was
set up like a circus with three main stages and three main bars, plus table
seating and balconies and who knows what else. Reid got up to go to Zarley and
the woman pulled on his arm. He turned to shake her off. Her whole breast was
exposed.

“You
like me, I know this.”

He
turned back to look for Zarley, too many people, she was too far away and the
lighting was low. The woman still had his arm. “I’m going to my girlfriend.”

“I
think she is not wanting you. That man, he is the Master. He seduces everyone.”

What
the ever-loving . . . “That man she’s with?”

“Yes,
darling. She will go fuck with him if she wants prize.”

The crowd
shifted and he could see Zarley with a champagne glass in her hand. He laughed.
“No. She’s mine.” Then he lost her again.

The
woman rubbed herself against his side and he turned to extract himself from her
grip. She pushed her body, bared breasts into his chest, her arm around his
back. “All contest girls they do this, fuck with Master. You could have me. She
does not need to know.”

All the
contest girls . . . Pain in his chest. “What’s going on here?”

“Your
girlfriend has forgotten you. I would be good to you.”

Boxed
in by people around them and the bar, he couldn’t easily step away. He found
Zarley again, the Master fucker had his arm over her shoulders. There were
other people in the private section now and she looked like she was having a
good time at a party he wasn’t invited to. He felt forgotten and yet she
wouldn’t be here without him, and he had a woman he didn’t know, and didn’t
want to know, all up in his face offering him everything.

“Look—”
Marja’s finger on his chin. This was getting old.

“Darling,
I will kiss you and then you will know.”

“Know
what?”

“What
it is to be with a real woman, not skinny baby girl with flat chest.”

He
lifted a hand to hold her off. She caught it and placed it on her boob. Warm
and firm and so much of it, not like Zarley, more than fit in the palm of his
hand, in the span of his fingers, soft, warm. His thumb brushed her nipple and Marja
moaned as she pressed her mouth to his.

For a
second, two, he went with it, opened his mouth to her, squeezed her tit. Zarley
had abandoned him and Marja was hot and willing.

Fuuuck
. He got his hands to her waist and shoved her away. “Don’t touch me
again.”

They’d
made a scene. Marja turned her back on him.
Thank Christ
. He looked for
Zarley as he made his way to the roped-off bar, but she was gone. And so was
the Master.

She
wouldn’t. She wanted to win, but not that way. He put his hand over his face
and pinched his temples. She’d slept around, had a lot of casual sex, that’s
how they’d started. Would she sleep with that fucker? Maybe she already had,
he’d never know. He’d fucking kissed Marja, and he hadn’t wanted to until she
started it, but he’d done it anyway, he’d felt her up.

His
brain was going to explode.

He
waited at another bar with his eyes on the door he knew led to the performer’s
dressing rooms. There was a singer and then a magician on the main stage. And
no sign of Zarley. Thinking he’d missed her, he went to club’s reception, where
he’d paid an outrageous guest fee to be admitted. She wasn’t waiting there. But
she arrived soon after, dressed in her street clothes, with her hair still wild
and the cat’s ears on. That man with her.

They’d
walked in here holding hands, both of them nervous and excited. Stopping in
this foyer to kiss. He’d carried Zarley’s bag.

She
gave him a cold look that hit him square in the center of his confused state,
somewhere south of the rigid ball of guilt and anger in his gut. What just
happened?

“Thank
you, Andre.”

So the
fucker had a proper name to go with his ridiculous title and his bare chest. Zarley
kissed Andre on the cheek as he signaled a doorman to open the front door for
her. She went through it without a glance in Reid’s direction.

On the
street he said her name, but she shouldered her bag and walked on toward the
apartment. At least he knew where she was going. He strode up beside her. “Zarley.”

She
stopped abruptly and he stepped past, had to turn back to face her, and when he
did his confused state hardened to outright incredulity. She was furious.

She. Was.
Furious.

But
she’d left him and gone off with that fucking playboy.

“What
the fuck, Zarley?”

Eyes
straight to his. “You ask me that when you had your tongue down another woman’s
throat.”

She’d
seen. But it was seconds, only seconds. And maybe it didn’t matter. “Did you
fuck that guy?”

“I
cannot believe you’d ask me that.”

“You
have a history.”

Her
whole body tensed. “I’m a slutty stripper, right? Because dancing and turning
tricks are all the same. I knew you were too good to be true.”

She
went to plough past him and he roared at her. “Did you fuck him?”

“Did
you fuck her?”

The
question shocked, zinged around his head. “No. Of course not.” It was late, it
was quiet but they didn’t have the street to themselves. They were having a
raging argument in public. If she fucking used tears against him he wasn’t
walking away.

“Why
not, clearly I’m not enough? I’m sure if you went back, hell, you don’t even
need to go back. Women are attracted to you, they look at you all the time,
Reid, you’re too lacking in self-awareness to notice.”

“You slept
with that guy to win.”

“Oh my
God, how could I be so wrong about you?” She pushed him, he stood his ground. He’d
get his answer. She pushed him again and he gave way because that was using his
size against her and he wanted a fair fight.

She
strode down the street and he followed, letting her stay ahead. Letting the
head of steam he’d built up solidify into something new. Terror. If she fucked
that guy did it mean they were over, did it have to mean that, could he forgive
her? Did he want more with Marja, just to know what it was like with a woman
who wasn’t Zarley? Fuck,
fuck
, he had no answers. He was better off
alone because this, the not knowing, the ripping cut of jealousy so savage he’d
stopped in the middle of the street, was going to eat him alive.

“Zarley,
I’m dying here. I have to know what you did.”

She
reeled around to face him. “I don’t report to you. I don’t need your permission
or approval. Stupid me for thinking we’d agreed that.”

“You
shut me out. You left me alone.”

She
smacked a hand into his chest. “Are you a freaking teenager? I was working. What’s
wrong with you that you couldn’t see that? That you had to, I don’t know,
retaliate, by putting your hands all over another woman and your tongue down
her throat.”

“I
didn’t.”

“You
fucking kissed her, felt her up. I saw you.”

“Jesus.
She, she came on to me and I thought you, you . . . it was only a second.”

“Look
at me.”

He
couldn’t meet her eyes. He loved her. He’d forgive her anything. He’d fucked it
up.

“Do you
honestly think any of that matters?”

Why
didn’t he simply shut Marja down? Why didn’t he walk away? What the fuck was
wrong with him? “Zarley.” He reached for her.

She
jumped back about five countries. He was in France and she was in Romania. He
would never reach her.

She
hefted her bag. “Asshole.” She spun around and walked on.

He
called after her. “The only asshole you’re taking home tonight.”

She
stopped walking. He wanted to eat those words, spin the planet backward, summon
starships to snatch them back and lock them in a ziggurat where they’d never be
heard.

It was
worse she didn’t reply. Didn’t come for him and take his eyes out. She simply
lowered her shoulders and walked on.

They
were only a block from the apartment. He hung back. All he’d seen was an arm
around her shoulder. All he’d seen was Zarley working. And she’d seen him act
like he had no control, like he didn’t understand what he’d found with her and
he couldn’t be trusted.

She’d
stood by him, known how to reach him at the anniversary event, but he hadn’t
been able to do the same for her. He kept making the same mistakes over and
over again and if it wasn’t enough to lose Plus, he was going to lose Zarley
too.