Sated (6 page)

Club Peekaboo was housed in what had once been a public house in the Lanes, a good fifteen minutes’ walk from Angelique’s apartment. Some of the other girls who danced there raised eyebrows at her willingness to travel everywhere by foot, even in the small hours of the morning or on the coldest winter nights, but she never felt afraid. Any would-be mugger who tangled with what they took to be just another slender, fragile-looking brunette would quickly discover their error.

By the time she entered the club, the evening’s show was already well under way. Walking along the corridor towards the dressing rooms, Angelique bumped into Sally, a girl no more than five feet tall, with dyed scarlet hair and an almost cartoonishly voluptuous figure, all tits and hips. Sally performed under the stage name of Dusty Kaboom. She trotted along carrying her stage outfit of a saucy little nurse’s uniform, her round bottom almost totally on display thanks to the tiny thong she wore. When she stripped out of that uniform to the strains of Robert Palmer’s version of
Bad Case of Loving You
, accompanied by saucy stroking motions along the shaft of an oversized thermometer, she damn near brought the house down.

“Hey, Angelique.” Sally’s impish face broke into a grin. “How’s it going?”

“Not bad. Mick’s not asking where I am, is he?”

Sally shook her head. “He knows you never let him down. Though I’m sure he’d allow a bit of leeway for the star of the show.” As she pushed open the dressing room door, she added, “I’m off for a drink in that new cocktail bar down by the pier later on. Meeting up with Chrissie and her new man. D’you fancy joining us after you finish here?”

“That would be nice.” She hadn’t seen Chrissie in months, not since the girl had landed a job in a vintage clothing shop in North Laine and returned to the daytime world. And Angelique had made no plans for tonight. She often liked to walk the streets till just before sunrise, luxuriating in the quiet darkness of the sleeping city.

The two women went to their usual dressing tables, Sally to change back into what she referred to as her ‘civilian clothing’, and Angelique to begin the process of turning herself into a figure of pure fantasy.

She peeled out of her wine-red dress and hung it up, before taking off her underwear. Like Sally, Angelique was not in the least self-conscious about walking round naked—she’d had a long time to grow used to the way her body looked, after all—and she stretched out the kinks in her limbs before stepping into a nude-colored silk thong. Next, she fitted diamanté pasties over her nipples. After that came the corset, with cups designed to just about cover her breasts and offer tantalizing glimpses of her pale flesh as she moved. She completed the outfit with elbow-length gloves in ivory satin, nude stay-up stockings and a feather fascinator that she clipped into her neat updo.

As she applied another coat of ruby gloss to already slick lips, Mick popped his head round the dressing room door. He let in the sounds of dance music with a slow, grinding beat and voices raised in excited conversation.

“Couple of minutes, darling,” he told her, appraising her with a slow, sensual head-to-toe look. “And I have to say you’re looking as gorgeous as ever tonight.”

“
Merci
, Mick.” Angelique blew him an air kiss, and waited for him to close the door.

He’d been open in his admiration of her since the day she’d started at Club Peekaboo, and had asked her out on several occasions. She always turned him down, telling him regretfully but sincerely that, tempting as the prospect might be, she would never enter into a relationship with a man for whom she worked. It avoided complications in the long term.

She checked her reflection a final time, then made her way to the backstage area, where she climbed onto the cradle that had been lowered for her. The most elaborate prop the club possessed, it cemented Angelique’s status as headline performer.

On the other side of the curtain, the MC for the night announced, “And now, ladies and gentlemen, the moment you’ve been waiting for. We present the very sexy, very stunning queen of the night, Miss Clair de Lune.”

The stage name had been chosen to fit her act. Every time she moved on to a new club, a new town, Angelique reinvented her burlesque persona. In Manchester, she’d been Domino Vain, in Soho, Vivienne Sin. Like Brighton itself, this routine, this name fitted her perfectly. She didn’t want to think about the day when she would have to give it up.

The heavy velvet drapes parted, revealing her to the audience. The cradle had been decked out to look like a new moon, designed to conceal more of Angelique’s body than it revealed. There were cheers of approval at the sight of her long, stocking-clad legs, which she’d hooked over the lower curve of the crescent.

As her chosen music—a slow, soulful instrumental version of
Blue Moon
—played, Angelique began to strip. Burlesque was all about the art of the tease, of letting those watching think they had seen—and were going to see—more than they ever actually did. In turn, she removed each glove, twirling it in her fingers before letting it drop to the stage, a couple of feet below. Next were the stockings, eased down with care so as not to snag the gossamer-fine nylon.

She leaned forward a little to offer the audience a sneaky glimpse of her breasts. In the moment before she started undoing the corset, she noticed two men sitting at a table stage left, watching her with undisguised intent.

Before the renaissance of burlesque, she’d worked in more traditional strip clubs, but she’d never particularly liked performing in such a sleazy, male-dominated environment. Here, her shows were attended by almost as many women as men, and the atmosphere was one of lighthearted enjoyment. Most of the time, she barely noticed the people watching her, but something about these two had her senses on high alert.

The blond—well, she’d have noticed him anywhere. The wide eyes, the full lips and broad-shouldered body… He couldn’t fail to remind her of the man who had first brought her to this city. Hogarth, her first lover, unforgettable for so many reasons. Though this man appeared younger, softer, and more of an innocent than Hogarth had been. He seemed more likely to be in need of her protection than to offer it to her. To her surprise, Angelique did not find that prospect unappealing.

The guy sitting alongside him piqued her attention equally, though for very different reasons. He had messy dark hair, a strong growth of beard on his chin, and a way of wearing his clothes that suggested he’d be far more comfortable naked. Even if she hadn’t been aware of his distinctive, feral scent—something to which the rest of the club’s patrons clearly remained oblivious—she’d have known him to be part wolf.

What’s one of his kind doing here?
More importantly, why was he watching her as though he longed to settle between her legs and feast on her pussy? He had to have recognized her for what she was, and yet he didn’t display any signs of revulsion or hatred, the reactions she’d experienced when she’d last found herself in the company of lycans.

Doing her best to put her awareness of his presence out of her mind, Angelique undid the last of the hook fastenings. With one hand clamped over the swell of her breasts, she reached out and tossed the corset over the side of the cradle.

Coming towards the end of her performance, she kicked up her legs and threw her head back, mimicking the throes of sexual bliss. She cupped her breasts, letting the audience get a brief view of their diamanté-covered tips, then the stage lights went out. She could hear wild applause as the curtains were pulled to, but she didn’t move to take her usual bow. Much as she wanted Blondie to see her in her all-but-naked state, the thought of his companion eyeing her was a different matter. It disturbed her, but she couldn’t deny it turned her on, too, and that reaction, to borrow a phrase she had picked up from Sally, was so many shades of wrong.

* * * *

The dressing room was empty when she returned to it. Sally would have already left for her rendezvous with Chrissie, and Irina, tonight’s other featured dancer, changed into her street clothes and gone. Irina said her boyfriend didn’t like her to socialize with the rest of the girls, and Angelique had the impression that the man was far too possessive for his—and Irina’s—good. She’d met his type before and she had ways of dealing with them. Maybe she should sound Irina out, discover how upset she’d be if the man should suddenly disappear.

She shook her head, dismissing the thought. One sniff of a lycan and all her baser instincts came to the surface. What she needed was a drink or two, and the chance to catch up on all Chrissie’s gossip. Even though she could barely remember a time when she’d been able to walk in the sunlight, she still craved stories of that other, unattainable world.

She was just stepping into her dress when a knock sounded at the door. Expecting it to be Mick, who’d seen her in a state of undress more times than she cared to recall, she called out, “Come in!”

When the cute blond stepped into the dressing room, she could only stare at him in open-mouthed astonishment.

“Hi,” he said, seeming embarrassed at having caught her half naked even though he’d just seen her strip down to little more than pasties and a thong on stage. “I’m sorry to burst in on you like this, but I just had to see you. I—I told the guy outside that I was an old friend of yours from school.”

Angelique wanted to burst out laughing. If only he knew that what education she’d received had been at the hands of a governess, in that little attic room of the family home in Paris. Poor dear Estelle—killed by the hands of the mob, like so many others whose crime had been simply to be in the employ of a wealthy family.

“Is your friend with you?” she asked, turning her back on him as she zipped up her dress.

“What, Lucas? No. He—he decided to go home. He thought I should do this on my own.”

“Do what?” Angelique faced him, a little more secure now that she knew that brutish, undeniably sexy wolf wasn’t lurking in the corridor outside. Though being alone with this man presented its own challenges. Her pussy lips had plumped up, the thin crotch of her panties slipping into the crease between them, and she was all too aware that her nipples were now hard points, jutting against the cups of her bra.

“Ask if you maybe wanted to come for a drink with me, or…” He ran a hand through his gelled fringe, causing it to stick up stiffly.

The result, Angelique thought, was to make him look like a nervous ingenu, and even more endearing than he already did. “Or?” she purred.

“God, that accent of yours. It does things to me.”

Glancing down, she could see what he meant. The thick, curved outline of his cock was visible through his grey suit trousers. It was all she could do not to lick her lips. As a dancer, her rule had always been ‘look but don’t touch’, never letting any man get as close to her as he might want. But rules were made to be broken.

“I’m sure you get told how fabulous your performance is all the time, Miss—Clair’s not your real name, is it?”

“No, it’s not. You may call me Angelique.”

He seemed about to stick out a hand for her to shake, then drew it back. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Angelique. I’m Tom. Tom Lawless.”

The name seemed familiar, but she could not think where she had heard it before.

“And I really did love your act,” he went on. “But I’ve taken up too much of your time already.” He took a couple of paces back, and took hold of the doorknob.

“Don’t go, Tom. Please. You’re right. You’re not the first man who’s wanted to take me for a drink, or to praise me on my dancing. But you’re the first in a long time who I’ve actually had the desire to get to know better.”

Tom’s face brightened, and he stopped trying to make his exit from the dressing room. “Wow, that’s great. So, I know this little bar just round the corner…”

“Let’s skip the formalities. I have a bottle of very good Bordeaux at home, and a roof garden with a perfect view over the city. Why don’t you come back with me and we can enjoy them both?”

Her invitation could not have been more blatant, but Angelique was in no mood for subtlety.

He nodded eagerly. “Okay.”

She wrapped her shawl around her shoulders then retrieved her handbag. As they left the dressing room, Tom took Angelique’s hand in his. It sent a little thrill of desire trembling through her, and she hoped they wouldn’t bump into Mick. She liked the guy too much to let him see that one of the punters had succeeded where he’d failed.

The walk back to her apartment was mostly uphill, away from the bright lights of the bars and clubs clustered near the seafront. Tom matched the pace of his steps to hers, as she trotted along in the fuck-me heels that were so impractical but gave her the all-important extra few inches of height that brought her head on a level with his. They seemed enveloped in a little bubble where nothing mattered but the other.

“So, tell me what brings a guy like you to a burlesque club,” Angelique said.

“Oh, that was Lucas’ idea. He reckons I’ve been shut up with my work far too much recently, and I needed to come out and play.”

“And what is this job that’s taking up all your time?”

“I’m a sculptor. I’m just putting the final touches to an exhibition that’s going to be held at the Pavilion. Part of the Cities After Dark project—I don’t know whether you’ve heard of it?”