Avoiding Intimacy (5 page)

After nearly an hour of detailed work on her hair and makeup, the artists working on her finally left. She stood in the office with that big fucking desk in nothing but sparkly nude pasties and a seamless nude thong. She felt completely exposed, and she loved every minute of it.

The makeup artists had brushed a fine glittery powder across her entire body, and it felt silky smooth to the touch. Her long black hair was hanging down her back, framing her face in big swooping supermodel curls. The makeup was totally natural, but it made her innate beauty shine. It was a look only a true expert could have extracted out of various bottles, tubes, and containers. All that remained was what hung inside the black garment bag.

Giselle sauntered into the room.

“What are you doing here?” Chyna asked her. She was sure that Giselle would have been trying to help Marco run the show.

“Marco,” she told her, walking to the black bag. Chyna rolled her eyes needing no further explanation.

“Where are my assistants? I can’t get into my dress alone,” Chyna asked.

“I am your assistant.”

Chyna’s mouth fell open. Giselle was so proud. She only worked for Marco specifically. That damn man!

“Well, get your ass over here!”

Giselle snapped her fingers twice.

Chyna hurried over to her. Why would Marco have Giselle help her into the dress? It wasn’t his style. As Chyna was about to ask, Giselle unzipped the bag, and Chyna’s mouth dropped open. That w a s
not
her dress. Her dress was long with flowing shades of purple sequins that draped artfully across her body in a pattern resembling waves crashing in the ocean. It was a one-of-a-kind designed just for her by Marco himself. It was crafted specifically for her body. She had practiced in it and completed a full photo shoot in the dress. She had never seen this one.

“I hope Marco knows what he’s doing,” Giselle whispered.

It was the first time Chyna had ever heard her doubt him.

Fifteen minutes later, when Chyna was secure in Marco’s new creation, she made it to the backstage area. Her dress was pinned and hidden beneath a long white robe that was embroidered with her monogram beneath Marco’s logo. Brigitte, Giovanna, and Ravenna flitted around her, anxious to begin the show. She couldn’t even address them. She was too nervous.

She had never been afraid of anything, but she had never been put into a dress like this with no forewarning and no practice for a production that was imperative to her career.

Marco’s introductory words rang through the speakers. It was immediately followed by a thunder of applause. He was a raw talent with a booming voice that was as soothing, seductive, and stimulating as a Siren. He was in his natural element, charming an audience.

She could see him in her mind’s eye, gorgeous and tall. Intoxicating with a smile, he could cast a spell with those dark, dreamy eyes.

Assistants lined up models in order while a famous American singer began her latest number-one hit to open the show.

Marco appeared backstage an instant later, pushing people into place, adjusting hair, and demanding overall perfection.

Chyna’s green eyes bored into his back from a distance. She knew he could feel it, and then he pivoted around, quirking a smile at her. She continued to shoot daggers at him, which just seemed to amuse him further. He turned away from her then, finished off the last model, and disappeared back behind the curtain to watch the show.

“That man is insufferable,” Chyna groaned.

“He is a genius,” Giselle said in a voice that sounded like she agreed.

Chyna couldn’t help continuing. “I want to rip off his head and post it on a stake sometime.”

“But, most of the time, just his clothes, so he can work his genius on you, no?”

Giselle responded.

Chyna gaped at Giselle. She was always so incredibly prudish.

Giselle broke out into laughter. “I’d try not to look that shocked on stage,” she suggested.

Models were already being ushered back offstage to be escorted into the party to be put on display immediately. Time was moving fast, and Chyna wasn’t prepared to step onto that stage. The room emptied more and more until even Brigitte, Giovanna, and Ravenna were kissing her cheeks and wishing her luck before they disappeared.

As soon as the very last model left backstage, Giselle stripped Chyna out of her robe and began unbuttoning the train of her dress and letting it loose behind her.

When she was finished, Giselle admired her handiwork, her top lip turned up as she scrutinized with intense, hard blue eyes. “Are you prepared?”

No! Hell no! She couldn’t do this.

Marco was insane to even pull this shit on her, but she nodded, certain her face showed every evident concern.

“You’ll do fine,” Giselle reassured her. “I’m certain Marco wouldn’t do something he thought would ruin the show.”

“Let’s hope.”

“Chin up. Watch that step,” Giselle reminded her.

Not that she needed the reminder. She almost rubbed her ass at the thought. “I can do this,” Chyna said confidently, walking carefully up the steps.

She waited for her cue, her intro, the music—anything that would let her know when to begin, but nothing came. A hushed silence passed over the crowd, and suddenly, the lights were extinguished. A soft whisper, no louder than a hum, filled the room at the abrupt darkness, but it too died down. Was this her cue? She was’

supposed to have music and lights! Where was her cue?

She was terrified to walk onto a fully lit stage in this dress, so the thought of doing it blindly in the dark was atrocious.

When nothing else happened, she took it upon herself to make the decision. Her six-inch sparkly nude platforms created the only noise in the room as she clicked slowly across the black stage. What was the point? No one could see her, and it was dangerous. Marco better have something up his sleeve.

Chyna had obsessively counted steps all summer. Marco had some small fascination with knowing the length of every stage. He wanted his model to know where she was going and what she was doing. Then, she would have no excuse if she messed up because he had given a warning. She silently prayed that all that instruction was for this moment. She finished walking to where she anticipated center stage to be, and then she turned to face the darkened audience. She wasn’t foolish enough to begin walking down the runway in the pitch black, even if she had been training for it.

So, she waited.

Then, it happened.

That damn man!

Candles flared to life on both sides of the stage at the end of the runway. They slowly traveled up the length of the platform as more and more lit up. Chyna’s eyes rose to the perimeter of the enormous auditorium where more and more candles started glowing along the wall, in vases, and in the hands of models and patrons alike. The darkness faded, and soon she was awash with gorgeous, soft, ambient light.

She would have laughed if she could have. Instead, she stayed in character, producing a brilliant smile. Her dress was coming to life. She had thought it was gorgeous but plain when it had been hanging in that black garment bag. How could she have ever doubted Marco?

This was more than a Marco original, more than a one-of-a-kind. It was the culmination of all of his genius, and it was covering her body. The sheer nude base he had used for the design wrapped up in to a sweetheart shape across her breasts, stretched over her tight stomach, and ran down to her mid-thigh before it parted and fanned out behind her into a feathery light train. All of the edges were beaded by hand and dipped in some glassy shimmer to match. The glossy beading continued across the bodice in an intricate interpretation of a blossoming lotus flower.

The most stunning part was that it all shined at once—the dress, the shoes, her makeup, her entire body—like a star. In fact, she now realized that what she had thought was glitter being dusted on her body was actually finely shaved crystal. It caught the light in a way that glitter never could. That same crystal seemed to be embedded into the sheer material, so she did not appear to be nearly nude on stage.

She was simply Marco’s creation.

When it seemed like not another candle could be lit in the entire place, a piano’s soothing chords flowed through the hall. Up until that moment, Chyna had felt like she had been living through a dream. It all could have happened in a matter of seconds, minutes, or hours. She couldn’t have told you the amount of time that had passed, but when that first chord struck, her body collided back with reality.

How could he possibly choose this song? She searched for his face out in the crowd, feeling the seconds creep by, as she stood trapped in the candlelight’s glow. Then, he materialized at the end of the runway, his arms crossed and face smug. He had created her cue without ever telling her. How many times had this song played in his bedroom while he had photographed her, when he had trained her, when they had been rolling around in his silk sheets?

Her smile never faltered while everyone oohed and aahed about her dress reflecting the flickering light. When the piano really began picking up, she knew it was time. Then, she owned that runway.

The dress moved flawlessly with her as she made her way toward Marco. She broke eye contact long enough to send dazzling smiles to people as she passed.

Cameras snapped from all directions as Marco’s clever creation traipsed across the floor.

As the piano hit the crescendo, Chyna reached the end of the stage and found Marco walking up the makeshift stairs to meet her. He reached out for her hand, and she obliged him. He turned to face the captive audience, smiling all the while, knowing that he had done it. He had won.

“Thank you so much for attending the thirty-seventh annual Glam Ball. I am pleased to present our newest model, Chyna Van der Wal, in my latest gown. I hope you all enjoyed my little star,”

Marco said, gesturing toward Chyna.

She almost cringed—almost. How dare he call her that in front of all these people!

Marco continued, “We’ll all be seeing a lot more from her later.”

She heard the double meaning in his words loud and clear, remembering the last thing he had said to her.
I’m coming
for you after the show
. The audience might believe he meant her modeling skills or her body modeling his designs, but she knew better. Marco very briefly smirked at her only once. There was her man.

“Enjoy the remainder of the party!”

Marco cheered, returning his attention to his audience. “Until Fashion Week,” he said, holding his and Chyna’s hands above their heads.

Dim lights filled the room at the end of his speech, and the crowd began milling around, discussing the exhibition. Marco dropped Chyna’s hand back to her side, but he still didn’t let go. She gulped, wondering if this was the time he had in mind.

He seemed to know exactly what she was thinking and shook his head side to side slowly. “Later,” he whispered just loud enough for her to hear. “I know you’re still ready for me, but it’ll happen soon.”

Chyna swallowed, wanting nothing more than to spit out every angry diatribe she had in her drama-laden body. But, damn it, she was still on stage! This whole thing meant something to her. “I’d still be ready, even if you had finished me earlier.”

“I know how a performance turns you on,” he said, gingerly leading her down the stairs. A halo of people surrounded them as they waited to get a closer examination of Marco’s new star in the beautiful dress.

“I’m not the only one,” she murmured, keeping her voice as soft and airy as she could. It was hard keeping the bite out of it, but she tried to avoid any negative attention. These people were like vultures, hanging onto every fleeting fashion and every juicy piece of gossip.

“No, you’re not,” he said, slowly twirling her for display.

She had to be extra careful in her shoes as the train swirled around her ankles.

He pulled her in close to steady her, and then he whispered into her ear, “But, you’re the one holding on to all that built-up tension, and I can’t wait to be the one to release it.” He chuckled in a way that only Marco could make sound so sexy.

She would show him built-up tension with a sharp kick to the ass. Chyna broke away from him now that she was steady on her feet again. She began to walk away, but he still held her hand in his. He bent forward at the waist in a sweeping bow, drawing her hand to his lips and planting a possessive kiss on the soft crystal-dusted skin. She forced a smile on to her face, and a few surrounding individuals applauded at the display. His responding smile was a promise.

Thankful to be out of his clutches for a while, Chyna made a beeline for the nearest waiter. He offered her a glass of Champagne with a curt smile.

“Anything

stronger?”