Master's Flame (7 page)

“I turned it off.” She lifted her chin, hoping she didn’t look as ghastly as she felt. She swept a hand at her things. “I’m leaving today. I’m going home.”

“Like hell you’re going home.” He stood facing her, his hands braced on his hips. “What happened? What did he do to you?”

Valentina knew who he meant but she couldn’t bear to recount the story. She turned away and sat on her bed. “I’m leaving. That’s all you need to know.”

“Oh, no.” He sat down beside her and tilted her face to his. “I need to know everything. I heard Lemaitre took you to his back room last night. Now, today, you’re packed up to leave. Something happened and I need to know what it was.”

“Nothing happened!” The rage in her voice surprised even her. She shrugged off Jason’s hand. “Nothing happened, except that he rejected and insulted me. He humiliated me. He said I didn’t...” Her voice roughened with the tightening of her throat. “He said I didn’t suit his tastes.”

Jason made a small sound beside her, a light exhalation that sounded suspiciously like
Thank God
.

“I have to leave,” she said, hugging a pillow to her waist. Her chest hurt from all the tears. “I have to go. I can’t bear to stay here.”

“Why? Because Michel Lemaitre rejected you? Welcome to Cirque du Monde. He rejects ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the people who offer themselves to him, and there’s a reason for that. Listen.” He took her shoulders and forced her to face him. “If he rejected you, it was to protect you. He has reasons for everything he does.”

“What reasons?” she cried, pulling away. She paced in a circle around her sad pile of belongings, old luggage and boxes of clothes and scraps and half-finished projects. That’s what she was—half-finished. She turned to Jason, throwing up her arms. “He says I am fire, that I inspire him. He does a whole show based on me, on my act. He...he...” She couldn’t say the rest, that he’d knelt before her and taken her pussy with his mouth, and made her come harder than she’d come in her life. “He had me, all of me, but he didn’t want me. I would have given him
anything
.”

Jason leaned back on her bed with a frown. “Do you think you’re the only person who feels that way? I know you think you’re special somehow, that you’re better than everyone else—”

“I don’t think that.”

“You do, and I understand why. You’re a completely unique person. But listen to me—when it comes to Lemaitre, that isn’t enough. He either chooses you or he doesn’t. If you’re not strong enough for him, he won’t play with you, point blank. If you’re not steady and well-adjusted, he won’t take the risk.”

Valentina ground her teeth together. She wanted to deny his words, refute the insinuation that she wasn’t steady and well-adjusted, but her actions in the last twelve hours spoke louder than words. She sank down on the bed beside him and threaded fingers through her hair. “He thinks I’m crazy. He thinks I’m insane.”

“Everyone thinks you’re insane,” he said gently, rubbing her shoulders. “That’s who you are, a crazy, impulsive person who’s not afraid of anything. It’s also the reason you can’t be with him.” His voice softened the slightest bit. “If he rejected you, you should be thankful. I am.”

“Why are you thankful?” she asked, trying to untangle the puzzle of his words. “Because you want to be with me?”

Jason gave her an exasperated smile that made her feel rejected all over again. “Have you ever heard of a thing called fidelity, Valentina? I don’t know the Italian word, but you should look it up. Also, the word ‘restraint.’”

“I know you’re engaged to Sara, and I know what restraint is, I just...” A hopeless sound escaped her. “I just don’t have that. I never have. I don’t know why.”

His arm tightened around her shoulder. “Because you’re crazy. That’s my theory. At the very least you’re hot-headed. Maybe it’s the color of your hair. Whatever it is, you have to understand that you won’t mesh with Lemaitre. He’s the most controlled—and controlling—person on the planet. The two of you will never work out. You’re too different.”

“But we’re different in the right ways.” She thought a moment, trying to put her feelings into words that Jason might understand. “It’s like...when you feel drawn to someone, and you know they have something you need, something you want. You understand in your heart how perfect you would be for them. That’s how I feel about him. I feel like we belong together. I want to be close to him. I ache for him, Jason.”

“Why? Because he’s Michel Lemaitre? Because he’s a badass, and your boss? This is a classic case of lusting after what you can’t have, merely because you can’t have it. And once you received it—if you ever did receive it—you’d realize it wasn’t as great and fulfilling as you built it up to be. I think you experienced a little of that last night. There’s always a letdown after you sample forbidden fruit.”

“Oh, really?” She pursed her lips. “Those are your words of wisdom?”

“Do you or do you not feel like shit this morning? If Lemaitre was so great, you wouldn’t be feeling this agony. Believe me, he’s not the godlike figure you envision. He has no magical powers, no Midas touch that’s going to turn everything in your life to gold. He’s only a man, and he has the same weaknesses and drawbacks we all have. He’s just better at creating this image of power and fantasy. It’s also the formula for creating spectacles, for magic acts and circus. That’s why he’s so good at what he does.”

Valentina took a deep breath in and out. Magic. Was Lemaitre’s overwhelming appeal only some engineered sleight-of-hand? A circus trick? A falsehood?

Somehow that upset her even more than his rejection. “Do you think he ever cries?” she asked. “Does he ever doubt himself?”

“Yes to both questions. He’s human, like you and me. If you find things about him to admire, then admire him, but don’t feel like he’s some god you have to touch for your life to be complete.” He shrugged and leaned away from her. “Anyway, you’ve already touched him. He brought you here and made you the subject of an entire show. How greedy can a mere mortal be?”

His teasing tone brought a much-needed, if weak, smile to her lips. She looked up into her director’s incisive sea-blue eyes. “You’re right. This isn’t the end of the world. I think I’m calmer now.”

“Good.” He glanced at his watch. “Because I’m late for my next practice. Damn it. Are you really okay? You’re not going to hop a plane to Naples?”

She shook her head. “I guess I’m staying here.”

“Then I suggest you take a day to get your head back on straight. Unpack, go out for some lunch, soak in the tub. Maybe go to Priya and get a mind-numbing back rub. Whatever you do, don’t think about him. He’s gone anyway, back to Brussels.”

That thought comforted her. He wasn’t even here, and probably wouldn’t be for any length of time until the construction project wound down. That gave her some leeway to get over him, at least the deepest pangs of misery and rejection, but she thought she’d always feel a little pain when she saw him. Feelings that strong never went away.

“Wait,” she said as Jason moved toward the door.

He looked uneasy when he turned. “What now?”

“If he won’t have me because I’m too hot-headed and crazy...well...what if I became less crazy? What if I worked on being calm and sedate?”

“Calm and sedate?” He made a face. “Even if such a thing was possible, you couldn’t keep it up long-term. You wouldn’t be you.”

“People can change.”

“You’ll never be calm and sedate, Valentina. I’m sorry, but that’s the truth. My advice? Forget about Lemaitre and find someone who wants you as you are. I mean, there are a ton of men and women who would love to top you. You could take your pick of a dozen D-types at the Citadel if that’s what you’re into.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is true. I’ve seen the way they look at you.”

Valentina tuned out his words because they meant nothing to her. No one else was like Michel Lemaitre, and they never would be. She barely noticed when Jason said goodbye and closed the door, because she realized she’d hit upon the answer. She only had to remake herself in the image of Maxim and Leonid. She had to be calm and clear-eyed, silent and utterly self-effacing. If he didn’t like her as she was, she would transform herself into his image of a perfect slave. She would pour herself out to make room for whatever Lemaitre wanted, and once he filled her up, she’d finally feel complete.

She would practice being calm and sane while Mr. Lemaitre was away, and practice submission at the Citadel until she was great at taking pain, as great as Leonid and Maxim, then she’d win his regard when he returned to gauge
Élémental
’s progress. He wouldn’t be able to resist her when he saw how much she’d changed.

It was so simple a solution. Thank God Jason had come by to open her eyes.

*** *** ***

Michel stayed away almost a month, until there was nothing else to do in Brussels and the Christmas holidays brought him home. The new year found him holed up in his office, concentrating on business. Margins were good. It was a perfect time to launch a new production and there were plenty of tasks to be done.

Even sequestered in his office, he heard company news, but nothing of
La Vampa
aside from the usual status reports on the development of her act. He found this shocking—he had expected her to run rampant while he was away. He wondered if she still went to the Citadel, if she was still cutting a swath through all the sexually available men of the Cirque. He hoped so. He hoped she was having fun. He hoped it had not been too difficult for her to come to terms with his rejection. The way she had looked at him that night...like he was eviscerating her soul.

If Valentina was not so central to the upcoming production, he might have sent her to some other show, only to free himself of temptation. As it was, he could not. By now all the acts were in place and proper rehearsals were underway, with new sets and equipment constructed by the art department. Huge stage pieces filled the Cirque’s workshops, and red, orange, and gold paint covered everything.

He scheduled time in mid-January to see an overview of the show before they moved into the practice theater. The directors and coaches huddled around him as the performers demonstrated their progress and awaited his critique. Of course, nothing was ever perfect, not at this stage. Michel was as blunt as he could be without disrespecting his staff and performers. He shared many positives to balance the negatives, but Jason seemed strangely subdued as the order of acts led up to Valentina’s routine.

“So, how is the hand-to-hand coming, now that you’ve added extra men?” asked Michel. Had he tried too hard to sound casual? He didn’t want to admit how anxious he was to see her perform, how many times his gaze had strayed to the side of the room where she stretched to stay warm.

Jason’s expression gave nothing away. “The act is coming along. They’ve been very focused. Working hard.” He paused, looking up from the page of notes before him. “I understand the ‘twins’ have been put out to pasture.”

“Is that what people are saying?”

“It’s true, isn’t it? You sent them away.”

“They were needed for the Los Angeles show.” Indeed, Maxim and Leonid had volunteered with just a little urging from his direction. “They have earned it, don’t you think?” he asked Jason. “If you stay too long in any one show, or any one situation, life grows stale.”

“Hmm.” Jason made a non-committal sound as Valentina entered the performance area. The costumes were one of the last components to be created but she was dressed in the spirit of the show, in a bright orange-yellow bodysuit that was still not as eye-catching as her hair. Jason explained the progress on the act, new stunts and nuances that had been added. Michel listened with half his attention. Valentina and her partners would show him the heart and soul of the performance, which was all he really cared about.

A moment later, the quintet took the floor. The first thing he noticed was an inexplicable slouch to Valentina’s shoulders, a deflation, as if she were half asleep. Performing for the boss should have had her at full charge. He narrowed his eyes as the music began and Adei and Danil drew Valentina into the first lift.

The performance had no errors, no hesitations or confusion. There were no wobbles or bobbles and the stunts themselves were graceful and creative. He could not say what was wrong with the act except that it had no life. Valentina had no spark, no joy, not even a smile.

“What is she doing?” Michel hissed under his breath to Jason. “What’s wrong with her?”

Jason grimaced and rubbed his neck. “She’s trying to please you, I think.”

Her face was a blank, pretty mask, and her body, while capable at the tricks, expressed no deeper artistry. She wasn’t on fire. His
La Vampa
, his inspiring flame, had fizzled out.

“
Arrête
,” he shouted, jumping to his feet. “Stop.”

Fifty faces turned to him. The recorded music came to a halt mid-note and Valentina slid down Roman’s chest. She turned to regard her boss with a flash of irritation that immediately disappeared back into that unsettling mask.

That was when he realized she was doing this on purpose, punishing him, perhaps, for rejecting her before. She was not ill, she was not tired, she was simply hiding her charisma behind this polished, expressionless shell. It infuriated him.

“Where is the energy? Where is the soul?” he yelled. “I almost fell asleep in the middle of your performance.”

Her four partners looked accusingly at Valentina.

“I was trying to be controlled,” she said in a stilted manner that sounded nothing like her usual tumbling speech. “Precision and grace are the foundations of a good hand-to-hand act.”

“Precision and grace?” His voice edged up to a roar, his temper goaded by her level explanations. “Do you presume to educate me on the vagaries of performance?”

“I don’t presume anything,” she said, her voice faltering. “Why are you angry with me? Did I fall? Did I make any mistakes?”

“You can do every movement perfectly and still put the audience to sleep.” His gaze swept over her partners but it was on Valentina that he focused his ire. “We must have emotion and spirit from you most of all. You are the anchor of this show, the focal point of the act, and you’re like a mannequin being passed around and arranged in static poses. How boring and depressing. Where is the life, the risk? The drama?”