Mirror Amour (Circotica Series) (2 page)

It was a sex circus.

Did such a thing
exist
?

I flicked my wipers on full speed to get rid of the incriminating evidence. No way did I want my flatmate to see that. If I was a prude, he was an amoeba. We worked at the same lab, but different hours. Noah took over my work when I quit for the day, and vice versa. The only time we saw each other was on weekends, and even that was forgettable. At least I liked to have a drink with friends, and indulge in life. Noah? He made friends with meningococcal and the flu. The only thing that caused a spark in his hazel-green eyes was cracking some germ-code or staying up late in the incubator willing a new trial to work.

I had doubts he was even a hot-blooded man. Compared to the guy who just winked at me, I’d have to say a big, fat no. Even though Noah wasn’t bad looking. In fact, he was bookishly handsome. With toned muscles from working out in our lounge, and the sculptured jaw his European mother gave him, he was rather delicious. But with no libido, no drive for anything but microbiology, even I was bored by him, and I could sit and read a thousand-page text-book about syphilis and not fall asleep.

My stomach flip-flopped as I drove on autopilot all the way home. Why did the sex-maniac circus have to stop a block away from my house? Why did I have to drive past it? And why was I pissed about it? I didn’t have to go or put up with the sexual innuendos. I was Linden Dylan. My sights were firmly set on a professor’s position and to earn accolades for curing cancer or saving the world from germ warfare. I didn’t need a good time in the form of a brown-haired man with abs like an old-fashioned washing machine.

Definitely not.

* * * * *

Okay, so I lied.

Dinner was dismal. Broccoli with no dressing and a piece of steamed fish. Yes, it was healthy, but shit it was boring.

My eyes flashed across the sparse, white and rattan lounge as Noah exited his bedroom.

His lanky, muscular frame was dressed in his usual black jeans and navy buttoned shirt. His short hair looked sexy-messy—styled with wax to give him the bedhead look—not that he’d been rolling around in bed with anyone. I’d of heard through the walls.

He froze when he noticed me sprawled on the couch.  “I thought you’d gone to bed?”

What at freakin’ nine p.m? I wasn’t a party hopper, but I wasn’t a nana, either. “Nope. Just studying.” I motioned to the heavy text in my lap. He didn’t need to know the thought of going to bed turned me on, rather than relaxed me. For the first time, I noticed the shape of Noah’s lips. Full, but not too luscious like the over-Botoxed look. His face was prim and proper, but beneath was an edge that intimidated me in a purely feminine way. I’d never  noticed before. Why not? How had I been living with this guy for eight months and all we’d discussed was microbes and disease?

Sitting up, I asked, “You heading to work?”

His eyes flashed to the clock hanging over the fairy-light decorated fireplace. “Umm, yes. Heading in early.”

My ears pricked. Noah—sweet, bookish, insanely smart Noah—just lied to me. My heart rate stepped faster. “You do know your shift was pushed back? You made a note of it in the staff room.” It was the truth. We’d been banned from the lab from nine till midnight for rigorous cleaning once a month. Noah knew that. So where the hell was he going?

My heart sprinted as a thought barrelled into me. Not him too! Circotica. Had he seen a flyer? The titillation big-top for adult orgies.

He avoided my eyes as he smoothed his shit. Something crinkled in his front pocket. What was that? A condom? It sounded more like paper. Oh shit, was that his medical Circotica requested? Was he really going to a sexfest?

“Just gonna go get something to eat, perhaps head to the bar and watch the highlights of the baseball game last night.” He cocked his head, looking at me. “Why? What are you up to?”

I forgot how to swallow. The air in our tiny apartment shattered into temptation. If I wasn’t sitting on the couch my knees would’ve wobbled. And my knees
never
wobbled under the stare of a man.

“Just going to sit here and read.” No way. Lying again.

Noah scratched the back of his neck. “Alright. Sounds good.” His eyes darkened, going more hazel than green.

My stomach tightened, and I swore he frowned. Could he smell the pheromones cooking inside me? I’d never wanted to jump a platonic flatmate, but hot damn, there was something about him. Was it the knowledge of where he was going? The knowledge he was into that sort of thing, and I never knew? Or was he like me and tempted by the unknown, the allure of not having the shame of the morning after of acting out a fantasy with a stranger then having to make small talk.

“You’re not going to work, are you?” I slapped a hand over my mouth the moment the words were free. Oh. My. God. It wasn’t my business. So what if he would be kissing, touching, licking someone in fifteen minutes from now? I might be wrong.

His eyebrows flew into his hairline; his jaw clenched. “Course I’m going to work. Where the hell would I be going?”

Okay. Defensive. I was right. He was going to get his freak on with a random. I bit my lip as an image of me being that random filled my thoughts. Problem was, I lived with the man—it wouldn’t be forgotten and would make our living situation unbearable afterward.

My eyes dropped to his lips. Was he a good kisser? What was his secret fantasy?

I sucked in a breath and got myself under control. “Sorry. Don’t know why I doubted you.” Hoisting the book on my lap, I added, “Don’t work too hard.”

His shoulders tensed, but he nodded. “Thanks. Eh, have a good night, then.” He headed toward the door, tucking his keys into his pocket from the bowl on the sideboard.

Awkwardness settled over us, which wasn’t anything new. We never fully relaxed around each other. Probably our own damn fault. We never talked—so how could we relax? We were practically strangers.

“I guess I’ll see you around.” His gruff voice made my hair stand on end.

Before I could over analyse what he meant, he disappeared through the door and slammed it closed.

I sat there, heart bucking. What did he mean by that? See me tomorrow or see him at the big-top?
Holy shit, Linden. You’re hornier than a rabbit.

Maybe I should go to bed early. Would that cure my affliction? I was all hot and bothered for no apparent reason.

Okay, lied again.

Apparent reason was that damn Tassels of Tantalization and the repeating thought of what people were getting up to. Could there be all manner of sexual escapades occurring, or was it all in my head?

It didn’t help the hot acrobat-worker kept teasing me by winking over and over on replay. Maybe I could just go and check it out? I didn’t have to look too closely or participate. Perhaps there would be some tricks to watch—while keeping my clothes on—and not in any way perverted.

Even as I nodded, thinking I was sure there’d be some tameness to the frisky circus, I growled. I was lying again.

Just the knowledge the big-top was only a ten minute walk made my blood smoulder with need. It wasn’t that I needed sex—I could get it fine, thank you very much. It was the no strings attached. The allure that no one would know me—other than Noah—if he was there. For one night, I could live my ultimate fantasy with no defamation of character or rumours.

The heavy book thudded against the floor as I stood. My body pulled toward a night of decadence and naughtiness even before I’d given myself permission.

Will he be there? Mr. Hot-Workman?

What would I do if he was?
God, Linden don’t answer that.
What would I do if Noah was there?
Don’t answer that, either.

My eyes widened as I imagined strolling into the big-top in my white lab coat with high kitten heels and nothing else. For one night, I could allow myself to pretend. To forget my career path and my life choices. To be a—dare I say it—slut, and indulge in things I never let myself consider. I could explore the parts of me that grew hot and bothered under my sheets at night. The woman who wondered what it would be like to kiss another girl. The woman who wanted very much to let her fantasies free. What was so wrong with that? It was the circus for hell’s sake. A night of sensory overload—in this case it could be physical, visceral, sexual.

And boy did I want a ticket to that.

The text-book lay abandoned on the white shag pile rug as I dashed to my bedroom. I should’ve guessed Circotica would consume me. One look at my bedroom and I could be there already. Purple and soft-smoky grey graced every inch. Right down to the diamante bedside lights and decadent velour drapes. After all I was single, had a great paying job, and liked nice things.

My hands shook as my heart bolted around my chest, knowing what I was about to do. My dresser wobbled as I wrenched open the top drawer to access the skimpy lingerie an ex-boyfriend bought me for our one month anniversary. Shame for him, I broke up with him that night, but he still wanted me to have the underwear. I’d suffered too much guilt to wear it until now.

But it seemed eerily appropriate.

Soft pewter silk embossed with black lightning bolts graced the lacy bra and the tiny thong was totally see-through. They weren’t exactly underwear for support or a hard day at the office. They were purely for driving a man wild, or granting some sort of feminine power from beneath clothes. A bit like superman in his spandex—I was superwoman in my thong.

And boy, did I feel powerful as I had a quick shower and stepped into the delicate garments.

I didn’t really have anything sexy to wear. Working long hours meant I favoured jeans and jumpers. But I did have a little black dress in the back of my wardrobe. I slipped it over my head and shivered as the material kissed my nipples through the bra.

Shit, I was still in my bedroom and I was turned on more than ever before. What was causing my blood to thicken? Was it the thought of seeing Noah there? Letting himself indulge like I planned to do? Was it the allure of the worker I’d seen, or the knowledge I had no idea what would happen tonight? Probably all of it. I’d never been so tingly and jumpy before.

Hands trembling, I ran them through my silky chestnut curls and dusted purple eyeshadow on my green eyes. It was the most primping I’d done in months, and I was shamed to admit the first time I’d shaved my legs in four weeks. Hey, I doubted germs in petri dishes were checking out my pins.

I froze in the centre of my bedroom.

I was accessorized, dressed, panting, and ready to leave. Could I do this? My heart charged with trepidation. No. I wasn’t ready to do this.

Then why was I getting my recent medical report from my desk and tucking it into my little beaded bag? Lucky for me, my work required a monthly check-up thanks to all our handling of contagious diseases. But what about the people who didn’t have such a risky job? How did they enter Circotica with the rule of medical resumes?

This was nuts. I should turn around and throw my flannelette pyjamas on and forget about the flyer.
Yes, good idea.
So why was I walking to the exit even as I hyperventilated?

The click of the door locking brought my decisions crashing upon me. If I walked down the road toward Tassels of Tantalization who knew what would happen.

I licked my lips as a delicious tremble filled me. I loved the idea. I might return home after being turned into a pretzel by an acrobat, or wrapped in silk by a trapeze artist. Or better yet, whipped by a lion tamer. My thoughts were a squash ball—smashing around my brain with rational fear and mouth-watering anticipation.

Shit, I never knew I was so kinky. Were other women like me? Hard workers, mothers, sisters—all the while simmering beneath the surface wanting some naughtiness and adventure that would warm their souls for the remainder of their lives? If I did this, I knew I’d be smug for the rest of my days. Smug that I had the guts to go to a sex circus—on my own—with no regrets, or hesitation—not too much, anyway.

My mind ran wild with scenarios of what might happen as my feet guided me almost as if I was propelled by magic down the night-darkened streets. I coasted through puddles of street lights, threading through shadow and gloom.

My body tingled as I imagined Mr. Hot-Worker kissing my neck, touching me, only to throw me down and take domination. At the same time, I flirted with the idea of handcuffing him with a fluffy boa and doing whatever I wanted to him. Holy crap, I couldn’t keep up with my newly kinky brain.

The horizon glowed with purple up-lights as I slammed to a halt on the other side of the road.

Only two lanes of traffic barred me from the raunchiest thing I’d ever done in my life.

Perhaps I read the brochure wrong? Surely there was nothing like this? It couldn’t exist. Why did they want my medical report?
Oh God, don’t answer that
. Too many questions followed that one and not all of them sexy.

My throat squeezed as a tall, leotard-clad woman waved at me coyly from across the road. She blew me a kiss, cocking her hip suggestively. I didn’t think my cheeks would ever stop flaming.

I stepped dazedly off the path and into oncoming traffic.

An angry horn had me prancing back to the safety of the curb. I broke eye contact with the woman only to have my eyes shoot behind her to a loud, masculine laugh.

Him.

He was there. The man who’d started my insane obsession with this place.

He placed a large hand on the woman’s shoulder and whispered to her, never taking his eyes off mine.

I gulped as she laughed.

Checking for traffic, he jogged across the road and stopped within touching distance. He wore an open necked black shirt and low slung jeans with crocodile boots. No circus attire, but for the small slash of black glitter in the shape of a lightning bolt on his cheek.

Oh my God. He matches my underwear
.

“You. I remember you from the almost-accident an hour or so ago.” His voice resonated deep in my stomach and I struggled to stay teetering on crazy high heels. They pinched my toes, helping ground me in reality and not float away on lust.