The Sextet - Entanglements [The Sextet Anthology, Volume 4] (Siren Publishing Everlasting Classic) (12 page)

Chapter 2

Hannah spent most of her day off lounging by the pool at her apartment complex, paging through a back issue of
Cosmo
and trying not to think of Marcus. They performed six days out of seven, for crying out loud. Why should she think of him on her day off, too? But she couldn’t help it. Knowing she was going to see him that night, and knowing he was single once again had her on edge all day.

She finally gave up in the late afternoon, dragging her tanned self inside for a shower and a little primping. For some reason, she just couldn’t kick the feeling that their whole relationship had led up to this point, even though it was actually no different from any other time Marcus broke up with the model-of-the-week. Hannah always got that insane, hopeful feeling welling up inside like she was thirteen again with a crush on the cutest guy in the seventh grade. But she always ended up disappointed when he asked someone else to the big dance.

Hannah dried her hair but left it down, curling in golden tendrils about her shoulders. She pulled on a shortish white cotton skirt that set off her tan, a loose pink top, and a cute pair of white summer sandals she’d picked up on sale but hadn’t had a chance to wear yet. She wore so much stage makeup during the performances that she liked to give her skin time to breathe on her day off, so Hannah just smoothed on some pale-pink lip gloss before heading to the Bombastic.

The casino portion of the resort was packed as always, and she shook her head at the poor fools donating their money to the casino’s bottom line. She walked through the corridor to the theatre and went around to the side entrance, where she used her swipe card to open the door.

The dark and quiet of the theatre was startling after the heat of the day, the noise and lights and voices inside the casino. She didn’t see Marcus anywhere onstage, so she ventured back to the dressing room area. His dressing room was dark, too. She checked her watch. Maybe she was early or he was running late. Unlikely. Marcus was annoyingly punctual.

Maybe the prop locker? Hannah went back toward the stage to the locked cage where Marcus kept all his best toys. His secrets. The door was ajar.

“Marcus?”

She pulled open the gate, and it swung wide with a high-pitched squeak. Only a few security lights were on, and everything inside the locker was shadowy and dark. She thought she saw something moving at the far end.

“Marcus?”

Something fell over at the back of the locker. “Hello? Is someone in here?” Hannah quietly unzipped her purse and pulled out her keychain with the small bottle of pepper spray dangling from the ring.

Breath whooshed out of her as a pair of strong arms circled her waist and dragged her against a hard chest she’d know anywhere.

“Marcus,” she breathed, her heart beating a million miles a minute.

“What are you doing in here?” Marcus asked near her ear. Her hair moved with his breath like a caress on her bare skin.

“Someone is in here,” Hannah whispered. “At first I thought it was you.”

Marcus released her instantly and stepped around her. He paused, listening. Hannah held her breath. The air conditioning system kicked off and there was no sound, though Hannah’s heart beat a staccato she was sure anyone could hear.

Taking Hannah’s pepper spray, Marcus motioned for her to go back out the way she came. She nodded but didn’t move a muscle as Marcus crept silently through the neatly arranged chaos of stage props, risers, pieces of wood, racks of costumes, lighting, and all the other things that made for an amazing sellout show.

Once he disappeared into the shadows, Hannah listened hard but didn’t hear a thing. After a few long minutes Marcus reappeared, frowning.

“Did you find him?”

Marcus shook his head. “There was no one there.”

“I know I saw something. I saw them move,” Hannah said, taking her keys from Marcus and turning to exit the locker.

“I’m going to have to get more security. Maybe a couple extra cameras and some guards at the auditorium doors.”

They exited the storage locker, and Marcus closed the gate behind them.

“Damn snoops. Do you think it’s the Great Xambini again?” Hannah asked.

“No. He’s on tour. Somewhere in the Midwest, I think.”

“Why can’t these A-holes get their own shows? I mean, you worked for years on some of the stuff we do. Why do they think they have the right to steal it?”

“I don’t know. But the problem is only going to get worse. The more successful you get, the more people want a chunk of what you have.” He paused and looked at her with a troubled frown. “You didn’t give the key to anyone, did you?”

Hannah was a little offended he would even ask such a thing.

“I wouldn’t do that.”

“No, I know you wouldn’t. I don’t know why I asked.”

“Should I get the knives?” Hannah asked. “That’s what you wanted to practice, right?”

Marcus shook his head. “I can’t concentrate. Let’s go to my dressing room and grab a couple of waters first.”

Hannah nodded and led the way down the backstage corridor to Marcus’s dressing room. She swiped her key card and opened the door. She rarely used the key unless it was to let a crew member in to restock the fridge or to clean the room.

The room was tastefully decorated in browns, tans, and black. Marcus had a small leather couch and matching club chair in the center part of the room, a minibar, a shower and changing room, and a chair where the makeup lady came in to do his hated stage makeup every night before he went on. And everywhere it smelled of Marcus. His familiar scent permeated everything.

Hannah tossed her purse on the coffee table and sat down on the couch. The leather was soft and cool against her bare legs, and she snuggled deeper into the cushy luxury. Marcus grabbed a couple of bottles from the fridge and returned to the seating area, handing her one.

He looked totally rattled. It was probably good he didn’t have a fist full of daggers at that moment.

“Are you okay?” she asked, sitting forward on the couch.

“Yeah. I just…I hate these guys. Everything I’ve worked for could be gone in the blink of an eye if the secrets get out. Acts I’ve worked on and refined for years will show up in every lame act from here to Detroit.”

Hannah nodded. “We’ll get him. Don’t worry.” She reached across to the chair and patted Marcus’s knee.

He caught her hand, and she glanced up to meet his gaze.

“Thanks,” he said and gave her a small smile.

“For what?”

“For being here. For putting up with me. For listening.”

She smiled back. “No problem. We’re coworkers, but we’re friends, too, right?”

“Sure.”

“Trust me. We’ll catch whoever is sneaking in here, and it’ll be fine.”

“I know. It just pisses me off.”

He didn’t let go of her hand, instead idly stroking her fingers, clearly deep in thought. All kinds of nervous energy radiated from his light touch, sending shivers of pleasure racing through her body.

Self-consciously, Hannah drew her hand back.

“What about adding something new to the act? Something never seen before. Something no one can copy.

Marcus always loved brainstorming new tricks. Besides being onstage and dating supermodels, it seemed to be his favorite thing to do.

“There is this one thing I’ve been working on,” he said, looking suddenly much less gloomy. He went to his briefcase and pulled out a sketch pad then returned to the couch to sit next to her.

It was a water trick. Hannah hated water tricks because they were so dangerous. There was only one in Marcus’s act currently, and it was relatively simple, though with the stage lighting and theatrics and Marcus’s personal magnetism onstage, it looked really cool. This one, however, really did look dangerous.

A folded sheet of paper fell out of the book as Marcus was talking animatedly about being chained in the bottom of a big glass aquarium and something having to do with piranhas. Hannah bent to pick up the paper. She opened it, and her breath caught.

It was a drawing of a woman—her, actually—tied to a bed. She was wearing a skimpy red negligee that appeared to be see-through, and black stiletto heels. Marcus was standing to the side wearing no shirt and no shoes, just a flowing pair of black trousers.

Marcus had stopped talking, but Hannah couldn’t take her eyes off the page. Of herself bound to Marcus’s bed. Even if it was a stage prop. Heat radiated outward from her core, and she suddenly needed another very large drink of water. Marcus was an excellent artist.

“What’s this?” she managed to get out after a moment.

Marcus leaned in and spoke softly, almost hesitantly. “Something else I’ve been working on.”

Hannah looked over at him, but he was staring at the paper. “The assistant—you—would be tied down to a giant wheel that looks like a bed.”

“So I see,” Hannah said. She was suddenly aware that her bare legs were just inches from his hands.

“Once you’re strapped down, the bed raises so that you’re vertical.” He flipped the page over to reveal the wheel, with her still tied to it. “After that, it’s basically a knife trick,” he said.

Hannah could imagine the effect onstage with the lighting, the wind machine and the fog rolling, along with some sensual music with deep bass undertones and a rhythm over top that suggested the act that would be on everyone’s mind.

God. She was getting hot just thinking about it. Thinking about his hands sliding over the curves of her taut body, securing her wrists and ankles down tight to the bed so that she was completely at the mercy of his amazingly talented hands. And his mouth. And his body.

She cleared her throat. “Why haven’t we tried this?”

“Too dangerous,” he said, his voice sounding huskier than usual. He took the paper. “It’s a veiled knife throw. See?”

The knife thrower was to be blindfolded, and upon closer inspection, the wheel was to turn, making it almost impossible for anyone to hit the target without impaling the woman strapped to it.

“So? You’ve been throwing knives since you were 14.”

Marcus shook his head. “Only three other acts have ever tried this, and the assistants always get hit at one time or another.”

“I trust you.”

“It’s not a matter of trust. It’s a matter of safety.”

Hannah thought of the picture again, imagined the binding around her wrists and ankles, of the hours of practice it would take, just the two of them, to perfect the trick. Time Marcus wouldn’t have to chase supermodels. And once they performed the trick, Marcus would never again have to worry about copycats. This wasn’t illusion. It was real and depended on Marcus’s dedication and skill.

“I want to do it,” she said impulsively.

“What?”

“The trick. The veiled knife-bondage thing. I think we should do it. It will totally shake up whoever is snooping around, and as you said, only three other performers have ever done it. There’s no way anyone who doesn’t have your skill with knives can even think about stealing this trick. It’ll be yours and yours alone. Your audience will love it.”

Hannah looked at him, and their eyes locked. “We need to do this.”

“Once we do it, we can’t go back. You know that, right?”

Hannah blinked.

“Once it’s in the act, I mean. If it works and it’s a success, you’ll be stuck getting tied to the bed every night. Several times a night, sometimes.”

There was no mistaking the heat in his eyes now or the way his voice had taken on the deep, raspy quality of a man in need.

“And hours of practice.” Hannah squeezed her thighs together against the sharp burst of red-hot need that erupted deep inside her. Years of longing shone in her eyes, too. She was sure of it.

“Every spare hour we have.”

“I think I can handle it.”

Marcus looked at her a moment longer, and she knew he was going to kiss her.

Marcus shot to his feet. “Good,” he said in a voice that was stronger now but still revealed excitement that was more than professional enthusiasm. “I have more drawings for the set and costumes. Come on, I’ll show you what I have in mind.”