The Thorndyke Trilogy 2: Dancing at Midnight (12 page)

She knew when he touched her mind. She felt a tingle in the forehead, just above her eyes, in the place where the Hindus said the first chakra was situated, then warmth and thoughts not her own.

He spoke to her sometimes, amused at her starts when she realized what he was doing. He’d nudge dirty words in there, suggestions of what they’d do once they were alone. Shocked, she’d lift her head and glare and find him smiling. His lips rarely moved, but the sensation in her mind was there—gentle warmth, more seductive than anything else she could remember.

Except feeling his lips on hers, his body inside hers. That was the best of all. She was addicted to Nathan. She couldn’t get enough of him. He was a busy man. Even with their rehearsals and the marathon sex sessions they indulged in, he found time to work on plans for the clubs. They’d blocked out the dances, and she and Steve, her partner, were working hard on them.

Steve was due to arrive later, but Nathan already had her working. Her official dance partner was handsome and knew how to dance. He had the polish of a champion, and Kristen picked the movements up easily. She’d always been a quick learner.

Today Nathan wanted her to tango. The Argentine tango, although she protested that it didn’t fit with the theme they’d chosen. Or rather, he’d chosen.

“Did Regency rakes do the tango?” she demanded, hands on hips.

“They’d have done it if they thought it would get them what they wanted. Lift your chin. Glare at me. Yes, just like that.”

That part of his instructions she found easy. Much too easy.

He was watching her from a distance. This room was long, like a gallery, and one side of it was window, but it was all window with a broad balcony outside. He had the penthouse, of course, so the view over the lake was spectacular. It was still icy out, so she hadn’t ventured onto the balcony.

That didn’t mean she wasn’t sweating now. She wore a T-shirt and a small skirt together with spiky heels that she was finding more than troublesome. She wasn’t used to dancing in them. The calluses on her feet were designed for different shoes—ballet shoes, soft slippers, and point shoes. The heels on these fuckers threw her weight forward.

Nathan frowned. “That’s better. I want you to get a feel for Latin. We could play at gaucho and dance-hall worker.”

His phone rang, and with a sound of annoyance, he unclipped it from his belt. “Just as we were getting to the good stuff,” he muttered and then barked, “Yes?” After listening for a moment, he said, “I’ll be there.” Glanced at her. “We’ll be there.” With a shrug, he told her, “I’m wanted at the club. Some kind of mix-up with the liquor order. We can practice there. I’ll tell Steve of the change of plan.” He tapped a text into his cell.

He checked the time before he put his phone away. “Just throw something on top of what you’re wearing, but bring the waltz shoes.”

She sighed with relief. They were an inch lower, and it made a lot of difference.

“I’ll teach you the
bourrée
, and we’ll work on the polka. I want to see if we get any ideas.”

“But I’m sweaty!”

“I’ve never been afraid of a bit of fresh sweat.” With one of the swift movements she was learning was typical of him, he pulled her close and kissed her. “If we had more time, I’d prove it. I might do that after we’ve worked some more.”

She was also learning that Nathan was a hard taskmaster, but she didn’t care because he was fair. He gave her praise when she deserved it but kept her working. He wanted to debut their dance next week.

Although she had her own place, she spent every night in his bed. They got mutually sweaty then and had the pleasure of sharing his large walk-in shower or the tub. After four days, they’d slipped into what was dangerously close to a routine. Punctuated by lavish sex. They couldn’t get enough of each other.

She grabbed her coat, the big woolen coat that had seen her through a few winters in her hometown. After throwing it on, she followed him through to the elevator that led down to the garage.

They used his all-weather vehicle. More like a luxury tank than a regular car, although he did say he needed it to get to the house in the country. That meant he wasn’t one of those idiots who drove cars meant for wide-open spaces in the city.

In the car she slid on her boots. He’d bought them for her to replace her soaked ones. He’d wanted to buy her more, but she’d said enough. The luxury of fur-lined waterproof leather had made her sigh with delight.

The drive to the club wasn’t a long one. In better weather it was easily walkable, but now with fresh snow thick on the ground, the car was the faster option. Plus, Nathan had his own parking space. He used it, waited for her to get out, and grabbed his thick flying jacket—an original, he told her, from World War II. An antique, she’d said, but he’d only laughed.

She loved that he held his hand out to take hers. He’d made no secret of their relationship. She liked that too. No subterfuge.

They used the front entrance, and Kristen received her first shock of the day. Coming to a sudden halt, she stared at the new billboards outside Maskerade. “What’s that?”

The shadowy figures of a man and a woman confronted her. They were both dressed in Regency costume, and Kristen’s gown was transparent. “I don’t have the costume yet.”

“A little computer graphic work and there you go. Like it?”

“I—I don’t know.” She’d dreamed of seeing her picture outside a theater, of her name in lights. Now she had one because the woman was her.

Meet the new dancer at the club, our mystery woman!

“I’m a mystery woman?”

“Only until opening night,” he said. “Then they get your name. Or do you want to use your stage name after all?”

They hadn’t removed the other poster, of Isadora in silhouette. “No, I can’t use Isadora Bennett.” Mainly because she wasn’t her.

He sighed theatrically. “A shame.”

She knew how to prevent him reading her thoughts by now, instinct showing her how to push them deep, where he didn’t venture. So she was safe in her regret. In any case, he would misread it as regret that she couldn’t use the name, not regret that she’d said that stupid thing in the first place. She’d thought about confiding in him, but in all likelihood, he’d fire her and throw her out.

“Do you want a new stage name?”

She shook her head. For once she’d see her name on a billboard. For once she’d be a leading lady.

“Hey, Kriss!”

Kristen spun around, nearly losing her balance in the slippery snow. Nathan caught her and kept on holding her. He glared at the man approaching them. Stu.

He grinned unrepentantly. “This is a change from the ballet, isn’t it?”

“Did you come to see Kristen?” Nathan asked coldly.

“I work at Vampire Heaven.” He gestured to the place down the street. “But I’m studying at St. Paul. I was heading for the library.” He glanced down at the battered laptop case in one hand.

Kristen wanted to snap that she was glad to hear it, since Stu hadn’t exactly concentrated on his studies since she’d arrived in Chicago.

Nathan drew her closer so she stood under the shelter of his arm. “Do you want to come in?”

Stu flushed. “No— Yes, I guess. Thanks. Just for a minute.”

Nathan gave him a long look and then turned and led the way inside.

Smokey smiled at her and gave Stu a calculated stare before nodding and letting him through. Kristen couldn’t blame him. Stu was dressed in what had become his habitual wear—black clothes, a ripped T-shirt, and studs. The ones in his left ear were real, but the nose and mouth studs were fake, as was the tattoo around his neck that said
Cut here
. The club provided those and required employees to wear them as well as the little bottle of “blood” he wore around his neck.

Stu grinned and flashed his tongue-stud. Another real addition, and one Kristen didn’t particularly like, although she wondered what kissing someone with that decoration was like.

“Do you want to find out?”

She felt him in her mind at the last word.
“You’d do that?”

“I heal fast. We could play, then I’d take it out. How about oral sex?”

She’d never thought of that. Wow, yes, she’d take that.
“You’d do that for me?”

“Sure.”

He sounded so casual about something that must hurt like fuck to have done. Hastily she said,
“No, don’t. Besides, I don’t think Regency gentlemen had them.”

“No, they had piercings in other places. Not something I’d ever considered doing, although I know somebody who does.”

He sent her a mental picture of a cock with a piercing through the hole at the tip, coming out at the side. It was decorated with rings and a chain. She winced. That must hurt.

“A friend of mine has it. He’s had no complaints.”

“You must know him very well,”
was her first thought.

“You could say that.”

The picture was of man with a foreskin. Nathan had one too. None of her previous sexual partners had been uncut. She’d explored it and the way it covered the most sensitive part of his cock when it was resting. Not that she saw it resting very often.

Now she buried her thoughts deep and let him lead her into the club.

Stu gazed around, his mouth slightly open. “It’s a lot bigger than I thought.”

She hadn’t considered it, but perhaps she was used to large auditoriums, so this hadn’t come as a surprise. “Is your club smaller?”

“Yeah, a lot. But we’re just starting out. Don’t you have to work?”

Usually she’d go through to Nathan’s office to remove her outerwear, but now she did it perched on a chair. Nathan made a point of kissing her before he went off to see his manager. “It shouldn’t take long. I’ll be back in ten.”

Which gave her time to talk to Stu. He might not understand her decision to work with Nathan and go along with her lie, but he had to know. As soon as they were alone, she leaned forward. “Stu, they still think I’m Isadora Bennett.”

“Keep lying,” Stu said. He brightened. “In any case, having my sister around could seriously cramp my style. The guys over at Vampire Heaven are great. I don’t think they’d want me to drag my sister along. You will come around, won’t you? I’ll leave your name at the door. My boss is looking for dancers.”

“Are you going into competition with Maskerade?” she asked.

He snorted. “Nah. That’s a different market.” He got to his feet. “So I’m your old friend, Stu, from Lincoln, Nebraska.”

“Shh!” She glanced around, making sure nobody was close enough to hear. “After the first night they’ll replace the posters, and I’ll be so good he’ll need me too much to fire me. Thanks.” She took his hand and squeezed it. “I owe you, Stu.”

“Sure you do. And I’ll make sure you pay.” He grinned, and she grinned back, just like the conspiracies when they were kids. They’d always covered for each other. They made a good double act.

* * * *

Upstairs, Nathan stared through the one-way glass down at where Kristen conversed with her friend. When the visitor took her hand, he sucked in a breath.

“Is she playing you along?” Vella asked quietly from behind him.

He didn’t confide his suspicions in Vella. To be truthful, he didn’t know. Kristen could be using him, and honestly, he wouldn’t blame her if she was. She’d chosen a heartbreaking career, one where people took the breaks as they happened. “She’s a great dancer and my temporary bed partner,” he said. “The only contract she signed was the one for the club.”

“I saw that.” Vella didn’t sound pleased. He continued to watch Kristen. “I’ve never known you to sign such a loose contract. Can be ended by either side with a week’s notice? What the fuck made you do that? She’s a nobody; you could have dictated your terms.”

“And what about the other thing?”
she added. Even in the privacy of the manager’s office, she didn’t mention the Thorndykes aloud—that secret organization that had to remain secret for its own sake.

Nathan wasn’t so paranoid. “Not that, either. She doesn’t know a thing, and she’s a fucking great cover. We open in a week. Let’s move a few people then. Opening night, when the place is throbbing.”

Vella made a noncommittal sound in her throat, a kind of guttural
Uh-huh
. “Sure,” said Vella, and she sounded happier now.

Nathan liked Kristen far too much for his comfort. He even slept with her, something he’d never done with his sexual partners before.

Every month for three days at the height of the full moon, a shape-shifter had to change to their other form. It was a primal compulsion. If he didn’t do it of his free will, his body took over, reminding him of his dragon. What he was, what he always would be. Last night was the last one for a month where he sneaked away in the early hours of the morning to undergo the shift, and back again as fast as he dared. Slipping back into bed to hold her against him. Content just to hold her sometimes, he knew he was growing into one of life’s saps.

He had to do something. He’d been training Kristen with Steve for the past two days, ignoring the pangs of jealousy when Steve put his hand on her breast. This weekend, it would be for real, and Steve would be helping her display that gorgeous body to anyone who had the money to gain admittance and the fortitude to stand in line. Because he sold no advance tickets for this deal. He wanted the critics to come in with everyone else and decide for themselves. He was that confident.

Chapter Seven

“I might not make your first night,” Nathan said casually to Kristen over dinner preparations.

They’d cooked a meal together, simple, but she loved the domestication of it. She’d eaten well from takeout food that came from some of the world-class restaurants nearby. But tonight she’d shown him some home cooking, and he’d made the salad with a dressing he said he’d learned in London years ago.

She put down her knife carefully, laying it blade toward the cutting board she was using to chop the onion on. “I thought you wanted to see me.” She tried hard to hide her disappointment, but in her book, he was letting her down. He’d all but promised. It was that “all but” that had tripped her up.