Dancing With Lies (Barre To Bar Book 1)

by Summer Cooper

  6

  Roxie

  “What the hell have you got me into?” Roxie demanded as she walked down the dock towards a huge yacht that probably came with a price tag sporting an unimaginable number of zeroes. It was one of the largest, most luxurious yachts she’d ever seen. “Who is this guy again?”

  “A friend of Dylan’s really.” Emily waved her right hand in the direction of her husband. “He’s a great guy, but he wants to remain anonymous for some reason.”

  Roxie rolled her eyes just as Emily did, and snorted. “Some rich guy that doesn’t want the world to know he’s hired a stripper for the night. Lovely.”

  Roxie’s voice dripped with sarcasm, but it was her own fault for not getting the guy’s name before she agreed to all of this. The payment she’d get in cash tonight would keep her going for months if she chose not to work. She only took payments in cash, as she’d always done, so she didn’t have to use her social security number or file paperwork for them. Paperwork left trails, which was one reason she’d avoided New York since she left all those years ago. This payment had been enough to entice her out of Myrtle Beach and back to New York, though. She thought she’d never set foot in the place again, but here she was, walking to a boat that was worth an indecent amount of money.

  “It’s actually two men that are throwing this party,” Emily said and stopped to turn back to Roxie. “I’ve wanted to be invited for years, but, well, I never had the balls to poke my head up high enough to be noticed until Dylan came along. These aren’t the kind of parties my parents would want their only daughter attending.”

  Roxie’s eyes went wide as Emily’s cheeks turned the most delightful shade of pink. “Look at you, blushing like a virgin. I didn’t know you still had it in you, girl.”

  “Honey, I didn’t either.” Emily snorted as she leaned into Roxie for a moment. “Listen, this party is really important for you. I’m glad to get an invite to it, but for you, this could bring a whole new kind of clientele.”

  Yeah, the kind that wanted to pay with checks or wire transfers, Roxie thought with a frown. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea, after all. She’d do the job, though. If she could get Nathan’s bail sorted out this money would see her through for a long time. She rolled her eyes at herself and turned to walk down the dock to the boat.

  When she was aboard the yacht, Roxie looked around at the people dressed in luxury brands that made Chanel look like a cheap knockoff. Most of the people were Asians dripping with the kind of jewelry that could buy an apartment in New York City with a single bracelet. These people were covered in diamonds, emeralds, rubies, and sapphires set in platinum and gold.

  Roxie had been to a few parties that Emily or her family had thrown, rubbing elbows with rich people wasn’t new to her, but these people? They were the elite of the elite. It made Roxie even more curious to know who had thrown this little shindig. She walked around with Emily and Dylan, wondering if she’d somehow landed in the filming of another Crazy Rich Asians film.

  “Oh, there’s our host over there,” Emily said with a note of glee in her voice.

  Roxie knew how excited Emily was to come to the party, but she wasn’t as overawed as Emily was. Rich or poor, people wanted to be comfortable, have sex, and have fun. She was the entertainment that might lead to sex, but she wasn’t here for the party. She was only a part of the party, unlike Emily.

  Roxie schooled her features into something pleasant and let Emily lead her over to the three men standing on the first deck looking out over the water to the harbor beyond. The yacht, named the Sea Witch, as Roxie noted when she came aboard, was similar to the yacht her childhood friend June’s father had owned back when she was a child. That boat was made by Sensation Yachts and had three decks, just like this one, with one extra one below, had twelve bedrooms, a full kitchen, two living rooms, a movie room, a dining room, and more bathrooms than Roxie could count.

  She had a feeling this was a remarkably similar yacht, if not the same kind. The sun was setting and it caught her attention just as she approached the three men with Emily and Dylan. She wasn’t paying any attention as Emily gave an incredibly pleased “thank you” to the man who’d invited her. The sunset was too beautiful for words, until she heard Emily say the man’s name.

  Roxie’s body went stiff when she heard the name Lincoln and she told herself it couldn’t be. There was no way…but this was New York, and the boat was so familiar, and Lincoln?

  She felt her blood course through her veins before the rush suddenly halted and then she forgot how to breathe. It couldn’t be her Lincoln.

  “Roxie? This is Lincoln Young, our host for the evening.” Emily tugged at Roxie’s right elbow, but Roxie couldn’t, didn’t want to budge. “Roxie?”

  “I think the sunset has caught the lovely lady’s attention.” A familiar voice said, and Roxie finally turned around.

  It was him. But maybe he didn’t recognize her?

  “It, uh, it is lovely.” Roxie let her head tilt forward until her hair fell in her face. Fucking hell, it was Lincoln. It must have been him at that party she’d danced at, Emily’s family’s charity gala, and he must have tracked her down. But why?

  “Lincoln, this is Roxie Simpson, my very good friend, and the provider of tonight’s entertainment.”

  “Very good,” Lincoln said without any kind of intonation, and from underneath her eyelashes, Roxie saw he barely even looked at her. “I’m not sure if you know my co-hosts, Kai Li and Trevon Smith. Kai is the CEO of ShouShou, over in China, where he’s from. It’s China’s version of Whatsapp. He also owns an extraordinarily successful restaurant, along with many other things I won’t get into. I’ve known him since we were at university together. That’s also where I met Trevon, who you might call a whale when it comes to eBay sellers. He’s a very clever guy, if not very sociable.”

  Roxie noted the guy who looked way too much like Regé-Jean Page glared at Lincoln with annoyance that soon disappeared into amused submission. Roxie remembered both men vaguely, they were boys when she used to see them with Lincoln. They’d never looked twice at her, but she hadn’t had eyes for any of them back then. Hopefully, they had no clue who she was. Both had turned into very good-looking men. But not as good-looking as Lincoln.

  Fuck, he still had the swimmer’s body that had brought her teenage hormones to life all those years ago. His broad shoulders filled out an expensive suit that tapered at his waist. She looked away, wanting to run, to disappear, but the boat had pulled away from the harbor for a night cruise.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck! What had Emily got her into?

  “Fellas, this is Dylan and Emily James, and their friend Roxie Simpson.” Lincoln interrupted her thoughts, but she didn’t say anything, because Trevon did.

  “Did you invite every A-list actress in China, Kai?” He teased his friend, who laughed at the other man.

  “I might have. It would have been rude not to.” Kai answered smoothly, with a calm that almost reached Roxie, who was nearly panicking.

  “Look, I know what you’re doing, playing matchmaker, but I’m not interested in finding a wife, even if you’ve brought me some of the most beautiful women in the world,” Trevon answered in a deep voice that would have brought any woman to her knees if he only purred a grocery list at her.

  Roxie wasn’t interested, though.

  “I’m surprised you’re even here, to be honest,” Kai said. “You normally bail on us, and people beg for invitations to this party.”

  Roxie glanced over to see Emily look at her with big eyes. Emily was one of those people, but even that almost laugh couldn’t bring Roxie down from her moment of panic.

  “What’s wrong?” Emily mouthed to her, but Roxie just shook her head, her face still studiously observing the wood floor.

  “Well, I was getting bored sitting at home, so decided I might as well come out. Especially when Lincoln told me what this year’s entertainment was.” Trevon answered, and Roxie saw an opportunity. />
  “Speaking of, um, is there a changing room where I can get ready?” Roxie muttered, her hair still around her face. How was she going to perform later without any of these guys figuring out who she was?

  “Martha?” Lincoln called to a passing crew member dressed in a green t-shirt and shorts. “Can you show Ms. Simpson to her room please, and when she’s ready, take her to the cinema deck where we’ve got her stage set up?”

  Roxie breathed a sigh of relief as she lugged the backpack with all her gear to the room the young woman with light brown hair showed her too. She hadn’t even said goodbye to Emily and Dylan, she’d been so eager to get out of the way of the men that could identify her as someone other than who she said she was. Someone she’d learned to be over the last ten years. Someone who wasn’t the girl they’d all teased in those long-ago days when she spent so much time with June dreaming about the Paris ballet.

  Roxie had showered and done her hair before she came, but she let it down to braid it while leaving lots of tendrils around her face. It wasn’t much, but maybe it would do the job. She added more eyeliner to change the shape of her eyes, contoured her nose, cheeks, and chin, and soon looked in the mirror at a face that wasn’t exactly hers. Squinting, she hoped that it was enough to throw off the suspicious eyes of the man who’d taken her virginity a decade before.

  She’d seen how he looked at her, coolly but with suspicion as he examined what he could see of her face. Lincoln was smart, observant, he’d figure out who she was if she didn’t manage to avoid him for the rest of the night. Nobody had said anything about the boat leaving the dock and now she was trapped on this rich man’s playground.

  Shit, shit, and holy fucking moly, what was she going to do?

  She decided there wasn’t much more she could do to her face without running the risk of it all running down her skin as she performed. With numb fingers, she pulled on a pair of black lace boyshorts, a leather top that was more strings than leather, and added a garter belt over the shorts. Once her stockings were attached to the garters, she dug her black leather stiletto ankle boots out of the bag, added knee guards that somehow emphasized the look rather than took away from it, then the long, diaphanous black robe she’d wear to walk onto the stage.

  The organizers of the party were supposed to set up the lighting, the stage, and the pole for her, all she had to do was walk out, perform, and come back in here to hide until the yacht returned to the dock and she could grab a cab to her hotel. That was her plan, anyway.

  Her nerves started to jangle for the first time in years as she followed Martha to the cinema room and entered by one of the doors towards where the stage was set up. The area where the audience sat was barely lit and a spotlight shone down on the small stage. It wasn’t a large stage, but the room was big and she had enough room to perform.

  Most of the show was a floor show anyway, a version of choreography that closely resembled that of a performance she’d found on YouTube. She heard the first driving thumps of Nine Inch Nail’s Closer, a song every dancer had in their repertoire she’d decided years ago, and took a deep breath. Time to shine.

  The crowd cheered as she came onto the stage, her face haughty, daring the audience not to respond. She pranced to the center of the stage, her body taking over from her brain. She went through the steps, designed to keep every pair of eyes in the room on her, and strutted her stuff. At one point, she caught sight of Lincoln, his eyes glued to her as she headed for the pole, the second half of the song spurring her on.

  She couldn’t look away from his eyes, even as she climbed up, she couldn’t take her eyes off the way his jaw clenched, even as he sipped at a glass of beer. She saw lust in his eyes, and maybe anger? Or was it jealousy? Was he jealous that he couldn’t have her or that other men were looking at her? And did he respond to every dancer like that, or had he figured out who she was?

  Her thoughts didn’t show, not even for a second, as she performed the well-rehearsed routine, one of her favorites. She went up and down the pole, flinging herself out so only her thighs kept her aloft. Did he want her to dance for him like this, on him like this? Thousands of men had wanted the same thing, but she’d only ever allowed a few between her thighs.

  She slid down the pole one last time, crumpled to the floor, proud of the dance that was designed to entice while taking ownership of her own body, her own sexuality. This was her place, even if it was generally men that looked at her, this was her temple, and she loved performing. It gave her life, and no man or woman could ever take that from her.

  She exited the stage to loud applause and cheers for more, but Lincoln had paid for one dance, and that dance she’d just performed better than she ever had before. He’d got his money’s worth, now she was going back to her room and hiding until she could get the fuck out of here. Before he figured out who she was.

  7

  Lincoln

  He’d barely contained himself as he watched her on that stage. He wanted to fuck her like the animal the song belted out, he wanted to drag her off the stage and hide her where no other man could see her, but he’d also been proud of how she handled herself, how she dared any man to touch her while also…enticing them. It was a head-fuck in far too many ways and Lincoln beckoned for one of the waiters to bring him something stronger.

  What was he going to do with little Ms. Chloe? Roxie as she called herself now, he reminded himself for the thousandth time. He’d noted the makeup change, knew she’d recognized him, and knew she was probably eager to get off this yacht now. They weren’t heading back until the wee hours of the morning, though. That’s how this party worked.

  “Good show, who the fuck is she?” Trevon asked, and Lincoln glanced over at him.

  “Someone that I used to know,” Lincoln replied calmly, almost sardonically, with a tilt to the corners of his lips.

  “I see,” Trevon answered, not really seeing but he knew Lincoln well enough not to push. He’d tell him if he wanted to. “She’s good.”

  “She’s very good,” Kai said from Lincoln’s left, sitting on a couch they all occupied. “Is she giving another performance?”

  “No, just the one. But it was enough.” Lincoln got up from the couch as he spoke and looked back at his friends. “Shall we eat?”

  “Yep, I’m starving,” Trevon said and pushed up from the couch.

  The night carried on. The party got louder, even as people spread out over the yacht that he’d bought because it was so like the one his stepfather owned and Lincoln had loved. People started to get wilder and soon enough there was more noise than just the laughter and shouts of gleeful partygoers. There was the sound of passion from behind closed doors, and some not so private places hidden in the darkness around the boat.

  Lincoln smiled as he saw Emily James pull her husband into a closet with a sensual grin Lincoln was sure he was never meant to see. He also saw Dylan James drop to his knees in front of her before the door closed. A beautiful couple that he might want to watch, but he wasn’t up for that tonight.

  In truth, he’d lived a fairly vanilla life, although he’d explored sex with women along the way. One-night stands were not relationships though and meant he rarely got the chance to do anything more than the typical version of sex to be found in any American bedroom. He’d wanted to explore some of the bolder versions of sex, to delve into a different lifestyle, but that would mean a relationship with a partner and he wasn’t the relationship kind.

  He could watch others though, when they allowed it. Kai had introduced him to a few clubs in New York and China, places where just about anything went and people were open, even eager, to be watched. Kai grew up in a different culture from the one Lincoln grew up in. His approach to sex was different from Lincoln’s. Sex was about enjoying the path to reaching orgasm, not the race to get to that orgasm.

  Lincoln had taken that on board early in life and, yeah, his sex life was fairly tame when it existed, but he knew if he ever found anyone worth having a relationshi
p with, he’d explore more options. He wondered for the first time how much of the world Chloe had explored. Did her line of work mean she had a lot of sex, that she was paid for sex? He knew that one didn’t always lead to the other, but had it with her?

  She’d run away from him and been on her own since she was 18. She’d been a naïve young girl, unprotected, in a city where anything could and did happen. And how had she ended up in Myrtle Beach? He and Kai had been down there a thousand times to visit Kai’s house on the beach and enjoy the sand and surf, but he’d never run into her. How was that possible?

  He knew anything was possible, especially if you made it your life’s work to hide from your old life. She’d done a good job and it was only by chance that he’d found her. If he hadn’t been invited to the Thompson’s gala, he might still be looking for her.

  He settled against a teak rail and stared out at the water, lit only by moonlight. Silvery white light danced on the surface of the water, drawing his attention as the party turned subtle orgy began to wind down. It was after 3 am, he was near her room, and he was hoping she’d come out now, if she hadn’t fallen asleep already.

  He turned when he heard quiet footsteps approach one of the tables strewn across the deck. It was the only one that still had a lit candle in a glass bowl. A woman with her hair down around her shoulders, dressed in tight black pants, a white cropped sweatshirt, and black stiletto ankle boots sat down at the table. He watched as she bent over the candle and blew it out. What was that about?

  The candle wouldn’t roll off the table, so there was no danger of fire.

  “Chloe?” He called out as he approached her and he saw her body jerk. How long had it been since she’d been called that name? It didn’t please her to be called that, he could see.

  “Chloe is dead, Lincoln. Don’t call me that. Don’t ever call me that. She’s been dead for a long time.” She answered as she brushed her hair back from her face, clean of makeup now and so much more like the face he remembered.