Jezebel

by Koko Brown

  Lying there like a Greek god, muscles rippling beneath his open shirt, he was magnificent. Unable to help herself, Celeste climbed onto the bed. While she held his hands down, she straddled him. “I’ll pay you a week’s wages to stay in bed,” she mimicked. “Woman, you ought to be barefoot, pregnant and cooking my meals.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that, babe.”

  Shane threaded his fingers through hers and the emotions she’d fought hard to resist returned, bubbled to the surface. She even tried to slip her hands from his, but he caught them and held onto them as he sat up with her still planted in his lap. His erection nestled in the seam of her sex and she cursed today’s rehearsal. It was damn crazy to want a man so badly.

  “I’m sorry I guess I got a little possessive.”

  “A little possessive? You went all Cro-Magnon on me.”

  A slow grin curved his full lips and her cheek’s colored with warmth. It would be so easy to lean forward and kiss him. Of course, that would lead to other things and she would never make rehearsals.

  “Cro what?” he asked, pulling her into neutral territory.

  “Cro-Magnon, you know like a caveman.”

  His hands slipped around her waist and he pulled her close. Celeste gulped. They fit together like a puzzle piece, all snug and cozy. “Can’t say dragging you into the nearest cave doesn’t sound appealing.”

  “You’re trouble.”

  “I’m not,” he said, while his hands caressed her shoulders and back. “Stop being a coward and let me in.”

  A sudden need to connect flooded over her. A need unlike anything she’d experienced with any other man. Feeling herself capsizing, giving in, Celeste grabbed hold of his dress shirt and held on tight.

  “Wanting you is distracting,” she finally whispered. His hands stopped moving and she faltered.

  He lowered his head, his gaze searching hers. “We’re in the same boat, which ain’t so bad.”

  Celeste shook her head. “At this point in my life, it is. Emotions are distracting. Being involved with you, on any level beyond just sexual gratification, isn’t a good thing right now.”

  “When will you be ready? Tomorrowa month?” he pressed. “God help me if you say a year.” With a loud sigh, he collapsed back on the bed.

  “Don’t you get it?” Celeste tugged on his shirt, regaining his attention.

  “Yeah, you want me, but then you don’t.” He raked his hand over his face in obvious frustration. “Just like a dame.”

  Celeste leaned forward and smacked his face. Not hard enough to hurt, but just enough to sting.

  “Hey!” he objected, while rubbing his cheek with the back of hand. “Talking about Cro-Magnon. You’ve been using me as a punching bag all morning.”

  “It’s the only way I could get your attention.” Celeste stuck her tongue out at him and he grinned.

  “Next time, try naked.” Before she could predict his next move, he slid his hands inside her robe and cupped her breasts. Her nipples, the traitors, jumped to attention almost immediately.

  Celeste curled her hand around his wrists, but did nothing else.

  The heat radiating from his palms coiled her body into an ever-tightening knot that centered itself between her legs. Somehow, she found the fortitude to ease off the bed and away from him.

  “Distracting?” he asked as she started to pace.

  “More like an obstacle.”

  “An obstacle?” Shane’s grin faltered. “All I want is your happiness.”

  “That’s exactly it! My happiness isn’t between my thighs.” Celeste stopped pacing to stare at him. “My overall happiness shouldn’t revolve around a man.”

  Shane’s expression darkened and a muscle ticked in his jaw. “Who said it had to?”

  Exasperated, Celeste slapped her thighs then jabbed her hands in his direction. “You did, you big lug, when you offered to pay me to stay here with you.”

  Shane cocked his head and he regarded her in silence. For some reason, his lack of response set her on edge. Why did she care so much what was running through that thick head of his? He was just a man like any other.

  So why was she letting herself get so upset?

  As she resumed her pacing, Celeste searched for a viable answer and ignored the one that made the most sense. There was no way, no how he could’ve made her feel something for him in such a short time. But the more she denied it, the more rotten she realized she was lying to herself.

  What a stupid thing to think, she berated herself. In love with him? Ha! Impossible. It was lust, not love! How could she be so stupid as to confuse the two?

  “I don’t want to be an obstacle.” Shane held out his hand, but Celeste hesitated. Only when he wiggled them, did she relent. She walked over and sat next to him. She even allowed him to take her hand in his and twine their fingers together.

  “If it isn’t me, what’ll make you happy?”

  Afraid he might laugh, Celeste held her tongue.

  Shane wasn’t having it because he nudged her with his shoulder.

  “It’s a silly dream really.”

  “But big enough you want to send me packing.” He nudged her again. “Spill it,” he coaxed.

  Horrified by the idea of sharing something she’d held close to her heart for so many years, Celeste bent over at the waist and hid her face in her hands. Undeterred, Shane pried several of her fingers back and squinted at her.

  “Come on, tell me.”

  “Promise you won’t laugh.” It wasn’t a question more like a demand for services rendered.

  True to form, Shane crossed his heart.

  “I” Celeste gulped. Her mouth felt like she’d stuffed them with cotton balls and she vacillated, torn between going forward and holding back. And then a wave of longing, a desire to share a part of her with someone, with Shane shook her, made the words tumble from her lips, “II don’t want to be one of those dreamers who just sits around and does nothing, letting life pass them by. I want I want to be somebodyI want to be a star.”

  How incredible this all seemed. Two weeks ago she wouldn’t have even entertained the idea, let alone believed she would be sitting here with him bearing her soul, divulging her most heart-felt secrets.

  “I want to make it happen now, while I have the chance, the talentthe drive. For the first time in five years, I’m finally focused, not floundering like some sorry sap who uses booze and men as a crutch.”

  Celeste paused to catch her breath. In that brief respite everything seemed suspended, even her breathing. Why didn’t he say something? Where was the laughter, the censure that would dash her dream to pieces?

  Unable to take his silence, she moved to stand, but he reached out, clasped the back of her head and pulled her close. Forehead to forehead, it was impossible to read his expression. Still, she could tell something was off. The hand at her nape shook and he sniffled as if trying to fight back tears.

  “You and me, we’re all wrong,” he whispered, effectively pulling the rug from under her. Humiliated and hurt, Celeste tried pushing away from him, but he tightened his grip, holding her hostage. “But I’m gonna make it right. I promise.”

  Before she could digest his cryptic words, he crushed his mouth against hers.

  He kissed her with a kind of fierce desperation as if imprinting the texture, the shape of her lips and tongue to memory.

  He kissed her until her knees became weak and her morning rehearsal a miserable endeavor.

  She’d never felt this way before. It was like being consumed, absorbed into him. All feeling and no thought. And Celeste didn’t like it one bit.

  Kissing and making love to him, yes.

  Completely losing her head, no.

  There was a time and place for fun and games. She needed to stay on course, stand her ground and not crumple whenever he put his hands on her. If he wanted to be in her life, he needed to realize that being on stage, having a career was vital to her happiness even more so now tha
t she had a second chance.

  Celeste pulled back, extracting herself from his arms.

  “No more distractions?” He reached out and ran his thumb across her cheek and she felt him all the way down to her toes.

  Stay on course. Don’t let him have that kind of power over you. Be your own woman!

  “No more distractions,” she said. She turned off the water, then stepped around him.

  To her relief he followed her out of the room and down the stairs. It was easy to craft a pretty speech than actually following with it, especially when crawling back in bed with him was so much more desirable.

  Even though her decision felt like a heavy stone around her neck, Celeste kept the conversation light. “Well, that was fun,” she said opening the door for him.

  “Fun?” Shane leaned against the door frame, partially blocking the morning sun. “It was more than fun and you know it.”

  Before she could guess his next move, he grabbed the back of her neck and kissed her. So hard, she felt like her was neck was going to break.

  “No more lies,” he said against her lips.

  “No more lies.” Celeste groaned in defeat. Her mind and body were no longer attuned, falling out sync by a tempest of emotions she’d never felt before. Not even with Ralph. At that moment she would’ve given him anything if asked, even her heart.

  “Then I have to make things right,” he said cryptically before suddenly releasing her.

  Celeste believed there was more going on than he was letting on. He didn’t give her the chance to dig deeper because he closed the door quietly behind him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  An hour into rehearsals, Celeste realized her day wasn’t going to improve. With her mind solidly on the morning’s events and Shane, she consistently missed her queues, her feet couldn’t execute the easiest of combinations and her poor dancing partner, Samuel George, a young hoofer from Baltimore, became her perpetual door mat.

  “That’s it for today you two…chorus line you’re up!”

  Grateful for the respite, Celeste hustled off the dance floor. Outside of operating hours and with only the performers in residence, the Roseland Ballroom seemed cavernous like the mouth of the whale that swallowed Jonah.

  “You’re off your game today, sister.”

  Celeste reached out and touched his arm. His eyes followed her hand and he smiled.

  “I’m sorry about that out there. My mind is someplace else.”

  “No problem. I like it when you make me look good.” Chuckling, he ran his fingers over his pencil-thin mustache.

  “You don’t need me to make you look good. You’re an exceptional dancer.” Celeste picked up her back and out of nowhere his hand captured hers.

  “Hey, what are you getting into later?”

  Celeste took in the other dancer’s matinee idol looks and she felt absolutely nothing. His lean physique, chiseled cheekbones, wavy hair and mocha-colored skin didn’t ignite the usual charge whenever she was around a good-looking man. Of course, disinterest never kept her from accepting a man’s attentions in the past.

  That was before she met Shane. Ever since, every other man paled in comparison. Celeste found herself in a unique conundrum.

  She’d never turned down a man’s advances. She didn’t even know how to say no. She’d always been up for any and everything because she’d always found something to like about the opposite sex, even though she couldn’t say the same thing about herself.

  Fortunately, she didn’t have to come up with a polite rejection excuse because Elsa Purdy, the chief wardrobe designer, came barreling toward them.

  “Are you gonna come and see me, young lady? I’ve asked you twice to come see me for your fitting.”

  In all honesty, Celeste had purposefully avoided the other woman. The fact that she had a legitimate job on Broadway hadn’t fully sunk in yet. Plus, if she fell of the wagon she wouldn’t have wasted anyone’s time or money.

  “I—”

  The dresser grasped Celeste’s wrist. “Oh, no you don’t! You’re coming with me.” Elsa shooed Samuel aside. “I have to fit you for an entire wardrobe and several pairs of tap shoes. Of course, you’ll have the requisite pair in black patent leather, but I’ve got my mind wrapped around a pair in yellow kid.”

  Flabbergasted by the news, Celeste eyes widened. In all the shows she’d performed on the circuit and in local nightclubs, not one provided her with tap shoes. “You’re providing the shoes?”

  “Didn’t you read your contract? Along with your weekly salary, all dancers receive dance apparel free of charge.”

  “I–I just assumed that pertained to only costumes.”

  Elsa shook her head and her pin curls wiggled in unison. “You’ve moved up, kiddo. You’re on Broadway now and we do things differently.”

  Unable to help herself or the natural high coursing through her veins, Celeste smiled from ear to ear. “How many shoes will I get?”

  Elsa reached into the utility belt at her waist. She pulled out a small notebook and pencil. “The producers plan to use you in four different numbers with five costume changes. I’d say three pairs should be sufficient.”

  For the next half hour, Celeste was prodded, measured and poked. That was the easy part since she only had to stand there. If any brain cells had been involved they were thoroughly occupied by analyzing every single detail of her conversation with Shane.

  What did he mean by he was going to make things right?

  Shane grimaced. The right hook landed solid, almost knocking the wind out of him. If he’d possessed a glass jaw, he would’ve landed on his back. Instead, two sparring partners bobbed and weaved just out of arm’s reach.

  “The aim here is to avoid getting hit!”

  Shaking the stars out of his head, Shane bit down on his mouthpiece. Hands up, arms tucked close to his sides and head down, he advanced on Luis. Quicker and more agile, his sparring partner retreated, remaining just out of reach of Shane’s retaliation.

  Smart guy. He might be slower, but Shane had hands of stone.

  “Move those feet!” Ollie barked. “He’s leading you on a merry chase. Connect already!”

  Frustrated, Shane ground his teeth. His head wasn’t in the ring, hadn’t been for some time. Still, he needed to keep up pretenses. Train like he always had even though it was all for nothing.

  Keeping his eyes on his opponent, Shane digested all of his coach’s verbal abuse. He circled Luis, waited for his next move.

  Sure enough the younger fighter doled out several body shots, but none of his punches knocked Shane to his knees.

  Instead, he retaliated with two left jabs followed by a surprise right hook, one of his favorite moves, but didn’t connect.

  “For Christ sakes stop wasting my time.” Ollie yanked his cap off and slammed it on the canvas. Both boxers stopped and waited for the old man to crawl through the ropes. “Hit the showers, Luis.”

  Before Shane could do the same, Ollie stepped forward and placed his hands on his shoulders, staying him.

  “What’s up with you?” He stepped forward, lowering his voice. “Headaches plaguing you again?”

  Shane dropped his gaze and proceeded to pick at the laces of his gloves. “What makes you ask that?”

  “Your timing’s off. You’re all over the place. You’re shuffling your feet. I don’t like the look of it.”

  “My mind’s someplace else that’s all.” It wasn’t exactly a lie, but it wasn’t exactly the truth either.

  “Well, straighten your act or I’m calling Dr. Rubenstein.”

  “If I trip over my own two feet, you’re threatening me with that hack,” Shane said, tired of Ollie acting like a mother hen.

  Ollie refused to be waylaid. “If you want me to call the fight, I can. Maybe you should take a—”

  “I gotta to go,” Shane interjected. “I’ve got to meet somebody.”

  Ollie’s eyes narrowed as he pulled a bit-up cigar from between his lips. “Off to
see that gal again?”

  Shane stiffened. He didn’t like the other man’s tone. “What’s it any business of yours?”

  “Plenty if she’s affecting your boxing. I thought you were better than that.”

  With red hot fury pumping through his veins, Shane grabbed the front of Ollie’s shirt and pulled him close. At the drop of a dime, the gym came to a standstill, the constant thumping of punching bags, jumping ropes and speed bags ceased.

  “She’s better than you and I put together.”

  “I…I didn’t mean it like that,” Ollie rushed to explain. He clawed at Shane’s fist, but the attempt was futile. Shane was in a mood to bash someone’s face in. “I thought you wuz better than letting some dame get in the way of you and the title.”

  Caught off guard, Shane loosened his grip. “She’s not the reason I’m a lump in the ring, Ollie.”

  Ollie took advantage of Shane’s contriteness and stepped out of harm’s way. “Then what’s got into you?”

  “Just nerves.” Shane racked his brain for a valid excuse. “My first shot at a title and all.”

  To Shane’s relief, his coach nodded in understanding. “Don’t you worry your head none, you got this in the bag.”

  Ollie planted his feet, lifted his fists, and then pretended to shadowbox, backing Shane into a corner. “Mountain Man Jim Clarke is a hack. You’re going to win and win big. I’ll bet my life on it. Heck, I’ll bet the entire bank.”

  Feeling as if the wind had been knocked out of him, Shane turned away and leaned against the ropes.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Ollie squeezed his shoulder. “You look white as a sheet.”

  Shane shrugged off Ollie’s hand. “Delayed reaction. I guess Luis hit me harder than I expected.”

  If Ollie found out about the mess he was in, it would break his heart. The old man believed in him. From day one he’d taken him under his wing, helped him get out of that worn out gym in Kansas City and made him into who he was today.