When it was over and he could breathe normally and she was limp and draped across his chest, he turned his head to check the window.
The room was empty, but in condensation on the glass someone had drawn a heart. The sight of it made Reid’s clench. He’d never wanted to hold on to something as badly as he wanted Zarley, or feared he wasn’t up to the challenge.
The ordinary domesticity that followed was welcome, it gave his head the chance to clear. It would be too easy to spook her with feelings he didn’t have a firm hold on. Zarley cooked and they ate and while he cleaned up, she checked her messages. There was a one from Madame Amour offering a choice of performance times. It was hard to tell which of them was more excited. She chose the first time offered, which gave her two days to finalize her routine, music and costume. She made him promise to keep her busy in the meantime.
He had no trouble with that instruction.
Unlike the Louvre, the Musée d’Orsay, where they went the next day, was fantastically civilized. No cameras allowed. You could experience the art as it was meant to be viewed, or you could watch the woman you were in love with take it all in with curious delight.
He loved her. That’s what the fear and the joy and the safety he felt with her told him.
He watched Zarley move from room to room, from painting to painting, mood to mood and knew he’d want to watch her for the rest of his life. He was in love with her. Had been from that first night he’d watched her dance, but he hadn’t understood it then.
Still didn’t.
He had no idea what loving a woman meant from a practical point of view. From a purely selfish point of view it meant he couldn’t keep his eyes or hands off her. He wanted her smoky voice in his ear and her commentary in his life. He wanted to hold her when she slept and chase after her when she was awake. She was an adventure and he was on it. She was a disturbance in the routine of his life and he needed her as his new habit.
But what did she need?
A job, a chance, a degree, a place to live, a future. And she didn’t see him playing a part in any of that, not if she wouldn’t let him pay for an airfare or a fancy meal.
She stood in front of Degas’s bronze, Little Dancer Aged Fourteen, unconsciously patterning the sculpture’s stance, feet turned out, hands clasped behind her back, chin up.
“Isn’t she wonderful?”
She might’ve been talking to herself. He stepped in close behind her and she leaned her weight into him. He touched his knuckles to her cheek. “She is wonderful.” He was talking to himself and to Zarley, and to anyone else who could decode how he felt about his little pole dancer, could tell him what to do with his feelings, how to make them into something solid that didn’t need sex or money or privilege to explain it away.
She was so struck by the ballerina figure she let him buy her a desktop-sized copy in the gift shop. He’d have bought her the original if it was possible.
She cooked again that night, then she played around with music, working routines in her head, going over dance and acrobatic moves that didn’t depend on a pole. It was disjointed, repetitive, and her focus was introverted, as if he didn’t exist, but he watched her with a tightness in his chest he didn’t know how to release.
If he told Zarley he loved her, would he push her away? Did you go from a thing to girlfriend to beloved so quickly or was this his failing, his lack of emotional maturity. He needed Sarina but he dared not ring her for this. What would Sarina tell him to do? Not brood on it, that’s for sure. Not get weird about it, which is what he was doing. Let this fester any longer and Zarley would be all over him to account for himself.
He quit any pretense of reading and simply watched her move about, humming to herself, eyes focused outside this room, well beyond him and his tight chest and his asinine indecision.
He was deep inside his own head when she spoke. “I need a sexier costume.”
The pieces she’d brought were laid out in the room. The red leather was over the back of a chair. The snakeskin hung on a hanger off the curtain rail. “Can we buy something?” They’d passed a lingerie shop and though he’d suggested they go inside, he’d passed an excruciating half hour not knowing where to look. He knew better than to offer to buy her something then, especially after the ballerina, but now he wasn’t sure.
She pulled the band from her hair. “Yes. I can have one expensive night out with you or something amazing from that shop.”
“Not both?”
She shook her hair out so it fell around her face and shoulders. “Not both.”
A woman who rationed herself like she did had respect for limits. She wasn’t being stubborn for the sake of it. If he told her what he felt he’d suffocate her. “Then you need a new costume more than you need an expensive meal.”
She plopped down on the sofa beside him. “And what do you need?”
Live on your feet or die on your knees. “I need you to fall in love with me so I can admit I’m in love with you.”
Her mouth opened, her intake of breath was sharp. Oh fuck. He was a useless cowboy.
She narrowed her eyes. “But I have to go first.”
“Yes, because you’ll never believe me. You’ll always think it was only about the sex. You’ll always think I don’t know what I’m doing, don’t have enough experience, that I’m lust struck.”
He got off the sofa, but then he towered over her so he sat again. “I know what I’m doing.” Right, couldn’t even decide whether to sit or stand, fuuuck. No choice but to commit. “You’re it for me, Zarley. Air and water and sunlight. All the mathematics I never knew I needed and now I can’t live well without. I want to be in your life for the rest of mine.”
“Oh, Reid.”
He stood again. Took a couple of steps, put some distance between his words and her reaction. He’d never seen her look so tense. “If you’re not in love with me, it’s not like it’s the end of the world. I’ll go on, I’ll have a good life, a great life, but it’ll be less if it’s without you.” It would be choosing to stay on his road alone when he’d learned there was another better way. “It will be less everything.”
“Reid, stop.”
“I learned my lessons. I know about sex. I know how to please a woman. I don’t have to be embarrassed anymore. You were an excellent teacher. You got the job done.”
“Reid, please.”
Zarley was on her feet too but he had to get this finished before his chest tore open. “But you fucking ruined me for anyone else. If you don’t think it’s possible to fall in love with me, you should tell me now, because I can’t pretend any longer and I need to get my expectations straight.”
She took a step toward him and then another. He couldn’t read her expression. It didn’t seem possible he could get his life back together if she wasn’t part of it, but he’d just asked her to treat loving him like a key performance indicator.
“You’re impatient.”
He let a breath go but his lungs were still seizing.
She advanced on him. “You’re pigheaded. You’re argumentative. You sulk. You look at me as if I make the planet spin.”
One of those items was out of place. “What are you saying?” He felt like he might bring up the supper he’d eaten.
“You’re the most bullheaded man I’ve met. Worse than any coach I ever had.”
He wanted to turn his face away so he didn’t have to see his own unending as it rammed into him.
“You weren’t supposed to mean anything.”
Wait. He shook his head. “You’re angry with me, because I mean something?”
“I’m furious.”
“Well, fuck.” What was he supposed to do with that? Why did anyone bother with relationships? They made no sense.
“I don’t have time for you.”
That was easily fixed. They had open date tickets. “When we get back—”
“Shut up.”
He bit down on his tongue.
“I love you.”
<
br /> Then nearly bit through it.
This woman could make him weak and desperate, bring him to his knees a thousand different ways, but hearing her say that made him bulletproof.
TWENTY-SIX
Oh, this impossible man. Zarley poked Reid in the chest. “That was an asshole thing to do.” He grinned, eyes alight with excitement after being distressed with the weight of his confession. “You made me go first.”
“Believe me, Flygirl, if I thought there was any chance of faking it till you broke, I’d have been there. Not sure I’ve ever been so terrified, way worse than air travel.”
“Hah.” She folded her arms. How could she love him, he was infuriating. “You don’t know terrified till you say those words, because we’re still at me having said them first.”
He moved in, crowding her. “Can’t fault your logic there.”
She was forced to step back or look up. She was never stepping back from him. She flattened both palms on his chest and pegged his eyes. “I hate you.”
“Not what I heard.” He brought his arms around her back.
“The ego on you.”
“Did I mishear, Zarley?” He brought his face close, brushing his cheek against hers, whispering in her ear. “Did I fantasize you saying those three little words?”
She wrapped her arms around his neck to hold him, knowing the lightest touch would have him cleave to her; and every glance, every halted breath, smoky spoken word or held thought mattered to him. She mattered to him, when she was inconvenient and unflinchingly honest, when she was competitive and bossy and distracted and prickly. When she wasn’t sure who she would become or what she had to offer. He was willing to love all those things, respect all that she was and encourage all she hoped to be.
That was more romance than anyone deserved.
He tucked his face against her neck. “Apparently there’s nothing wrong with my ears. You love me.”
In a way that made her feel both panicky and perfectly in control. Loving Reid was putting it all on the line, win, lose or draw, and knowing it was the only thing you ever wanted to do.
She kissed him, soft and tentative because this was a first kiss. Not a lover’s kiss, a tease, not part of a performance designed to build to a crescendo, but a statement all of its own. This kiss said, I found you, I trust you. I love you. He read it for what it was. He didn’t take it deeper, didn’t up the stakes. He let that kiss rest pure and strong between them and then he gave her words to raise its value higher.
“That means I can tell you I’ve been in love with you since the night you decked that guy in the alley.”
She gasped. Reid was a dickhead that night, staggering drunk and questioning her choices.
He cupped her face. “You called me on my shit that night and you’ve never stopped. That’s when I knew how much more you were than a dancer who wanted to fly.”
She’d almost left him on the sidewalk the next night when he was sick, and if she had, they’d never be here.
“That surprises you, baby.” She nodded and he brushed his thumb along her cheekbone. Stupid tears were building behind her eyes. “I wanted you. God, I was insensible for wanting you, from the first time I shuffled into Lucky’s looking to lose myself in a bottle and saw Lux on stage. But every man who sees Lux wants her. And you’re so much more than the sex I never dreamed I’d have you. Never thought you’d stay. I was lost, Zarley. I never knew I’d find a better self in you.”
She stepped onto his feet, stood on her toes, wiping an irritating tear away.
He caught the next one on his finger. “Is that good or bad?”
She sniffled. “If you break my heart, Reid McGrath, I’ll kill you.”
“Oh Christ.” He hugged her closer, hands going under her thighs, lifting her so she could wrap her legs around his waist and they were eye to eye. “Won’t happen. You won’t let it happen.”
“I need a rule.” Otherwise all her good intentions could unravel in the sheer force of Reid’s personality.
“Whatever you want.”
“You don’t get to buy me.”
Frown lines across his brow. “I don’t get the rule.”
“I pay my way. I make my way. You get to stand beside me, prop me up, but you don’t get to clear the path, or make the road.”
“That’s going to be hard on me.” He walked them to the sofa and sat on the edge, she stayed wrapped around him. He gathered her hair in his hands and brought their foreheads together. “I hate you stressing about money.”
And it would be so easy, too easy to love Reid for the sheer economic sense of it. He would keep her financially secure without a qualm. She sat up straight. This was important.
“I can’t do this with you unless you accept we’re in different places. I was nowhere for too long. It’s taken me years to work out who I am, and I’m still not sure what I want. I can’t have being with you decide that for me.”
“But it’s—”
She put her hand over his mouth. “You don’t want that either. You want me to love you for being you, not for what’s in your bank account.”
He peeled her hand away, ticked off. “I get to buy you things you need.”
“You get to buy me the occasional present, like any good boyfriend.”
He breathed a stream of exasperation out. “An expensive dinner and lingerie for Lux.”
“I knew you were trouble.” She could virtually see schemes forming in his brain. “I never doubted you respected me. Not once, despite the fact I dance in underwear for men to throw money. That was unexpected. But I need you to respect this decision, or you’re—”
“Just a rich guy who gets to call the shots.”
She put her hands to his face and nodded.
“Tomorrow we shop.”
She laughed. “I love you. Tonight you get to tie me up.”
“Hold on.” He stood, staggering slightly till he got his balance. “And after I’ve tied you up?”
“Make me wish you hadn’t.”
He put her in a sex coma. Too many orgasms to count, she lay replete in Reid’s arms feeling his heart thrash around in his ribs. The way he loved her was almost too good. He’d learned to use his body more to please her than himself. She only had to think about what happened in front of the window and she lit up, even now when all of her nerve endings were out cold.
“What’s your fantasy?”
He stroked a hand down her hair. “Got it right here.”
“You don’t have to be a suck-up. I’m yours. There has to be something you want that we haven’t done.”
“Flygirl, you looking me in the eyes and telling me you love me, that’s all the fantasy come true I need.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I’m wounded, but I’ll deal.” She double checked his expression—cocky grin. “Gives me something to work at.”
“What?” Challenging tone.
“Proving it to you. What about you? The window?”
“Was amazing.” Her face got hot, which was ridiculous given what she did for a living, given what they’d done together. Not ten minutes ago he had her so revved up, they almost tipped out of the bed. “I didn’t expect it to be so,” she groaned, “naughty.”
He laughed softly and she kissed her thanks into his chest, up his throat and over his lips. She would never have had that experience without him. Hadn’t known she wanted it.
In the morning they went lingerie shopping. And that too was an experience she’d never had before. Reid was no Cara. Cara would’ve loved the shop Zarley chose. It offered everything from baby doll to boudoir. There was a naughty librarian costume she considered for a few moments, but for Madame Amour she needed to be more sophisticated.
Reid had to warm up to the merchandise. At least this time he looked at the garments, telling her what he liked—way too tame; showing her what he was afraid to like with a nervous quirk of a smile. He blushed over pasties with tassels and cupless bras, black lace cage wear an
d fishnet bodysuits, but was fascinated by crotchless thongs with stimulating beads.
“Women actually wear those?”
There was still a good deal of fifteen-year-old boy in Reid. She tsked. “So much still to teach you, Back Booth.” She pointed out the panties with the built in vibrator and his eyes nearly bugged out of his head.
“Do I get to buy you those?”
She caught his chin in her hand. “I have you, what do I need those for?”
She got a wry grin; he was pleased, but not entirely convinced. And it reminded her to put a little vibrator play on their list.
She needed something sophisticated, but sturdy enough to stand up to the rigor of the pole, for one wear at least. The sheer variety made it hard to choose and given she was more your boy shorts kind of lingerie wearer, and many of the styles called for more tits and ass than she had, this was a challenge.
It’s why she’d always gone for cute and flirty, sassy and playful instead of fuck-hot. But Reid was right all those weeks ago to challenge her on that and for Madame Amour she needed to sex up her game.
She’d woken with Pharrell William’s “Freedom” in her head, an omen. That’s what she’d dance to. It had an old-style jazz swing feel to it, a ripping rhythm that you couldn’t help toe-tap to. It wasn’t your usual sultry or hard-core pole dance sound, and that’s exactly why she liked it. She needed something to wear that worked that sense of sophistication and funk.
It couldn’t be anything wet-look and she didn’t want frills or bows. Waspies and garters were out and so was clothing remotely fetish wear; absolutely no rubber or studs, they’d be lethal. The cat’s ears might work. They made Reid sidle up behind her and purr in her ear. She banished him to a café across the street after that so she could focus.
A hot pink bustier with thigh highs had potential, but the deal was sealed with a black fine-mesh teddy leotard with a swirling jacquard pattern that ran from the high neck to the leg line and matching thigh highs. She’d wear a black G-string underneath it and be more naked than she’d ever been on stage.
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