by Flora Dain
It sparked a backlash. The launch of the Love Beat Corporation’s private clubs was canceled and plans for the movie release put on hold. The Panther vanished. Even Fitzlean left the country.
Jake’s unforgiving camera caught it all. It turned Love Beat, the Panther and everything they stand for into monsters.
But against all the odds, it made me a star.
And that’s why he hates me.
As the others make their way into the vast luxury of Beat Hall, I trail behind. I’m sharing with Mel on the second floor. Our sumptuous room is all thick carpet and marble en suite, and it sends her into raptures.
As she hurls herself back onto the four-poster and sprawls across the crimson damask she grins up at me. “I could get used to this. Do you mind sharing, Tunis?”
I roll my eyes as I unpack and stow the few things I’ve brought onto jangling hangers. “I’m fine. I doubt we’ll see much of each other anyway. There’s too much to do.”
Documentaries are hard work, especially on location. With security so tight here it’s just us—no support team to advise, keep notes, fetch, carry or edit. The edit will be done back in London after we’ve finished filming so no chance of retakes. We’ll need plenty of film to cut down to an acceptable length, and there are all the interviews to fit in.
Celebrities and their agents are picky about camera angles and lighting and with a topic like this we’ll be treading on eggshells.
This is no holiday, more a marathon.
Mel senses my unease. “Hey, lighten up. It’s a party. Think Halloween with whips. And look at these goodies.” She’s sorting through the gift basket and tips it out on the bed. “Not just shower gel… We’ve got condoms, blindfolds, three sorts of lube—and nipple clamps! Check out the kinky costumes. And look—invitations to receptions, a ball, the spa, salon treatments, swimming pools— Oh.”
I look up. “What’s the matter?”
She’s staring at two black cards, heavily embossed in silver. Each one has a whip-crossed heart etched at the top, the Love Beat logo.
She looks up with shining eyes. “We even get free S&M taster training. We fill them in, choose Dom or sub, and hand them in at reception. Ben and I are both training with Nera first thing tomorrow. Hey, you’re listed too. You’re with… Wow, look at this.”
Her eyes widen with a glint of mischief. “You’re booked in with the Panther, no less.” She turns her pale eyes full on me. “And you know his specialty? I heard it’s—”
“The bullwhip,” I break in quickly. “I heard that too.”
The Panther…here? My stomach shrivels.
I snatch the card out of Mel’s hand, rip it in two and hurl it into the wastepaper basket. “And that’s where he can put it. Lunch?”
* * * *
Lunch is more a glittering reception, all champagne and canapés. Stars and publicity people mingle with producers and moneymen—glamor and business, hard at work.
Cade Fitzlean is at the far end of the room, surrounded. As we walk in, he glances across and our eyes meet. Instantly he detaches himself from the group he’s with and walks over.
I swallow.
“Tunis. Hello again. I suppose you’d like an interview.”
I stare at him in panic. No, no, ask Mel. “Um, yes, thank you. If you can fit it in.”
A glint of amusement flickers across his face. “If I can fit it in?”
Whoa. A faint lift of his eyebrow warns me not to go there but hints it might be fun if I do. Now I flounder. “I mean—you have a tight schedule, Mr. Fitzlean. Your PA—”
The chilly blonde appears at his side but his eyes stay locked on mine. “Sonja, can I make time for an interview?”
She eyes me frostily. “Mr. Fitzlean flies out at three. There’s no time—”
“Fine. We’ll do it now.” His gaze continues to hold mine. We might be alone in the room.
“I… Thank you. Yes. Now.” My mind goes blank. Rescue comes as the team eagerly pushes forward.
Unexpectedly Fitzlean smiles around at them. “Interview, guys? Fire away.”
Instantly they gather round while Jake’s camera whirrs in the background. I try to compose myself while Ben snaps out questions from somewhere behind me.
I soon recover. “How did you come to write Love Beat?”
The jaunty single he wrote as a teenager was an instant hit and founded his fortune. It still earns him royalties.
Fitzlean grins. “Jotted it down after a chemistry exam. Took about ten minutes. Then a family friend offered to produce it. Took him three months. Worth every second.”
“And the exam?” I smile at a sudden and rather appealing image of a sulky, beautiful teenager.
His eyebrow arches in surprise. Am I the first person to ask him about chemistry?
“I got an A.”
“Are you dating anyone at present?” Ben takes a big risk. We were warned off his private life.
Fitzlean’s expression chills. “Not at the moment.”
“So—what gives you pleasure, Mr. Fitzlean?” I ask quietly.
Where did that come from?
He turns his gaze full on me and once more the earth spins away. “Watching business deals come together. Watching women come apart.”
The others pitch in with a few final questions while I fall silent. He’s good. I’ve done enough interviews to appreciate real skill when I see it.
After a moment he glances at his watch, murmurs something to his PA and strolls casually out of the room.
Sonja lingers, fixing me with her chilly blue stare. “Mr. Fitzlean would like to see you in his office for a few moments, Miss Vale.”
Me? Why?
The others stare after me as I follow her out of the room.
Chapter Two
Cade Fitzlean’s office gives few clues to his character. I’m in a lofty, elegant room, with tall windows, sparse but ornate pieces of furniture, priceless paintings and a striking central display of modern photos.
It’s more imposing than I expected but somehow less personal.
He’s standing over by the window and looks stunning. A shaft of sunlight slants across his face, etching shadows under his cheekbones and down one side of his jaw. He sweeps me with a practiced glance.
“Tunis. Thank you for giving me a few moments. I know your time’s precious.”
Mine precious? He’s serious? He’s got an empire to run.
As if his looks weren’t enough, even his courtesy is alluring—and so is something else. Now that we’re alone, I sense an air of power. It fills the room and surrounds him like a force field.
It’s very disturbing.
“Please, take a seat.”
I perch on one of a pair of low sofas near the window. He sits opposite, crossing his legs with one ankle over his knee, clearly at ease.
I draw my legs together at an angle in a dancer’s natural pose. I aim for grace but feel prim. “Is there a problem, Mr. Fitzlean?”
“That depends. Is everything to your liking? Your room—and so on?”
Is that all? Relief floods through me. Foolishly I start to gush. “I have to agree with Ben. This is a terrific opportunity for us. And the rooms are spectacular. We can’t thank you enough…”
I trail off under his steady gaze as he takes two jagged pieces of card out of his pocket and spreads them out on the low table between us.
I stiffen. My training schedule… An hour ago I hurled it into the wastepaper basket. How has he found it so fast? Does he have spies everywhere?
“I gather you plan to skip the training. Can I ask why?”
“Is it urgent, then?”
“It’s part of your contract. Nera needs returns quickly. The sessions are individually tailored and she has to finalize dungeon bookings by the end of the day.”
My insides shrink. “I thought it was just for fun. Do I have to?”
He frowns—a sulky angel cheated of a soul. “You’re down for sessions with the Panther, our guest celeb
rity Dom. We’re lucky to get him. We thought you’d be pleased.”
My face starts to burn.
His flickers with irritation. “Setting aside the insult to his reputation and your ill-concealed contempt for our hospitality, I have to ask myself just how committed you are to this project.”
I open my mouth to protest but he cuts me short. “Would you sooner leave?”
My stomach clenches. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d sooner not do it with the Panther.” That’s putting it mildly. And I wish he’d stop looking at me like that.
This is complicated.
I crave this. I even dream about it. I should be thrilled. But somehow, faced with the reality of it, I’m terrified. Submission? Bullwhips? I should run a mile. So would anyone normal.
I make words flow for my living. I can talk without drawing breath on pretty well any topic you care to name in front of millions of people. Now no words come.
I try again. “I know it’s only fun, a form of sex play.”
His lips twitch.
I go on quickly, my words spilling out in a rush. “But to me it feels more important than that. And… Well—private. This all seems so…flippant.”
He looks interested. “That’s very touching.” His low murmur flows over me like velvet. “I think so too. So that’s easy. You can switch to Nera. She’s good with vanillas. You’ll be in safe hands with her.”
I avoid his eye and carefully smooth the hem of my skirt where it skims my knee.
“What?”
“It’s just… I’d sooner it was with a man.”
He shrugs, unconcerned. “Most practitioners are female nowadays.”
I frown as something snags in my brain. What did he mean—he thinks so too? Does he do this?
Somebody once said to me that it’s easy to be a TV presenter. You just open your mouth and words come out.
Gee, thanks, Dad. But I know what he meant. I do it now.
“I read somewhere that you’re a fully trained professional Dom.”
It’s totally untrue. I’m making it up. But the effect on him is electric.
For a few seconds he sits very still.
I wait for him to smile and lightly deny it. Nothing happens.
Bingo.
I take a split-second decision. “Forgive me for asking, but could you do it? My training?”
His eyes glimmer. “Me?”
What have I said? All at once words tumble out. “I know it’s a crazy request. I know you’re leaving soon. It’s just… I get these dreams, and—” I break off, appalled at myself.
“Dreams?”
I swallow. “Him.” I can’t even bring myself to say his name. “That man and a—whip. Ever since meeting him like that last year. It was such a shock. And I can’t face him yet. It’s too soon.” A fleeting image of gleaming, oiled biceps and glittering, hooded eyes shrivels my stomach.
At the same time it sends a shaft of heat straight to my groin.
I press my lips together, furious that he’s grinning.
“Maybe you should see a shrink—or simply talk to Nera. She’ll take you through it step by step.”
I fix my eyes on his face in one last, desperate appeal. “I’d feel safer with you. I feel I know you.”
The grin fades, and I sense a sudden wave of anger.
“Know me? You know nothing about me.” He rises abruptly and walks over to the window. He stands, looking out with his arms folded. “Seriously, don’t you think that’s a tad offensive—sexist even? Suppose I asked you such a thing? Strip for me, maybe, or give me a blow job—because I felt I knew you?”
I stare at him aghast, my cheeks burning. “I’m so sorry. It’s just… I can’t stop thinking about it. It’s…confusing.”
But he’s absolutely right. What was I thinking? I get up and walk quickly to the door, fighting for calm.
Okay, that was stupid. Now move on.
At the door I glance back. “Please forgive what I said just now. I’m new to all this. I’ll talk to Nera. But on behalf of the team, we’re truly grateful for the faith you’ve shown in us. We’re determined to make this a success. Have a safe trip.”
I slip outside, close the door more firmly than I intended and let out a long, juddering breath. The ice-maiden is hovering just outside. Over her notepad, her pretty face is a mask of disapproval.
I grimace back. “He’s all yours.” And you can have him.
This is a disaster. I’m throwing away our dream ticket before we’ve even begun.
Why am I so rattled? It must be this place. Everything about it is disturbing. I should never have come.
I hurry away, trying to ignore the stinging feeling behind my eyes.
It’s hard to take. Knocks are always hard. A rejected audition, a mistimed arabesque or even a spurned invitation to play kinky sex—they always hurt.
I’ve been a dancer. I know all about knocks.
Ginger Rogers had the only answer—pick yourself up. Start over.
So I do.
I find the others out on the terrace sprawling on sun loungers. Mel’s stripped down to a T-shirt and briefs, her face covered by a large sun hat. Ben and Jake are blatantly feasting in a very un-PC way on the celebrity eye candy parading by the pool.
“Hard at work, everybody?” My tone drips acid as I pull up a canvas chair and throw myself into it.
Ben groans. “Don’t rain on the parade, Tunis. We were, as a matter of fact. How was the job interview?”
I glare back. “The what?”
Ben yawns. “He wanted to see you alone in his office, didn’t he? What else was it for? Or was the job on offer unrepeatable in polite company?”
Still rattled, I blush. “Ben, please.”
The others look uneasy. A passing waiter offers a tempting tray of misted mint juleps. I take one gratefully and pass another to Mel. It disappears under her hat as she takes a long sip.
Jake fixes me with a scowl. “So what did he want?”
I sigh. “He’s having second thoughts about me doing this. I gather I’m insufficiently dazzled by his halo.”
Ben frowns. “That’s odd. He was pretty keen when he offered us the deal.”
“For fuck’s sake, Ben.” Jake sits up with a scowl.
There’s an awkward pause. I look from one to the other. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. It’s the champagne talking. Ignore him.” Jake looks sulky.
I hold my ground. “Something’s going on. Tell me.”
“He means you were the deal-breaker.” Mel’s sharp voice makes us all jump.
“Shut up, Mel.” Ben kicks her ankle.
Mel kicks him back then stretches lazily. “Why don’t you tell her everything? Tunis is the main reason we’re here. She’s got every right to know.” She swivels to peer up at me, shading her eyes against the sun. “When his company offered us the chance to come here and film, it was on one condition—that you were the anchor. And when Ben asked why, all they’d say was the order came from the top.”
* * * *
After another hour or so chasing agents round the pool and securing interview slots with celebs, I decide to slip away for a shower. It’s getting late now. Time to change for the evening. And tonight we’ll use the first of our embossed invitations—to the Hit’n’MissTrix Ball.
On the way up to our room I pause at a window to look out over the emerald sheen of the immaculate lawns, now streaked with late sunlight.
In the center of the lawn Cade Fitzlean and Miss Frosty are chatting to a couple of groundsmen.
I stand very still. He’s still here? I thought he was leaving?
As I watch, Fitzlean claps one of the men on the back. I hear a gust of laughter then he and his PA turn and walk slowly back toward me.
He moves with fluid grace, talking earnestly. His PA is pale and slim, the breeze ruffling her silky hair. When her heels catch in the turf he pauses, smiles and waits for her to catch up.
They
look easy together. She’s very pretty.
I frown. His relations with his staff are no business of mine.
I warn myself sternly I should look away. Now.
Too late. He looks up and our eyes meet.
I step quickly away from the window, cross with myself. Now he’s even caught me spying on him. Can today get any worse?
Right on cue it does. I feel a touch on my arm. Nera is standing at my elbow, the sunlight glancing off her glossy black hair and her hard, pale face.
“Tunis? May I call you that? We’ve just moved your things to another room. I’ll take you up there now. On the way, we’ll discuss your options for the week.”
It’s the last straw and I snap. “Why the move? Mel and I don’t mind sharing.”
As the elevator doors slide shut, Nera and I glare at each other. After a few seconds she manages a chilly smile. “Feel free to make use of our spa and beauty salon while you’re here. We’re very proud of our visiting stylists. You’ll find them a far cry from the high street.”
“Thanks, but I rarely visit the high street and I have my own stylist.” My tone slices ice. I regret it instantly. It’s her job to look scary and now she’s offended. My heart sinks.
One more point against this place. “Anyway, why the upgrade?”
Now I sound rude. This is a private, if ultra-stately home, not a hotel. We’re guests here.
The Dominatrix chooses to ignore my putdown as she shows me into a spacious apartment overlooking the park. “We hope you’ll be comfortable here, Miss Vale. You’ve got the usual gift set”—she waves toward a basket brimming with lubes, condoms and naughty trinkets—“plus a few extras. You’ll find costumes and some eveningwear in your dressing room. Your own things are already here. Ring if there’s anything you need. I’ll leave you to settle in.”
“Wait. What about the others? Are they upgraded too?”
Her arched eyebrow tilts a fraction. “You’d better ask them. I never discuss other guests.”
She steps back into the elevator. The doors close with a soft hiss, just as I remember I’ve forgotten to ask her about my training.