Shimmy for Me: A Novella (California Belly Dance Romance Series Book 1)

by Cameron, DeAnna

  Abby arrived early for the Friday night show and took her time getting ready in the office. Slipping into her costume, doing her hair, applying makeup—it was a welcome return to something normal after a day that had been anything but.

  At least it had ended well, with a better paying job and the prospect of a bonus that could finally free her from needing a day job at all.

  It should have been a dream come true.

  It was a dream come true.

  So why did she feel sick to her stomach?

  Zenina’s dark, accusing glare stared back from the mirror.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” she muttered, swabbing her sable brush against the smoke-colored eye shadow. “You would’ve done the same thing.”

  No, she wouldn’t. Zenina was tougher. More confident. She wouldn’t have been ashamed to face the man she had just used for sex. She would have faced that awkward moment head-on and put it behind her.

  Now it was too late. Abby had lied to Derek. She had told him he could trust her, even as she was deceiving him. There’d be no forgiveness if she came clean now. The way he had glared at his father, the way he had sneered. She could hardly expect anything better.

  It didn’t matter if her stomach was twisted in knots. She’d have to keep up the lie if she wanted to keep her job. It was the only way she could save the studio.

  At least it wouldn’t be for long. Just until the paper sold.

  Then she’d be free. Sweet liberation. That’s what she had to remember. Spending her days at the studio, adding classes, building the boutique, developing the website. All the things she had no time to do now.

  And of course she could dance.

  The vise grip loosened around her chest. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Derek hadn’t recognized her. Why would he? He had so many more important things on his mind.

  He had hardly looked at her during the meeting. And if she had to guess, it would be the same when she showed up on the fifth floor on Monday morning ready to work.

  The knock on the door reminded her it was time. She checked her image in the mirror. From behind her costume and her makeup, beneath the armful of bangles and the headdress, she felt the surge of Zenina’s strength. The feeling that anything was possible.

  The feeling carried her to the stage. When the music began, her mind was clear. Do the job. Get the bonus. Focus on the studio. Easy as that.

  She was still grinding through the slow-tempo opening when he walked in and took the same seat at the bar. Wearing the suit he’d worn in the office. And the same grim expression.

  Her gut twisted like a pretzel.

  | 10

  “Macallan,” Derek said to the bartender. “With ice.”

  “You got it, boss.” The man shot him with his thumb and forefinger.

  Irritating.

  Derek nodded and turned back to the stage. Christ, what was he doing here? She’d made it clear she didn’t want to see him again. Hell, she’d left the villa without even saying good-bye. And it wasn’t like he was in the habit of forcing himself on women. Even ones he couldn’t get out of his thoughts.

  So why was he here?

  He hadn’t planned to come. He’d left the office intending to stop by his father’s house to pick up a few changes of clothes. Then maybe grab a burger and turn in early. Get some much-needed sleep after last night’s marathon.

  Last night. Damn, there they were again. Those images that had burned in his mind all day. Her gorgeous curves in the moonlight. That wild tattoo he’d traced with his fingertips along her hip, and around to the small of her back.

  But it wasn’t just her beauty that had surprised him. That woman was not only willing, but assertive. He’d never been with someone who knew exactly what she wanted and how to ask for it.

  He’d been more than happy to oblige. Just the thought of her revved him up all over again.

  But he had to be practical. This wasn’t the time to start something. He had to focus on the newspaper. And his plan.

  His father and the rest of the family had their ideas about what to do with the Herald and the rest of the Collier Media stations and papers, but he was coming up with a few of his own. He just needed time. If he played it right, he’d have what he needed before the month-end meeting, when the board planned to select a buyer.

  There was a great deal to be done, so why had he turned left, when he should have turned right, and found himself here?

  He drenched the question in another sip of cold scotch and glanced across the room.

  It was her fault.

  It was impossible to read her eyes beneath that heavy makeup and from this distance, but he was sure she wasn’t happy to see him.

  He’d been here fifteen minutes and there hadn’t been a single coy glance. No flirtation.

  Let her play that game. He had a game of his own. He reached into his breast pocket, pulled out a twenty, and held it high enough she couldn’t miss it.

  It worked. Barely. When she finally approached, she had pulled one of the fringed shawls from around her hips and cocooned her head and shoulders. It was an alluring effect, but he wanted to see her face.

  He could remember the length of her legs and the delicate curve of her neck. The swell of her breasts and the tiny nipples that had become hard pebbles beneath his touch.

  But her face was less distinct. It was a blur he wanted defined.

  He ached to see that face.

  Instead he saw her back, and that tattoo swaying with her gyrating hips. He was so focused on those hips he nearly missed it when she leaned back and whispered, “You shouldn’t be here. We had a deal.”

  He tucked the bill into her belt. “I had to see you.”

  The song’s tempo increased, pushing to a climax. The movement in her hips quickened, too. “I don’t want to see you,” she said over her shoulder.

  Then she was gone, in long strides that took her back to the center of the dining room where she flung up one arm exactly as the song came to its end. She bowed, and vanished into a dark corridor to the sound of applause.

  | 11

  Abby slammed the office door behind her and dropped into a chair. Why was he here? They’d agreed. One night. That was it. If he saw her again, even in the restaurant’s dim light, he’d recognize her and it would ruin everything.

  And then that trick with the tip. If he hadn’t made himself so obvious, she could have ignored him. But everyone had seen the way he’d waved that bill around. If she didn’t collect it, what would the staff think? As it was, the bartender had noticed her strange behavior. The way he had watched her from behind the bar, he knew something was up. What if he said something to the manager?

  She had to say something first.

  She picked up the desk phone receiver and punched the bartender’s extension.

  “Marco,” he barked in his typical clipped way.

  She could hear the synthesized Middle Eastern music in the background.

  “Hi, Marco. It’s Zenina.”

  “Ah, yes. Red or white, my darling?”

  Sometimes she finished her nightly performance with a plate of hummus, pita bread, and a glass of wine. Food and drink orders were about the only interaction she ever had with Marco.

  “Nothing tonight. Actually, there was a guy at the bar.”

  She heard Marco chuckle. “Yes?”

  “Is he still there?”

  “Yes.”

  She sucked in her breath. This was bad.

  “Does he look like he’ll be leaving any time soon?”

  “No.”

  “Damn.” The word slipped out before she could stop herself. “I need to ask a favor. It’s important.”

  “Okay.” The syllables came slowly. He was already suspicious.

  “He’s becoming a problem. Tell him I don’t want to see him. I never want to see him. Please make sure he leaves.”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  “Could you call me in the office when he’s gone? If it’s not too mu
ch trouble?”

  Marco agreed. She knew this was an awful thing to do to Derek, but she couldn’t face him. She couldn’t risk him recognizing her. There was too much at stake.

  When the phone rang, she was nearly out of her costume.

  “He’s gone,” Marco said.

  “How’d he take it?” She winced. She didn’t care. She didn’t.

  “Hard to say.”

  What did that mean?

  “But he’s gone. You’re good.”

  Good. She was good.

  She didn’t feel good.

  “Thanks,” she said and hung up.

  She took her time packing everything back in her performance case. She changed out of her costume and into jeans and a sweater. She wouldn’t get to the hair and the makeup until she was home, but she still managed to burn another ten minutes. Finally she built up the courage to leave.

  | 12

  Abby stepped out into the night with her performance case trailing behind her. It was dark, even darker than usual because the bulb on the parking lot’s single light pole was out, and the moon’s Cheshire cat grin offered little illumination. Slowly, she made her way through the rows of parked cars till she reached her own, opened the trunk, and hoisted her rolling case inside.

  The sounds of footsteps stopped her. She straightened and slid her hand into the front pocket of her jacket, fishing for her keys or anything she could use as a weapon.

  The footsteps grew closer.

  It could be someone leaving the restaurant. It could be anyone.

  “Was it something I said?”

  It was Derek.

  She relaxed, but only a little.

  He didn’t sound angry, or drunk. He sounded… sad.

  “No,” she said, fighting the urge to turn around and comfort him.

  Her fingers abandoned her keys but curled into fists in her pockets instead. “It was a great night,” she said in a coarse whisper she hoped disguised her voice. “I just want to leave it at that.”

  She made for the driver’s side door and got as far as opening it before he was beside her. His hand shot out, planting itself against the window to stop her, then he pulled it back.

  “Don’t leave,” he said.

  The plea nearly broke her resolve.

  Where was the stern, stoic suit she had seen today? Where was that brusque, bordering on rude young executive he had been only a few hours ago?

  This was the man who had sheltered her last night. Who had indulged her fantasies, taking her from one orgasm to another and another.

  This was the man who had melted her heart.

  She had to get away.

  He touched her arm, and he must have sensed her hesitation. His fingers brushed over her shoulder, to her neck. With her back still to him, he couldn’t see the way that simple gesture nearly undid her. She wanted to turn and bury her head against that strong, wide chest. She hated herself for wanting it, but she did. She wanted his shelter. She wanted to beg his forgiveness. She wanted to throw herself on his mercy.

  He stroked her neck, and her body remembered all the wonderful things he had done to her the night before.

  “I don’t want one night,” he whispered.

  If he only had said those words last night. Before everything was on the line. Before everything was so complicated.

  “I want to know you, Zenina.”

  But she wasn’t Zenina. Not even close.

  She broke free from him and slid into her driver’s seat.

  “Please leave me alone,” she said before slamming the door. Somehow she managed to turn the key and start the car.

  The last thing she saw as she pulled away was him, watching her leave.

  | 13

  Two new students showed up for the Saturday morning belly dance class, but Abby still couldn’t shake her mood.

  Melanie approached her during the water break. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” Abby snapped and instantly regretted it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. It’s just been a strange couple of days.”

  Melanie glanced around, then leaned in close. “I saw the final notice on your desk.”

  Oh, yeah. There was that, too. Taped to the door this morning when she arrived.

  “That raise is going to help, right?” Melanie asked. “If you need more, just say the word.”

  “No. They can’t kick me out for another month, and by then I should be able to dig myself out of this hole.”

  She wanted so badly to tell Melanie the whole story. About the windfall that would land in her lap once the paper sold and the real reason Derek had been brought in as publisher. But she couldn’t breathe a word about any of it. She couldn’t make Melanie an accomplice in the deception.

  All she could do was demand Melanie’s job be protected when the paper sold. Derek had obliged. Any new owner would need a staff, he said. It was only the top-floor executives and their assistants who were likely to go.

  “It must be weird,” Melanie said.

  “What?”

  “Working for him. Being on guard all the time so he doesn’t recognize you. I still think you’re crazy for not telling him. He might even laugh about it.”

  Abby thought about the way he had leveled those cutting glances at his father. No, he wouldn’t laugh about it.

  “He came back to the restaurant last night.”

  “You’re kidding,” Melanie said. “What happened?”

  “He ambushed me in the parking lot. Said he wanted more than a one-night stand.”

  Melanie jiggled her shoulders. “Left him wanting more, huh?”

  “It’s not funny.”

  “Okay. If you say so. But didn’t he recognize you?”

  “No. It was too dark, and I still had most of my makeup on.”

  Melanie stepped back and scrutinized her. “You like him, don’t you?”

  “No. Of course not.”

  “No one would blame you. He’s gorgeous. He’s rich.”

  Melanie stalled there, but Abby silently finished the list. He was also smart and thoughtful, gentle and considerate. Thinking back on that night, it wasn’t just the way he had made her orgasm, but the moments when they had lain together, not talking, but comfortable in the silence. It was the warmth and the woodsy scent of him. The way he had kissed her forehead. The way he had fluffed her pillow. The way he had asked so many questions about her tattoo. When did she get it, why, had it hurt? She would have expected a man like him to disapprove of her ink. But he hadn’t. When he kissed it, it felt like the most tender, intimate thing in the world.

  Not that it mattered now. He was the only thing standing between her and keeping her studio.

  “He’ll be a good boss,” she said, and tried to mean it. “If I don’t screw it up.”

  “And if he goes back to the restaurant?”

  “He won’t.” The memory of that last sad glance shook her. She stuffed it away, out of reach. Out of mind. “I made sure of it.”

  When the class ended a half-hour later, Melanie followed Abby into the back storage room to the corner where she kept a desk with a phone and an old desktop computer. On the wall behind the chair she’d hung the poster she’d purchased at the Belly Dance Divas show she and Melanie had attended the previous summer.

  “You finally put it up,” Melanie said, admiring the image. “It looks good. Not as good as it would if I were in the lineup, but good.”

  “When they add you to the lineup, I’ll buy a hundred of these posters and wallpaper every room with them,” Abby said. She booted up the computer, grabbed the stack of bills from the wire in-box on the desk, and settled in to pay as many as her bank account allowed.

  “Guess I better get busy then. Auditions are coming up fast.”

  “So what are you doing in here? Get in there,” Abby said and jerked her thumb toward the empty dance room.

  “Fine. I’m going.”

  It had become their usual Saturday routine. After the morning class, Ab
by attended to studio business and cleaned up, while Melanie worked on her audition choreography.

  “You’re such a taskmaster,” Melanie said, “but I guess that’s why I even have a chance at the Divas.”

  “No way, you did it all yourself. You have more natural talent than any dancer I know. I’m amazed how far you’ve come in just two years.”

  “I think I just lucked out and got a really good teacher.”

  It was an especially sweet thing to say. Melanie had been her first serious student. They’d met in Almira’s class, when Abby was just one of several class assistants. Melanie had asked Almira for private lessons, but the instructor declined, saying she was cutting back on her workload. She suggested Abby as an alternate.

  It had surprised Abby, and given her a much-needed dose of confidence.

  She and Melanie had formed a friendship during those private lessons that had grown quickly. Abby trusted Melanie more than anyone, and if Melanie hadn’t helped her get the job at the newspaper, she would probably be standing in an unemployment line somewhere.

  Melanie put her hand on Abby’s shoulders. “It’s going to be okay. You know that, right? You’re meant to be here.”

  Abby fought a sudden spring of tears because at that moment, she really wasn’t sure.

  “I hope you’re right.”

  | 14

  When Derek stepped off the elevator at seven-fifteen Monday morning, the fifth floor was silent and empty. Most employees didn’t arrive until eight or nine, which gave him some time to start investigating his options. He already had the call in to his lawyer and his stockbroker. He had just a few other calls to make and then he could get started on that other matter he wanted to investigate. The one that was making it impossible to sleep.

  He caught a whiff of espresso. Fresh espresso. He followed it to the executive break room and nearly collided with someone backing out through the swinging door.

  “Miss Anderson?” he asked. He wasn’t sure because this woman looked like a librarian cliché, with her hair piled up high and tight and a pair of heavy black glasses on her nose. She didn’t look at all like the mousy and skittish clerk he had met on Friday.