“Who? Mee-shell Le-May...?”
“Michel Lemaitre,” he said, writing the name on a piece of hotel stationary. “Your soon-to-be boss. He lives for performers like you, the ones who have that fire in them.”
There was some shadow, some hardness in his expression that made Sara think he didn’t completely approve of Michel Lemaitre. She chewed at the corner of a nail, a horrible habit, although short nails were necessary in trapeze. Would Michel Lemaitre approve of her?
She stood and started to clean up her breakfast things. They were going to leave for the airport soon, and once they were there, she couldn’t come back. She was abandoning her homeland—and her long-time trapeze partner—to follow her dreams. Was it worth it? She had a paralyzing moment of doubt.
Jason took her in his arms, speaking to her in an achingly tender voice. “Everything’s going to be great, Sara. But if you’re not ready to make this decision, that’s okay too. If you want to stay, you can stay.”
“I don’t want to stay,” she said against his shoulder, and she realized she meant it. “I want to go.”
“Let’s go then. If you get to Paris and you don’t like it, you can always come back.”
But she couldn’t come back. That’s what he didn’t understand. Baat would never forgive her for doing this selfish thing. Even if he gave in and came to the Cirque, he would never forgive her.
Oh, but Jason’s arms were so strong around her, and her dreams were so close. A fourteen-hour flight, and her life could start over. She’d be part of the world’s most famous circus.
And this strong, kind, masterful man would be with her. That would be the most wonderful thing.
* * * * *
Sara was quiet during the cab ride to the airport. Jason couldn’t blame her for feeling pensive. For doubting. She had nothing with her, only her dreams and convictions. She’d put her life in the hands of a stranger she’d just met. She was either very brave or very stupid, and he didn’t usually go for stupid women, so he had to bank on brave.
As for him…he fought his own doubts. Perhaps he should have delayed this abrupt departure, asked her to mull over her choices a little longer. Perhaps he shouldn’t have slept with her again last night. Impulsive, unprofessional behavior, but what could he do? She had a way of stripping his self-control. Him, Jason Beck, the most controlled, by-the-rules guy at the Cirque. Even now, he was aware of her every movement, every sigh and every shift.
About halfway there, she sat up straighter in her seat. She spoke to the taxi driver in Mongolian and he eased to the side of the road, stopping on a corner. She turned to Jason. “This will only take a minute.” She spoke again to the driver and got out of the car.
Jason followed, afraid to let her out of his sight, but she only went a short distance, to an alley beside a soot-blackened cement building. A small, circular heap of rocks nestled just inside the corner, against the wall.
“My parents died here,” she said, turning to him. “Almost two years ago now. A drunk driving accident.” She knelt down and replaced a few stones that had come dislodged from the cairn. “Baat helped me build this to remember them.”
Yes, the accident. The reason she had no money, the reason she had to make her way alone. Jason looked back toward the cab, then leaned to help her. “Did they catch the person at fault?”
“The person at fault was my father. He drank a lot. Alcoholism is a—”
“Serious problem in Mongolia. Yes, you told me, that first night.” When they stood, he took her hand, wanting to comfort her. “I’m sorry you lost your parents.”
She didn’t seem to want comfort. She pocketed one of the smallest stones and looked up at the sky. It wasn’t very blue in Ulaanbaatar. It was smoggy and cold.
“Last chance,” he said quietly. “Last chance to stay.”
She shook her head. “I’ve been leaving for a long time. There’s nothing for me here.”
They rode the rest of the way in somber silence, then the bustle and confusion of the airport swallowed them up. He kept hold of her hand, like a father corralling a child, until they found the correct gate and boarded. Since they’d bought Sara’s ticket at the last minute, they couldn’t sit together on the plane. She sat two rows in front of Jason, on the aisle, so at least he could watch her. From time to time she turned to look at him, as if he might disappear.
He wasn’t going anywhere.
Not now, but she might have to leave him at some point. There was only one Cirque show in Paris. The rest of them were spread all over the globe. Some were touring shows that moved from city to city, pulling up roots every six or eight weeks. He hadn’t warned her about that, hadn’t explained that Paris would only be her temporary home. If she was placed in Stockholm or Berlin or Rome he’d have to let her go, or leave his job in Paris and go with her, doing whatever was available at her new show. If they didn’t need acrobatics help, he might have to move into physical therapy, or nutrition. Or costuming.
He shuddered. Costuming? Maybe, if it meant staying close to her. Even two rows away in an airplane felt too far.
Fortunately, they’d have time before they had to make hard decisions. The Exhibition wasn’t until August. Anything could happen. Maybe things would burn out between them. Maybe she’d fall for someone else. There were plenty of compelling Doms at Cirque, not counting the Uber-Master himself, Michel Lemaitre. Lemaitre would notice Sara right away. He’d sense the purity of her submissive nature and he’d want her. If he made a move on her, Jason would have to publicly claim her as his own or else release her, because Lemaitre wouldn’t accept anything else.
Damn Lemaitre. He hoped Sara didn’t fall under his spell. Lemaitre wasn’t a nurturer. He was a gauntlet, a survival course. Jason didn’t want that for her. He wanted to challenge and control her, but he wanted to take care of her too.
She’ll get to decide what type of mastery she wants. Not you.
It was a bittersweet arrival in Paris, because he had to give up his guardianship of her. She belonged to Cirque du Monde now, and even at three in the morning, representatives were there to greet them and help with Sara’s paperwork. One of them, motherly Meg, took charge of Sara, clucking over the dark circles under her eyes. She assured Jason she’d get Sara settled in the dormitory apartments. It wouldn’t have been appropriate for Jason to invite himself along, although he wanted to.
Instead he hugged Sara and pressed his cheek to hers. “You’ll be fine,” he said in her ear. “As soon as you feel ready, you can check out the practice facility and meet your new coach.” Whoever that was. All the coaches were good, but he hoped she got the best one, one who would appreciate her unique qualities.
Meg cleared her throat, staring at him, and Jason released Sara. “My number’s in the Cirque directory,” he said, trying to sound casual. “If you need anything.”
Jason needed something. He needed to take Sara to his BDSM-equipped bedroom and lose himself between her thighs, but that wasn’t happening. Sara deserved to start her Cirque career on her own merits, not as a Director of Artistic Development’s fuck toy. They exchanged a brief, secret smile, then Jason left her in the capable hands of Cirque’s relocation specialists.
His capable hands would have to wait.
* * * * *
Jason reported to Lemaitre’s office the following afternoon as requested. Over the past five years, he’d managed to earn some measure of respect from the man, but one never really felt comfortable in Lemaitre’s presence. Le Maître, they called him at his clubs. The Master. With his black hair, carved features, imposing build, and piercing blue eyes, he lived up to his name.
Lemaitre glanced up from a file on his desk when Jason knocked. “Viens,” he said. “You have returned from the Asian steppes.”
“Yes, from my first and last trip to Mongolia. Next time you’re pissed at me, dock my pay instead.”
“I sent you because I trust you, not because I was angry at you. Although...” He snapped the file shut. �
��I am somewhat upset. You only brought me half the act.”
Jason slid into the seat across from Lemaitre’s desk. “I brought as much of the act as I could.”
“You brought her, or you smuggled her out?” he asked in his clipped accent. “I hear she arrived with nothing but the clothes on her back.”
How to explain it? Her desperation and his impatience to get her out of the country? “It was a rushed acquisition, yes. But clothes are cheap. Things are cheap.” Lemaitre’s steady gaze dragged the rest out of him. “I didn’t want to leave her there.”
His regard sharpened. “Why? What was her situation? Your note explained nothing. Why didn’t her partner come?”
“Her partner wasn’t Cirque material. No artistry, no imagination. Believe me, you got the better half.”
Jason fell silent, unsure of Lemaitre’s mood. After a tense pause, the man leaned back in his chair and flicked the edge of the file. “Perhaps you have brought us a treasure,” he said. “I hear she’s already on the practice floor, anxious to begin. You are well?”
“I’ll be well if I never have to go back to Mongolia. How about that?”
“No sense of adventure.” Lemaitre shook his head and rose to his full height. “Come. Introduce me to this new trapezist.”
The men left the office complex and headed out into the larger facility, toward the soaring aerial arts space. While they walked, Jason talked to Lemaitre about Sara, trying not to betray his feelings for her. He definitely left out the fact that he’d slept with her—twice. He also shared his impressions of the Mongolian circus, from the Soviet-era facilities to the lack of production values. Lemaitre nodded, as if he knew all of it already. He made it his business to know everything about everything, especially in the circus world.
“So, where are you thinking about using her?” Jason asked. “Which show?”
“Do I have to decide that now? Brillante perhaps.”
“Vegas?” Jason choked on the word. He couldn’t see Sara in Las Vegas. It was too crazy and hectic, and it would place her so far away. “I didn’t realize Brillante needed a new act.”
“We always need new acts. People have children, family emergencies, injuries, and they must leave for some period of time. You remember Kelsey Martin?”
“Yes, I remember her.” Jason had trained her a couple years ago, until a man named Theo Zamora had commandeered her for an aerial silks piece in the Marseille show, Cirque de Minuit. “Something happened to Kelsey?”
“Nothing major. A shoulder injury that needed surgery and a few weeks’ rest.”
“So Sara might go to Marseille?”
Lemaitre waved a hand. “That temporary act is already in place. As I said, I don’t know yet where I’ll send her. Or why you’re so wrought up about it,” he added with an assessing lilt to his voice.
Jason looked at the floor, avoiding his gaze. “I scouted her. Why shouldn’t I be concerned about her future?” He quickly changed the subject. “Do you have someone in mind for her new partner? If the old guy doesn’t come?”
“I’m going to get the old guy to come.”
“You won’t be able to.”
Lemaitre shrugged. “I have a way of getting what I want. In the meantime I’ve found her the perfect coach. Trapeze expert.” Michel pushed open the door. Jason saw Sara first, sleek and slender in her Cirque du Monde training uniform. Then he noticed the dark-haired man hanging by his knees above her, offering French-inflected directions.
Jason turned to Lemaitre. “Theo? Seriously?”
“He knows trapeze better than anyone. He’s done aerial work all his life.”
“He’s a performer. He and Kelsey have an act.”
“He’ll be a coach for the next couple months, while Kelsey rests her shoulder. Until the Exhibition, at least. It’s perfect timing, no?” Lemaitre watched as Sara tucked into a tight somersault, then caught Theo’s hands on the downswing. “You see? Timing is everything in trapeze.”
Jason pursed his lips, declining to comment. He respected Theo, but the aerialist had a complicated past. Back in the day, before he’d married Kelsey, Theo had been Lemaitre’s right-hand man at the Citadel in Paris. He’d partied and drank and slept around a whole fucking lot.
He’s changed, Jason thought to himself. Kelsey’s reformed him. It’ll be okay. Sara watched her new coach as he spoke to her upside down, indicating a change in position. When she did what he wanted, he praised her effusively, so her face lit up in a smile. Now Jason remembered why he didn’t like Theo. The ladies always melted for his accent and his dark, brooding eyes.
Theo noticed them then, and lowered Sara to the mat before he flipped down off the trapeze. The two of them walked over, and Theo extended his hand.
“Jason Beck. Long time, no see.”
“Hi, Theo. How’s Kelsey?”
“Ah.” Theo shrugged. “She’s enjoying a little rest. You know, she needed her arm fixed. It’s still tricky, from that one time she—”
Fell. Almost fell. All three men looked at Sara and decided not to continue that line of conversation. Jason greeted Sara next, trying not to be inappropriately familiar. A handshake, a professional nod. The lights and blue mats made her eyes even prettier. She blinked at him. This was awkward, so awkward. I wish I was fucking you right now, Sara. God help me.
“What did I tell you?” he said to her instead, waving an arm around the facility. “Better than Mongolia?”
“It’s amazing.”
He turned to introduce her to his boss. “Sara, this is Michel Lemaitre, Cirque’s owner and director. I suppose you might say all of this is his.”
Lemaitre shook his head. “It’s not mine. It belongs to my performers. Mademoiselle Sarantsatsral.” He said the rush of foreign syllables without a hiccup. “I’m so pleased you’re here.”
“You can call me Sara,” she said when he took her hand.
“Sara, then. All is well? You’re getting along with Theo? We thought you might rest a few days before your training began in earnest. And we must lure your partner here, no? We need both of you together, making your magic.”
As Sara and Lemaitre spoke, Theo leaned toward Jason and raised a brow. “Where did you find this one? Good raw material.”
Jason scowled, recalling Kelsey when she’d arrived at Cirque du Monde. Jason knew too well what Theo had done with that raw material.
“Oh, these frowns,” Theo sniped in French. “You always think the worst of me. I am very much in love with my wife. I won’t pervert your sweet little muffin.”
“She’s not my sweet little muffin,” Jason muttered under his breath.
While he and Theo batted at each other, Lemaitre had drawn Sara away for a more private conference. There was something in the way he studied her, some heightened interest. Just as Jason suspected, she’d caught Lemaitre’s eye. Sara stared at the Cirque boss, blinking, nodding to whatever he was saying. Probably something along the lines of “Would you like to be my sex slave? The position comes with a lot of perks.”
Theo followed his gaze. “It’s not me you have to worry about, eh?”
“She’s too young for him.”
Theo burst into laughter. “They’re never too young for him. As long as they’re legal.”
Jason didn’t find the situation funny. “I don’t want him messing with her. How did you keep him away from Kelsey?”
“Kelsey was mine and I let him know it. If you want to keep him away from Sara, let him know she’s yours.”
“She’s not mine,” Jason said, feeling heat creep along his hairline.
Theo looked at him sideways. “Non? Well. She’s a smart girl. I’m sure she can handle herself with Lemaitre.” He jerked a chin in their direction. “He likes her. It assures her career.”
“Her talent assures her career.”
Theo smirked. “As you say.” He thought a moment. “Now that we’re back in Paris, you’ll have to stop by Rue des Jours and see Kelsey. She’s going out of her mind
with nothing to do.”
He said it in such a way that Jason understood she had plenty to do, all of it involving Theo, sex, and their Master/slave relationship. Lemaitre’s beckoning finger rescued Jason from further conversation. Both men joined him at Sara’s side.
“We were speaking about the act,” said Lemaitre. “Jason, you’ll supervise with Theo? Help develop the performance? Handle the Exhibition side of things?”
His boss wasn’t really asking. He was telling him to do these things. “Of course,” Jason answered. “Maybe Cameron for her partner? He’s done aerial before.”
“But not trapeze.” Lemaitre thought hard a moment, then turned to Sara. “For now, you can train with Theo as a partner. Until I convince your young man to join us here.”
“Do you think you can?” she asked, clasping her hands. “Baat’s very good. He’s only wary of leaving Mongolia. He doesn’t speak French, or English, and he’s never traveled. But if he understood the opportunity here...”
“I’ll do my best,” Lemaitre promised. “But if he won’t come, we’ll find you another partner. We want you to reach your full potential. In the meantime...” He gestured toward her new coach. “You’ll be in excellent hands.”
“I’ll try really hard to live up to your standards, Mr. Lemaitre.” Good God, she meant it. She was so adorably earnest.
Lemaitre stared at her a moment, then turned to Jason and Theo. “I’d like to see preliminary development in two weeks. Ça va?”
“Oui,” Theo drawled. “No problem.”
A few more clipped instructions and Lemaitre walked away. Sara’s eyes followed him, not with lust, but with respect and admiration. Maybe her sweetness would be her shield. Jason could tell Lemaitre didn’t know what to make of her.
After that, Sara and Theo returned to the trapeze. Jason had to admit the man was a skilled coach. Under the guise of playing around, Theo was figuring out what she could do and what she hadn’t mastered yet. They practiced a whole repertoire of trapeze skills, both of them speaking a specialized language Jason didn’t know. He sat on the edge of the crash mat, trying not to be jealous. When the training session was up, Sara walked over and flopped beside him. She was all smiles, her face glistening with a sheen of sweat.
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