Tempting the Ringmaster (A Big Top Romance)

by Aleah Barley

The crowd answered with a cheer of excitement. Hands reached out to push Keith forward. The clown king was grinning. “You sure you want to do this, Belle-Girl?”

  Graham’s gaze was heavy on her. Belle wanted to hide. When she was eighteen, she’d sworn that she was never going to perform Scamp again. She certainly wasn’t going to do the Prince and the Pauper act with Keith. She’d wanted more than just a life constantly on the move. She’d wanted more than the circus.

  She’d wanted a real life with a man who loved her, a man who could hold her close and kiss her until she cried, a man like Graham.

  Only, that was just an illusion. It was temporary. A fling.

  The circus was forever. It was tents, people, and animals. It was a feeling of warmth and belonging that she was only just beginning to regain.

  Her stomach churned painfully. She took a deep breath, swallowing hard. “Hell yeah, let’s go.”

  * * *

  Graham bit back a smile, watching Belle disappear into the darkness to get ready. All around him the circus people—the performers, their families, and the small army of laborers—who’d spilled into the orchard were talking excitedly about what was coming next.

  “Humph.” An older woman sat down beside him, taking up the space that Belle had so recently vacated. He racked his brain, trying to recall her name. He’d met so many people in the past few hours. It was Dorothy, the woman with the high rolling kids.

  “Never thought I’d see this again.” Her pink lips pulled back into a grimace—but it might have been a smile. “It’s a pity, really.”

  “A pity?” Graham frowned.

  “Seeing her forced to perform like this. Make a fool of herself. Belle’s a smart girl. She always had such promise. She could have done anything. A doctor. A lawyer. This…“ She waved a hand vaguely. “It’s demeaning.”

  “She loves the circus—“

  Dorothy let out a snort of disbelief. “That a fact? Then what was she doing in Chicago all those years? Ask her sometime. Seriously.” She sighed. “Belle’s always been a homebody. She needs to put down roots, to feel like she belongs.”

  Graham couldn’t imagine it. That was a lie. The last few days had been amazing, hanging out with Belle—helping her try to find a home for Tiny—he’d started to forget that their relationship was just a fling. All he’d been doing was imaging what it would be like if it were real, the way she smiled at him across the table in the Skyline Coney, the way her hand felt, warm and small against his palm. He’d memorized her laughter, her voice, and her kiss.

  Now, he wanted more.

  Not enough to give up his position as chief of police and hit the road, he had responsibilities. He’d promised his sister-in-law that he would help her with Trevor—after David’s death it had only been natural—to take him fishing and teach him how to spit. He couldn’t leave Buck Falls.

  But maybe Belle could stay. The circus would have to move on, eventually—the town couldn’t handle that much disruption—but maybe Belle could stick around for a little while. After she got the circus settled in Florida, she could come back and they could explore a real relationship.

  Was Dorothy, right? He leaned forward slightly, considering. Could he offer something to Belle that was more enticing than the lights and the noise? Could he save her from a life constantly spent on the road? Never knowing what might happen next…

  A sharp whistle interrupted his thoughts. A clown tumbled out of the darkness. Not a clown, Graham realized as he recognized Belle’s worn blue jeans, knee high boots, and sexy white tank top, with the broad straps and square neckline that displayed firm breasts like juicy peaches—or apples—just waiting for him to take a bite.

  Still, it was hard for him to reconcile the image in his head of a sexy, savvy woman with the clown who’d just bounced onto the cleared space near the bonfire. The white makeup and red clown nose helped with the illusion, but it was more than that; it was the way Belle held herself, inhabiting the persona of a hobo, complete with a rucksack thrown over one shoulder. She danced around tentatively, doing small tricks and begging from the audience.

  After a few brief gags, Keith Aldridge showed up behind her also wearing heavy makeup. It took Graham a second to realize that the two performers had been made up to look like each other. The petite man was an inch or two shorter than Belle, but when they stood next to each other the illusion was amazing. The two clowns stared at each other, miming surprise. Keith waved a hand at Belle. She waved back.

  They began to mime each other’s actions.

  They didn’t speak, but they didn’t have to speak when their gestures told the familiar story of the Prince and the Pauper, meeting each other and exchanging lives. The crown from Keith’s costume was still back at the fairground, but when he pantomimed handing it to Belle the action felt real. She placed it tentatively on her head, and her posture changed.

  Her entire appearance became more regal.

  The two clowns went about their business, except this time Keith was begging from the audience while Belle attempted to carry out state business… and failed. The actions of the tramp-king becoming more and more desperate—and hilarious—as the entire situation spun out of control.

  Graham was laughing, hard, big belly laughs that shook his entire body. He didn’t know what Dorothy had been talking about. The show wasn’t demeaning; it was incredible.

  Belle-Anne Black had been born to be a clown. When she finally took her bow, he wanted to leap up and swing her into his arms, to show her just how proud he was of her performance.

  Instead, he clapped his hands together enthusiastically and watched as the circus troop crowded their fearless leader, wanting to know how she’d performed certain bits of sleight of hand and acrobatics.

  It wasn’t his world. No matter how close he’d gotten to Belle. The thought made him ill at ease. Graham Tyler was a man used to belonging; whether it was his high school baseball team, his college fraternity, or the Navy SEALS, he had always been part of a team. This was Belle’s team, the people who had her back.

  What did that make him?

  When she finally slipped away from the praise and the applause, she made a beeline in his direction. Her body was loose, her face smiling, and when she bounced up onto her feet to give him a soft peck in the cheek, he could feel the red rubber of her clown nose pressed against his skin.

  “Let’s get out of here,” she said.

  “After that triumph? I thought you’d want to celebrate.”

  “I want you.”

  Damn, his body responded instantly to those three little words. He wanted her in his life, in his heart, but he’d settle for having her in his bed. He’d been taking his time, intent on showing her how she deserved to be treated. That was over. He wanted to take her and make her his; branding her with the twin fires of lust and emotional intensity that raged through his veins. He nodded back towards the farmhouse, “Let’s go.”

  “I’ve got a better idea.”

  Chapter Seven

  Belle was already kissing him when they hit the trailer door.

  “Damn,” Graham swore as he shucked out of his coat and started to kiss Belle back. He stumbled back awkwardly, swearing when his head hit the wall.

  His erection was hard, throbbing.

  His hands were on her tight little body, running up under her borrowed jacket. Her rubber clown nose collided with his face when they kissed, making it impossible to see her eyes, to gauge her expression, but he could hear her groan eagerly against his fingers.

  “I’ve wanted to do this for so damn long.” Her fingers fumbled as she tore at his navy blue t-shirt. “I don’t know what we were waiting for.”

  “The right moment.” Graham grinned against her mouth. “We’ve been busy getting to know each other… taking care of an elephant.”

  She let out a stifled laugh. “Tiny’s locked up tight for the night.”

  “Good to know,” he said.

  Her mouth froze against his. “Neither o
f us has any place else to be… I guess that means we can take our time.” She straightened slightly and her hand darted up to wipe at the pale makeup on her face. “I could clean up some.” She grinned. “You could probably clean up too. There’s—uh—greasepaint on your face.” Her gaze lowered slightly. “It’s on your clothes, too. Probably on your ass.” She took a step back, allowing cool air to flood the space between them. “Can you hold that thought?”

  “Not a problem.” All he needed to do to make his cock throb was think of her big eyes staring up at him, her mouth puckering to form a kiss, and her husky voice saying ‘I want you.’ He sucked in a breath in a struggle to cool his raging libido.

  Belle undid the ponytail that was keeping her hair away from her face, allowing her reddish-brown curls to spill down her back. She undid her borrowed jacket—the one he’d gotten for making varsity baseball in high school—sliding the zipper down slowly, one inch at a time. She let the jacket tumble to the ground and kicked it aside.

  There was that white tank top again.

  Graham’s throat went dry. He loved that tank top. The way it hugged her breasts, skimmed her waist, and flared slightly over her hips, accentuating all of her juicy assets. Her faded denim blue jeans fit her like a second skin, plastered across her hot ass and toned thighs, before tucking into the tall black leather boots that clung to her muscular calves and her neatly turned heels.

  Belle turned to the sink to wash up—wiping the heavy makeup off with a paper towel—when she turned back her face was clean and water had made the front of her shirt transparent. Her bra was pink with black pinstripes; colorful and exotic, just like the woman wearing it.

  “You want to help me with my boots?” she asked.

  “More than anything.” Graham swallowed, hard. Everything about him was hard.

  He crossed the small trailer in a few long strides, reaching out to snatch the red rubber clown nose from her face. He placed the false appendage carefully on the counter and lowered himself until he was on kneeling on the cracked, yellow linoleum tiles in front of her.

  Starting at her instep, he ran his hands up the long leather throat of her dark boot until his fingers skimmed her pant leg. The denim was soft to the touch, worn through in places, but he didn’t think he’d ever seen a woman look more beautiful in silks and satins. His hand moved up to rest on her knee.

  He held his breath, waiting for her to tell him to stop. Nothing happened.

  His hand moved further up to massage her thigh through the thin fabric. His fingers reached her waistband and she quivered slightly, falling back against the counter in the trailer’s narrow kitchen. He undid the button that held the jeans closed at her waist and shimmied the long zipper down.

  “Tell me if you want me to stop,” he said, his voice thick with lust and desire. It might kill him to stop, but if she said the word he’d back away. They could go back to taking things slow, whispering sweet nothings in each other’s ears as they shared a pot of tea or a bottle of wine. He could wait. Belle was worth it.

  “Never stop,” she said.

  “Thank god.” His hand dipped inside the gaping waist of her jeans, splaying across her belly and caressing silky pinstriped panties that matched her bra.

  Her breath was coming faster now. She shuddered under his touch.

  He tilted his head back slightly to stare up at her, watching her as he worked. Lust made her cheeks pink and stained her mouth a natural red color. He couldn’t see her emerald eyes, they were squeezed shut.

  “Look at me,” he told her. No response.

  His thumb dipped under the elastic band of her panties, nestling in her mahogany curls. He stroked her once, twice, smiling when she moaned beneath his touch. Good, he had her attention.

  “Look at me,” he repeated.

  Her eyes flickered open, glassy and huge.

  His finger flicked downwards as he leaned forward. His free hand made its way up behind her, cupping her curved ass, to pin her in place. He leaned forward, expelling a hot breath of air against her belly. She shuddered.

  Damn, he licked his lips hungrily. He wanted to taste her. No, he needed to taste her, to hear her moan against him, to scent her arousal in the air, and to feel her come against his mouth

  He held her in place as his finger continued to move rhythmically in place—building the pressure between her thighs—never fast enough to give her relief, always keeping her just on the edge. Her eyes flickered shut again. She let out an eager moan.

  His head dipped, placing a soft kiss on the smooth band of skin between her tank top and her panties. Another kiss. The hand on her behind tugged at her pants, pulling them lower, leaving her open and exposed to his eyes. In the dark light, he could just make out blue and pink wings; the tattoo that had been taunting and teasing him with small glimpses all week edged around her hip. He kissed her again, running his lips along her hipbone, teasing her delicate skin with his teeth. His fingers hooked into her panties, pulling them down slightly.

  She let out a soft moan, when his thumb left her, but then his fingers were back on her—inside her—touching her in all of her most private places and she was moaning for an entirely different reason. His mouth kept moving against the soft skin of her belly before moving slowly—inch by inch—down to the apex of curls between her thighs.

  “Oh, god!” Belle gasped eagerly. Her hands ran through his hair, pulling him even closer to her. She smelled sweet and citrusy—like lemon and verbena body wash. She tasted like sex. Her moans filled his ears.

  “Oh,” she yelped as he found her clitoris. He flicked it with his tongue once, twice. He covered her with his mouth, reaching up at the same time to touch her skin and tease her breast. He lapped at her insides, his speed increased along with her happy moans until her hips bucked against his mouth and she came in a frenzied climax above him.

  Graham leaned back slightly, enjoying the expression of pure pleasure that he’d put on her face. His hands dropped slowly, trailing down along the length of her leg to grasp her left heel firmly. “Pull,” he ordered.

  “Huh?” Belle’s eyes flickered open, clearly confused. “What?”

  “You wanted help with your boots.” He nodded towards the leather that still encased her calves. “Pull.”

  Her hands left his head in order to settle on the counter. She lifted herself up slightly, tugging at her leg, and the boot came off. He repeated the process a second time, grinning as her blue jeans pooled on the ground, leaving her bare from the waist down except for the pinstriped panties that still clung low on her thighs. He eased the silky panties down to the ground, grinning when her legs quivered against his touch.

  “You’re still wearing too many clothes,” he told her.

  “Oh, yeah?” Belle raised one eyebrow. “You’re completely dressed.”

  He stood and tugged his t-shirt off over his head. “That can change.”

  * * *

  Belle had forgotten what good sex felt like. Leaning against the counter, she relaxed into the sensation, letting the orgasm’s fiery warmth seep into her bones.

  Damn, it felt nice.

  Graham reached out, grabbing the hem of her tank top and stripping it up over her head without waiting for permission. His callused fingers—rough against her skin and still moist from her natural lubricant—made her shudder.

  He didn’t need permission.

  Not the way he’d made her feel when she walked through the door: desirable and wanted, like some precious jewel he’d only just discovered. His gaze dipped slightly, and he devoured her hungrily with his eyes the same way he’d devoured her with his mouth only a few moments earlier. His breath caught in his throat. “Beautiful.”

  “Uh huh.” She didn’t mind the view herself.

  His face was colorful. The dark bruise had started to fade around his eyes, but the pale slash of greasepaint on his tanned cheek glowed in the trailer’s dim overhead light and made him look like some kind of antique rogue; a highwayman or a pirate
.

  His shoulders were broad, his chest was muscular and coated with pale blonde down. His body narrowed into lean hips and strong thighs. He was still half dressed in a pair of dark jeans and muddy work boots.

  She hopped up, so she was sitting bare assed on the kitchen counter, the chipped Formica cold against her thighs.

  Hooking her fingers into the waist of his pants, she drew him towards her. Every breath she took brought them closer together. He smelled like popcorn and ice cream, like the circus that was her home and her responsibility. His chest was hot against her body. She reached between them to undo the waist of his jeans and slide them down over his hips. His erection sprang out, hard and heavy in her hand. She wrapped her fingers along the length of him.

  Graham kissed her hard. One hand wrapped around her body, inching her upwards so he could settle in between her legs. His erection rubbed deep against her core.

  Pleasure rolled through her in waves, building up deep inside her as Graham kissed her harder. His other hand reached around her back, flicking open the catch of her bra, and her breasts tumbled out.

  “Absolutely beautiful,” he pulled the bra off, tossing it onto the ground. His mouth lowered to tease her breasts, rolling her rock hard nipple against the hard edge of his teeth.

  Belle groaned eagerly as he moved against her.

  This was it.

  Everything she’d ever wanted in a man and a few inches more.

  His silvery blue eyes had gone dark and stormy like the sea.

  “Graham,” she whimpered, her voice full of need as she remembered the way his breath had felt hot against her clitoris, the way his tongue had touched her core. “I want—” She gasped. “I need—”

  “I know what you need,” he said, his voice thrumming against her throat.

  He pressed two fingers into her and thrust them deep, catapulting her into another orgasm as she clawed at his bare back. Her body tensed and climaxed at his touch, and she moaned happily.

  Her teeth dug into her bottom lip. “I need—” she gasped against his mouth. “I need you inside of me.”