Dance: The Collected Series

by Charlotte Eve

  Luckily just then one of the waitresses ushers us to a table, asking if she could fetch us some drinks.

  “Champagne, ladies?” Marcus grins, flashing a perfect set of gleaming white teeth at us.

  “Why, I don’t mind if we do!” says Nat in a pretend upper-class accent, giving me a playful wink.

  And as Marcus quizzes our server on their selection of champagnes, Nat leans into me and whispers, “So? What do you think? He’s gorgeous, isn’t he?”

  “He sure is a looker,” I reply, glad she’s not actually asked me if I like him (or any other question where I’d have to just downright lie).

  “So Marcus,” I say, once the server has headed off to fetch our drinks, “what do you do for a living?”

  “Oh, you know,” he replies. “The usual. Property management. It’s all very dull.”

  But dull or not, he still decides to launch into the hugest monologue about his job, one that shows no signs of stopping after a full five minutes.

  Nat and I try to listen politely, while he rattles on and on – about the ‘burgeoning markets in Asia,’ and the many latest, lucrative investments he’s made. I dart occasional glances across at her as he talks, and I can tell she’s heard it all before. She’s practically yawning with boredom by now, but Marcus still hasn’t noticed.

  Thank god that Dylan is well brought up and always seems to know when to stop, I think to myself. Actually he never really talks about himself. He’s always more interested in the people he’s with – in asking them questions and finding out about them.

  No shit, Marcus just talks about himself for a full thirty minutes, only stopping when the waitress comes back and asks if we would like any more drinks.

  “Sure! Bring out another bottle,” he announces without even consulting us.

  And as the poor waitress walks back to the bar to fix our order, I notice that his eyes are firmly trained on her ass. It’s so obvious he’s mentally undressing her, and I can just tell that Nat’s noticed, too.

  Is this really what you’ve decided to put up with, Nat? I think sadly.

  §

  After a few more drinks, Marcus and Nat clearly only have eyes for each other. They obviously want some alone time now, and hey, I’m more than happy to leave them to it.

  In my Uber on the way back to the apartment, I take out my cell and hold it in my lap, debating whether or not to call Dylan. I do the math and work out that it’s five a.m. right now in London. Sure he’s an early riser, but is he really going to be awake this early?

  In the end I decide to send him a text: Hey, you awake?

  And to my surprise, I get an immediate reply back – Sure am – so I hit call.

  “Hello,” he murmurs, still kind of sleepy sounding, and I can’t help but think of him, warm and naked in the sheets. “I’m glad you called.”

  “Hi,” I reply, grinning for a moment, before I remember the whole reason for my call in the first place. “Dylan,” I say urgently. “It’s a long shot, but do you know anything about a businessman called Marcus Anderson?”

  “Wait,” he replies. “Did you say Marcus Anderson? That name does ring a bell. But I’m not quite sure why. How come? Is everything okay, baby?”

  “Everything’s fine,” I reassure him. “I’ve just been asked to check up on him, on behalf of a friend. You know, girl code?”

  “Oh, okay,” he laughs. “Girl code! In that case, I’ll ask around, see what I can find out.”

  “Thank you,” I say. “You sound like you’ve just woken up. Are you in bed, missing me?”

  “I’ve actually just finished at the gym,” he says.

  “Oh, so you’re all sweaty and hot?” I tease, unable to help myself.

  “Why?” he replies, quick as a flash. “Does that turn you on?”

  “You know it does,” I laugh back.

  “What else turns you on?” he growls.

  Suddenly the air feels charged with electricity, as I realize what’s happening. I shoot a quick nervous glance at my driver; but he seems busy navigating the downtown traffic. Even so, I lower my voice to nothing more than a whisper as I reply.

  “Dylan, I’m in a cab. Can this wait five minutes till I get back to the apartment?”

  “No, Jules,” he replies, his voice low and commanding, sending an electric thrill through me. “I don’t think it can wait. You know what I’d do? If I was in that cab with you?”

  “What?” I whisper, feeling my whole body poised now, tuning in to his low, resonant voice, as intimate as if he was right here in this cab with me, whispering into ear.

  “Well, first of all, I’d kiss your neck,” he begins, and it’s the strangest thing. Because all of a sudden I can actually feel the sensitive skin of my neck tingling with anticipation, can almost feel the soft sensuous touch of his full lips against my skin. “Then I’d tear your fucking blouse right open.”

  I shiver, feeling as raw and exposed as if he’d actually done it.

  “Then I’d suck on your nipples, teasing them with my tongue and teeth until they were good and hard for me,” he growls, and sure enough I can feel my nipples stiffening and tightening as I imagine him sucking them between his lips and lapping at them with his tongue.

  “What else?” I whisper, my voice trembling and my clit beginning to softly throb.

  “Next I’d tell you to slip your hand between your legs and touch your cunt. Because I want to know just how fucking wet I’m making you right now.”

  There’s a pause, my whole body charged with electricity, trembling in anticipation.

  Am I really gonna do this?

  I shoot another glance at the driver.

  And then Dylan speaks again.

  “I said, put your hand between your legs,” and this time it’s not a suggestion, it’s a goddamn command.

  I dart another nervous glance at the driver, then shift a little in my seat, closing my eyes and spreading my thighs, just wide enough to slip my fingers between them. I touch myself, first through the flimsy silk of my thong, and then a moment later I push my panties aside, my fingertips brushing against the swollen lips of my pussy, so slick and hot that I have to stifle a moan, biting my lip, as I realize he’s got me so fucking wet already.

  “So?” he growls. “Are you touching yourself?”

  “Uh-huh,” I murmur, my voice just trembling breath, my fingers tracing upwards, teasing my throbbing aching clit, circling it slowly with my fingertips, the pleasure building in my body with each fresh movement.

  “And are you wet for me?”

  “Y-yes,” I moan, quickly sucking my bottom lip into my mouth to stifle another moan as I feel my orgasm building powerfully now.

  I shift a little in my seat, trying to keep out of view of the driver, pretending I’m just having a regular phone call, my cell pressed hard against my ear, my knees pressed together to hide the fact that I’m playing with myself.

  “That’s it, baby,” he growls, his voice low, and I close my eyes, pretending he was right here in this cab next to me, “I want to hear you as you come for me.”

  “Oh, Dylan, I’m so close,” I whisper in reply, my voice shaking, my fingers toying with my clit, faster and faster, my pussy throbbing and aching for him.

  “Good,” he whispers. “Because you know what? So am I. You’re getting my dick so fucking hard right now, baby. I just wish I could fuck you. I just wish I could fuck that tight wet pussy of yours.”

  With a muffled gasp I come, crushing my hand tight between my thighs, my eyes closed, my head full of Dylan, my body bucking, my mind flashing with pleasure.

  And I’m still trembling and returning to my senses when I realize that the driver is saying something to me and the car is no longer even moving.

  Wait ... what?

  I open my eyes and quickly pull my hand from between my legs, smoothing down my skirt, hoping to God he didn’t notice what I’d just been doing.

  But by the way he’s grinning at me right now, I’m guessi
ng perhaps I haven’t been quite so subtle after all.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  This afternoon I’m meeting Gloria at a fancy hotel for ‘afternoon tea’. It was her invitation and I’m really, really excited to sit down with her on my own, just the two of us. I feel like we’ve been getting on well so far, but at the same time it’s always only been little snatched bits of conversation, so I’m looking forward to our first real bonding session.

  She’s always so glamorous, so I’ve decided to really dress up for the occasion, too.

  I’m wearing my favorite navy blue Ralph Lauren trouser suit with an ivory colored blouse. I can’t help it; even as I was getting dressed, I guess I was choosing the kind of outfit I hoped my brand new mother-in-law-to-be might like to see me in.

  I just want to stop for a second and consider how crazy it is that I now have a ‘favorite’ Ralph Lauren suit. I just never thought I’d be that kinda girl. And truth be told, I always looked down on people with fancy clothes – not out of jealousy, just because I didn’t really know them. I thought you must have nothing in your life if you had to over-compensate with money .

  But I know better now. Don’t get me wrong; I’m glad I wasn’t handed everything on a plate from the moment I was born. I’m glad I know the meaning of hard work. And I’m glad I know not to look down on people, just because they’re poor.

  I feel like I’m growing so fast; learning so much about people, and about myself. It’s exciting. And the next exciting step in my life is this: becoming part of a whole brand new family!

  By the time I reach the steps to the hotel, I’m nervous as hell – my palms clammy and my heart booming – but I try and take a few deep breaths and remind myself that this is Dylan’s mom for heaven’s sake, not some scary job interview!

  Just relax and enjoy yourself, Julia.

  And with that little pep talk to myself over, I’m feeling a touch more confident as I head inside, scanning the large plush room before spotting Gloria at a little two-seater table over towards the far wall. She stands and waves when she sees me, and I feel all my remaining nerves dissolving.

  See?

  This is totally fine!

  Nothing at all to worry about,

  “Tea?” Gloria asks once I’m sitting down opposite her, gesturing to the beautifully ornate china teapot and cups that look like something from a picture book.

  “Thank you, that would be lovely,” I reply, watching with a polite smile as she pours me a cup of Earl Grey. “You know, just a few months ago, I’d never even tried tea. But since I’ve been visiting Dylan in London ...”

  She smiles and nods, and I have to admire all over again how damn good she looks for her age.

  “He’s doing rather well out there, isn’t he?” she says with a small smile.

  “He sure is!” I reply, glad that we’ve quickly settled on a topic that we can both talk about happily and confidently: Dylan. “The business is expanding well, and from what I understand he should be finished in Europe before the end of the year.”

  “Very good,” Gloria nods to herself.

  “Ooh, and this is exciting too,” I continue, my words tumbling from my lips in a crazy rush, “the next time I’m in London, Dylan wants us to start shopping for his wedding suit. The finest tailors are in Jermyn Street in London, apparently, and he wants to get the perfect cut and ...”

  But all of a sudden, Gloria raises up her hand to silence me, her eyes narrowing a little, and I obediently fall quiet, wondering if I’ve somehow accidentally done or said something wrong.

  “Actually, Julia, that’s what I brought you here to discuss,” she says, pausing to take a sip of her tea.

  “I, uh, don’t understand,” I reply, still totally puzzled.

  But what she says next makes things totally fucking crystal.

  “I want you to reconsider marrying my son,” she states, as calm and cool as if she were offering me a slice of cake.

  The words are like a punch to the chest. I almost can’t believe what I’m hearing.

  What the fuck?

  I’m such a fool.

  Here was me thinking we’d been getting on well.

  What a total fucking idiot I am.

  Gloria’s face grows a little more sympathetic, as she adds with a sigh, “Julia, believe me, this isn’t an easy thing for me to say. I do hope you appreciate that. I’ve actually grown rather fond of you, we all have, and I want you to know that I do appreciate everything you’ve done for my son. As a mother, I was beginning to worry that he was never going to settle down, that he was going to stay an embarrassment to the Campbell name forever. However in the past few months he’s been with you, he’s definitely grown and matured as a person.”

  But then she sighs again and shakes her head, as if the very words she’s about to speak are paining her deeply.

  “You’ve been very good to my son, Julia, but when it comes to marrying into the Campbell family, I’m sure you’ll understand that we all have very specific ideas about the kind of girl we intend Dylan to marry.”

  She pauses, as if she’s actually waiting for me to agree with her.

  But I just stare at her, struck dumb, my head reeling, unable to believe what I’m even fucking hearing.

  I’m too shocked to even say anything.

  Right now, all I can do is listen in horror.

  “My dear,” she continues calmly, “I hope you understand that we only have Dylan’s best interests at heart in all this. And I’m sure you do, too. You see, Dylan has certain obligations and expectations, and one of them is to the Campbell name. It’s extremely important that Dylan marries with a view to promoting the best interests of the family name. And a mere ‘love match’ is simply not a possibility for someone in Dylan’s position.”

  Again she pauses, this time to take a totally calm sip of her tea, as if we were just discussing the weather or something, even taking a moment to smile and nod at a passing acquaintance before turning her eyes back to me.

  This has got to be a bad dream.

  Any moment, I’m going to wake up, right?

  “He’s not free to marry whomever he chooses,” she states, just to drive her message home. “And if I have done anything to give Dylan that opinion, to lead him to give you false hope, then I can only apologize. This is dreadfully embarrassing for all of us, I hope you can understand that. And so it is in everyone’s best interests that we resolve this matter as quickly and quietly as possible. After all, the announcement hasn’t gone into the New York Times yet, nothing’s been booked, and if this finishes now, it can be done with as little pain as possible, and believe me, I don’t want to cause anyone any more pain that we’ve all been through these past few weeks.”

  She pauses to take a deep breath, then fixes me with an icy stare, lacing her thin fingers together and leaning in a little.

  “To compensate you for your trouble, I would like to offer you something for your inconvenience. I am aware that during your time with Dylan, you have come to expect a certain quality of lifestyle, and in order to allow you to keep up with that, I propose that something in the region of one million dollars should suffice?”

  I’m still struck dumb with shock, watching as she actually reaches down to her purse and starts taking out a check book.

  “Woah, stop right there,” I say, as I finally snap back to my senses, my voice shaking with barely contained rage and hurt. “Just because I’ve listened to you in silence, Gloria, doesn’t mean I agree with what you’re proposing. I’m not a thing. You can’t just buy me.”

  “Oh yes?” she shoots back, her eyes suddenly flashing with venom. “Then perhaps I’ve misunderstood the terms of your contract with my son?”

  “What exactly are you suggesting?” I say.

  “Why, I’m not insinuating anything, my dear. I’m merely stating the truth. I’m quite aware of the terms of my son’s contract with you. And if you must know, you’re not even the first floozy he’s picked up in this manner.”r />
  I have to hold myself back from throwing my fucking tea right in her face. Instead, as calmly as I can, I push myself to my feet and straighten my trouser suit.

  “Whatever you think is going on between Dylan and me, you can’t buy me!” I say.

  And then I turn and stride out of the hotel, just about managing to fight back the floods of tears that are threatening to ruin my makeup until I reach the sidewalk, before crumpling in a heap, her cruel words still echoing around my head as I give in, sobbing my damn eyes out, my whole fucking world turned upside down.

  PART THREE

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The phone rings and rings and rings. At first I’m confused. I thought I’d turned it off days ago. Then I realize it’s not my cell. It’s the landline. I’d totally forgotten there even was a landline here. With a weary groan, I push myself out of bed, then stumble over to the phone, half planning to just pick it up and slam it down again to silence it. But instead, for some reason, I put the receiver against my ear.

  “Hello?” I croak.

  “Julia,” comes the stern voice of Madame Lyon in reply. “Where on Earth have you been?”

  “Madame Lyon?” I reply confused. “Wait, how did you get this number?”

  “From the school,” she snaps back. “It’s listed as your emergency contact number. And a damn good thing, too, because I’ve been trying your cellphone for days. So? Where the hell have you been? Why weren’t you at class all week?”

  “I’m so sorry,” I sigh. “I’ve been sick, really sick. I’ve been laid up in bed for days.”

  At least half of that is true.

  “Is it anything serious?” demands Madame Lyon.

  “Not really,” I say. “It’s just a bad head cold.”

  “So, I shall be seeing you in school for the auditions tomorrow then?”

  When I hear the word, my heart skips a beat.