Sinful Desires: Vol. IV

by M. S. Parker

  After the introductory letter were several other papers that appeared, at first glance, to be forms I needed to fill out. I didn't look closer at them, however, because at that moment I heard something, a noise from the kitchen. I stiffened, then remembered that Julien had stayed the night on the couch. Unless Rosa had decided to come home early from visiting her mother, it was him. I heard a man's voice utter a low oath and I smiled. Julien.

  I climbed out of bed and headed into the bathroom. I wasn't going to primp, but I also wanted to at least run a brush through my hair and get rid of my morning breath. My stomach rumbled as wonderful smells wafting down the hallway. Julien must be making us breakfast; it smelled like bacon and eggs. But I knew that couldn't be the case. I couldn't remember the last time I'd had enough money for bacon. Toast was the usual go-to for breakfast on the rare occasion either of us ate it.

  My stomach growled again. Apparently I was hungrier than I'd thought. The previous night's insanity must've taken its toll. I finished washing my face, pulled my hair back into a lopsided ponytail and headed out of my room and to the kitchen.

  “Hey,” Julien said as I came out of the hallway. He was sucking on the side of his finger like he'd burnt it. “I was craving bacon and eggs so I went out and got some. Hope you don't mind.”

  I shook my head, appreciating the fact that he wasn't pointing out what was missing in my kitchen. I'd spent basically my entire food budget on the previous night's dinner.

  I frowned as I thought of it. Such a waste.

  “So…” Julien's tone told me he was going to ask something of a slightly personal nature. “What was in the envelope?”

  My head jerked up. That hadn't been what I'd expected. I'd been thinking more along the lines of wanting to know how I was doing or something like that.

  “If you don't want to tell me,” he hurriedly added.

  “No, it's okay,” I assured him. “I was just surprised you'd noticed it, that's all.”

  He shrugged as he scraped the scrambled eggs onto two plates. “It wasn't there when we were eating, but it was when we were cleaning up. Doesn't take a genius to figure out Reed brought it for you.” He glanced at me and then scowled down at the bacon. “Is he trying to buy you off?”

  I took a deep breath, wondering if I should share Reed’s offer or not. I shook my head. “Not exactly. It's a chance to get into Madam Emilana's Dance School.”

  Julien brought the plates over to the table while I carried two glasses of water. Other than what was left of last night's wine, water was all we had to drink. He didn't complain though and we ate in companionable silence for several minutes. The food settled well and Julien was a much better cook than I would've thought a rich kid would be, especially after I remembered how Brock had joked on our first date about barely knowing how to shop for himself.

  “Can I ask you something?” Julien broke the silence. “And please feel free to tell me to go to hell if I'm out of line.”

  After everything he'd heard last night, I wasn't entirely sure what was left for him to ask. I nodded. “I'll do that.”

  “Did you and Reed date when you were at St. George's?”

  I nearly choked on my bacon. “You think Reed Stirling would've dated me? A scholarship kid from the wrong side of the tracks?” I laughed.

  Julien's expression remained serious. “I think I saw something between the two of you last night that said you have a history.” He leaned back in his chair and raised his hands. “Like I said, tell me to go to hell if I'm out of line.”

  I was quiet for a moment, debating whether or not I wanted to talk about what had happened. Anastascia was the only other person who knew about Reed, but after last night, she was back to not knowing the whole story. Julien knew the end. The question I had to ask myself was if I wanted to tell him the beginning.

  I decided on a compromise. “Reed and I never dated, but we hooked up twice.” I looked down at what was left of my scrambled eggs. “I'm the one who ended it.”

  “And he never got over that.”

  I shrugged. I wasn't going to out-and-out lie, but if Julien wanted to infer that this hook-up had taken place years ago, I wasn't going to correct him either.

  “Did Brock know about it?”

  “Not exactly,” I said. “He knew there was something there, kind of like you did.”

  Julien hesitated; like there was a question he wasn't sure he should ask.

  “Go ahead,” I prompted him. “I won't answer if it bugs me.”

  “Did he really offer you ten thousand dollars to go to Reed's wedding with him?”

  I pressed my lips together as heat rose in my cheeks. I briefly considered not telling him or lying. In the end, I settled for another half-truth. “He paid for my plane ticket, hotel room and dress. The note said he'd give me ten thousand dollars, but I assumed he was joking. Since he never gave it to me, I figured that was the case.”

  I wondered if Julien could tell I wasn't being entirely honest. If he could, he didn't say anything. He ate the last of the bacon off of his plate and then stood. “So what are you going to do?”

  I blinked. “About what?”

  He picked up my plate and flashed a grin at me. “About the dance grant. I'm guessing since you aren't walking around all smiles, you're still deciding if you should accept it or not.”

  My eyebrows went up. “You're way more observant than I gave you credit for.”

  His smile widened as he carried our plates to the sink. “That's the advantage to having a reputation like mine. Most people assume I'm a screw-up, and therefore stupid.”

  “I never thought that,” I countered as I joined him at the sink.

  “I'll wash, you dry,” he offered. When I gave him a surprised look, he laughed. “Worked my way across Europe, remember?”

  I nodded and pulled the dish soap from under the sink.

  “Anyway,” he continued. “The dance studio, that's back in Philadelphia, isn't it?”

  I sighed. “It is.”

  “And the way you were talking before, it sounded like you hadn't really wanted to go back.”

  I shook my head. He really was observant.

  “Is the grant something you want?”

  I considered the question before answering right away. I was younger than Julien, but I wasn't a kid anymore. If I had dreams, they couldn't be the fantasies of a child. I knew I loved to dance, but did I really want to go to school for it? I was twenty-three, and for a dancer, that was almost too old for where I was. If I didn't take this now, I wouldn't have another chance. There was no probably or maybe about it. This was it.

  “I want it,” I admitted and my heart squeezed at the possibility. “All I've ever wanted to be is a dancer.” I looked around the apartment. “And this isn't what I had in mind.”

  If I took the offer, I could leave this place, quit my job. I wouldn't have to strip anymore. Granted, it meant I was going back to a place with a lot of painful memories and I'd have to find a new job there, but I'd be pursuing my passion and not taking off my clothes for creepy old guys and leering twenty-somethings.

  “Look, I know this whole thing isn't any of my business,” Julien said as he handed me a plate to dry. “But based on everything you've told me, and knowing there's a lot you haven't, you've been through a hell of a lot.”

  I couldn't really disagree with that. True, there were a lot of people who'd had a rougher life than me, but it didn't mean mine wasn't hard, just that theirs was worse.

  “The way I see it,” he reasoned. “You deserve to have something go right for once.”

  I exhaled, and then breathed that thought back in. Maybe he was right, I thought as I put the dishes away. It wasn't like I'd asked Reed to do this for me, and he'd said it was an apology. That didn't sound like it came with any strings attached except possible forgiveness. And this wasn't like Brock's offer of money, which would've helped me of course; but it wouldn't have changed anything, not really. And it definitely wasn't like Reed's off
er to keep me in Vegas as his mistress. This was an opportunity to change things, to move forward with my life.

  Julien leaned back against the sink and glanced at his watch. “Well, my plane leaves soon, so I need to go get my stuff.” He straightened, his expression sobering. “Are you going to be okay?”

  I nodded. “I will. And thank you for being here. I don't know if I would've been okay yesterday without you.”

  “You have a pen?”

  I looked at him, puzzled, but pointed toward the refrigerator where Rosa and I had a pen with a magnet so we could write things we needed on a notepad. Julien scrawled something on a piece of paper, tore it off and handed it to me.

  “My number,” he explained. “Call me when you make a decision or if you just need to talk.”

  I waited for the inevitable addition, wondering if it would be a “look me up if you're back in Philly” or “I'll hit you up the next time I'm in Vegas,” but it never came. He put his hand on my shoulder and squeezed, but the touch was as platonic as it got. “Hopefully I'll see you back home.” He smiled at me. “You deserve it.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “And I will... call you, I mean.”

  I kept looking at the door even after it closed. I hadn't just been polite, I realized. I really was thinking about calling Julien if I went back to the city. I'd enjoyed the time we'd spent together over the week. Well, the moments Brock hadn't been ruining by being an ass. And then there was the way he'd behaved through this whole shitstorm. He'd defended me more than once to Brock, ending with a punch, and then he'd held me while I'd cried without trying to take advantage of the situation.

  I hadn't truly realized how rare something like that was in a man until yesterday.

  As much as I'd been grateful for his help, comfort and advice, I wasn't about to trust a huge decision to a ten-minute conversation with someone who was practically a stranger. I needed a second opinion – well, third if mine counted as the first – and there was only one person who I could trust to be completely honest.

  Besides, she deserved to know that she'd been right about Brock, no matter how much I hated to have to go through it all again.

  It was close to nine, which meant Anastascia would be at the gym, so I finished cleaning up and even took out the trash. I didn't want to have a single thing in my apartment that reminded me about this disastrous week. By the time I finished cleaning and took a shower, it was close to noon and I knew Anastascia would be home again.

  She answered almost immediately. “What'd he do?”

  “What?” I was so startled I didn't even think to just answer her question.

  “You already told me some of the shit that boy was up to. Now, if he was as good as you said he was, you'd still be snuggling with him in bed instead of calling me.”

  “Damn.” I flopped back on my bed. “You're good.”

  “I know,” she said. “Now, spill.”

  Spill I did. I picked up from the last time she and I had talked and told her everything that had happened, the good and the bad. When I got to the part where Brock confessed what he'd done and tried to do at the bachelor party, she started cursing so loudly that I had to hold my phone away from my ear. The language turned into the many painful ways she wished to torture and kill him, not the least of which involved stripping him naked and tying him outside during the coldest night in winter and letting bits of him freeze off.

  When she finally ran out of horrible things to say about Brock, she said something that nearly rendered me speechless.

  “I'm so sorry, Piper.”

  “For what? You warned me about him,” I said when I found my voice.

  “If I'd known he'd try something like that, I wouldn't have let up until you dumped him.”

  “You know me,” I said. “It wouldn't have done any good. I would've kept it up, just to prove you wrong.”

  “True,” she admitted.

  “And before you start in on Brock again, there's more.”

  “You're joking.”

  “Oh, no. That was just the start of my crazy night.”

  By the time I was done, Anastascia was unusually quiet. I waited for a few minutes, and then couldn't take it anymore.

  “So?”

  “So what?”

  I scowled at the phone. “So what am I supposed to do?”

  “Shh,” Anastascia shushed me. “I'm trying to figure out if I should redecorate the guest room. You like taupe, right?”

  Chapter 3

  Anastascia did indeed redecorate her guest room, but she'd decided on a dusky rose color instead of taupe. She'd said I should help choose since I was going to be her roommate, but I'd insisted that the arrangements were just temporary and that she do it herself while I was tying things up in Vegas. She'd pressed the issue until I told her that if I was going to move back and try this whole dance thing, I wanted to make a completely fresh start, including living on my own. It was just something I had to do. After that, she'd moved on to other topics related to my arrival.

  It had taken a couple weeks for me to get things in order since I hadn't wanted to leave Rosa in the lurch. I didn't care quite so much about a two-week notice at The Diamond Club, but since I'd been waiting for Rosa to find a new roommate, I picked up as many extra shifts as possible so I'd have at least some money while I looked for a job in Philly. The kind of jobs a high school graduate with experience stripping and waiting tables could get weren't exactly the kind you could find online and send in a resumé for. Anastascia loaned me the money for my ticket, but I hadn't wanted to borrow any more off of her while I was waiting to get a job.

  I arrived in Philadelphia on a Friday evening in mid-August and spent the weekend walking the streets and putting in applications despite Anastascia telling me to take it easy for at least a couple days since I started classes on Monday. The only concession I made was to come back early so we could have dinner together.

  Now it was Monday morning and I was standing outside a small studio only a few blocks away from Anastascia's place. That had been another reason I hadn't argued too much about staying in her guest room until I found a place of my own. If I could get a job nearby, it would be perfect. There were plenty of cheaper apartments in Fishtown that, eventually, I'd be able to afford.

  That was for later though. Right now, I needed to focus on dance. Technically, I wasn't starting a class today. I was observing three different level classes and then would be tested to see where I fit. If they wanted to, they could say that I didn't qualify at all, but I had enough faith in myself that I'd, at the very least, get in on the bottom level.

  Concentration was the key.

  As I entered the studio, I found myself in a tastefully decorated space. It was clearly the work of an interior designer and the budget had been vast, but it wasn't ostentatious. I introduced myself to the woman at the desk, endured her disapproving glare as she looked at my obviously worn clothes. Moments later, I let myself enjoy the way she pursed her lips when she had to wave me back toward the changing room.

  As I walked into the changing room, I once again found myself wondering how Reed had managed to pull this off. This wasn't the kind of studio that everyone in Philadelphia knew of, because Madam Emilana was extremely particular about the students she accepted and she didn't advertise. There always had to be some sort of personal connection, a referral. Had he donated funds to the school on top of establishing the grant that would pay my tuition? Or was she one of his business contacts, the kind of high society person whose favor-for-favor exchange was generally in the hundred thousands to millions?

  I pushed the thoughts out of my mind as I headed into the main studio area. The biggest downside to coming back here, I'd discovered, had been my thoughts constantly going to Reed. I told myself the reason was that I hadn't thanked him for the gift because that meant having to address what had happened the last time we'd seen each other.

  I'd been wrong that night, and I knew it. This whole thing with Reed and Britni was a mess,
but no matter how I felt about that, I knew, deep down, that Reed would never let any woman be taken advantage of. If he'd known what Brock had done, he wouldn't have let it go. Accusing him of not only being culpable, but also wanting to participate had been out of line.

  I just didn't know how to tell him all of that.

  “You must be Miss Black.”

  A woman's sharp voice brought me back to myself. She was tall and slender, but muscled. With a graceful neck and perfect posture, I knew instantly she'd been a ballerina.

  “I’m Janine Weathers, Madam Emilana's assistant.” She smoothed down her already-perfect bun. “I teach the remedial and intermediate levels. Madam Emilana teaches the advanced class as well as private sessions for those students who she believes have the talent to go further.”

  I nodded. That was my goal then. Private lessons.

  “Today, you will sit in on both of my classes and then in Madam Emilana's. Once those are completed, you will perform in front of us. We alone will determine your placement.” She glowered down at me. “Any questions?”

  “Is there anything you want me to do with the classes?”

  A muscle in her jaw clenched. “That won't be necessary. The point of you sitting in the classes today is so that when you place lower than you believe you should be, you'll have a reference point to see what we expect.”

  I stared at her as she started toward the front of the studio.

  “Don't mind her.”

  I looked over as a girl in her mid-teens grinned at me. “Miss Janine is like that with everyone. She says it's a way to weed out the weak; that if you can't handle her being harsh privately, then you'll never make it out there.”

  I smiled at the girl and headed for the bench against the sidewall while she went to the rail to stretch out. While I still wasn't fond of the attitude, I understood it now and could appreciate the sentiment behind it. Miss Janine was right about how hard it was out there. The competition for this particular field was intense. I didn't know what the specific stats were, but I did know that the number of girls who made it was well below half.