Chapter 38 Arabella
Arabella
Alyra: Arabella, I assume you’re out with Gideon, but if you could be a dear and slip away to meet me, I’d appreciate it. I have something important to tell you, and it cannot wait. It is a most distressing and scintillating piece of gossip, and I’m afraid my mind won’t be at ease until you know.
Beth: Celeste is waiting in the getaway car. I’m finishing up with a couple of clients and then I’ll be downstairs with your disguise. Be careful. We don’t know what a vampire like Gideon will do when he finds out you crossed him.
MY HEELS CLACK AGAINST HARDWOOD as I step onto the stage. A gleaming stainless steel pole stretches from the floor up into the fly tower and grid, secured at both ends. It calls me like a siren leading sailors to their ruin. I’ve certainly used a pole like this to lead men to ruin.
“What’s this doing here?” I ask, without looking back at Gideon.
“Oh, that old thing,” he says mildly, as if he didn’t order Sinead to have it installed in time for tonight. “It’s just lying around, waiting for a goddess to return.”
“You’d better hold this.” I hand him my drink.
As I do, I run the tip of my finger over his lips.
They part ever so slightly, and his cool breath touches the pad.
I love the way his lips feel, soft and cool.
His hand lingers on mine before he raises the glass to his lips and takes a long, luxurious drink, and it takes everything I have to hold his gaze, knowing what I intend to do to him.
This is the only way.
I’m supposed to be alone.
It’s no less than he deserves.
If only I could make myself believe that.
I pull away from him before those cobalt eyes change my mind. I sashay across the stage to the pole. I run my hands over the cool metal like I have so many times before. If tonight is all I have left of him, I intend to make it count.
My fingers go to the zipper of my dress. Slowly, revelling in every moan and whisper from Gideon behind me, I pull it down, sliding the dress from my shoulders and stepping out of the fabric. I’m not wearing a bra – only a golden G-string and my gold heels.
Every inch of my skin sings with the knowledge of what I’m doing to him. The song is both triumphant and mournful. Tonight could have been the start of something. Instead, it’s the end.
But Arabella Lestrange never leaves the stage until the final curtain falls.
My fingers slide down the cold metal. My muscles wake up and remember.
The music in my bones, in my skin and sinew, flares to life.
I fling myself into a dance, dipping and spinning, pulling my legs in so I spin faster.
There’s no music playing through the club’s speakers, but I don’t need it.
I dance to the song inside me – a song of love and loss and hope shattered and reborn – and the sharp intake of breath as Gideon watches.
I spin and dip and toss my head as I dance the story of us.
This isn’t like Beth’s pole studio – a series of movements designed to titillate. This time, I’m not back in Paris. I’m here, now, and every movement is for me. For him.
This is me dancing through the complicated feelings I have, using my body to figure out what my heart won’t resolve. I have to hurt Gideon tonight, and I don’t want to. But that’s only because I’ve been foolish. I’ve got too close. I’ve let him inside my heart again.
I dance to force him out. I dance to say goodbye.
My body says the things I can’t speak aloud.
I think I’m in love with you, but I’m afraid.
I’m going to hurt you, and I want you to push me away, and I want you to hold me close.
I climb to the top of the pole, spinning faster, faster, so fast the club is colour and light around me, an aurora with me at the centre – except for two pinpricks of cobalt light that never leave me.
All my life has been about proving that I don’t need anyone else. I’m alone, up here at the top of the world, but all I feel is the gaping chasm of space between me and the man sitting on a burgundy ottoman, his eyes following my every movement.
I never needed Gideon Blake to complete my life, and that’s why he’s special.
He’s the only person I’ve ever wanted.
And the wanting feels like weakness. Hating him is so much easier than admitting to myself that maybe I don’t want to be alone, that maybe his infuriating face wouldn’t be so terrible to wake up next to every evening.
The necklace swings out, the speed of my spin dragging the chain tight around my neck, reminding me of the weight of the collar I once wore.
I let go.
Gideon gasps as I drop right to the base of the pole.
For a flicker of time I’m falling, and he rushes the stage with his arms out as if he can catch me.
At the last moment, I catch myself, gracefully twisting off the pole and sliding across the floor, coming to a stop on my knees in front of him, palms upward. A goddess dethroned.
With a groan of desire, he sinks to his knees in front of me, one hand going to my cheek. His touch is poison and antidote.
“I thought you were falling,” he whispers, his voice choking.
“I was,” I whisper back.
I am.
His fingers dig into my cheek in a way that hurts so good. His other hand possessively grips the back of my neck as he brings me closer. His lips brush mine.
And then we’re kissing, and it’s raw and desperate and so, so hot. I’ve never kissed someone the way I kiss Gideon, as if I’m tasting salvation.
I’m still falling, my body collapsing like a dying star, ready to return to dust after aeons of burning bright. How does his touch feel like a return? Like coming home?
Gideon breaks our kiss, sitting back on his knees, his eyes sweeping over me. The fear in them has been replaced by hunger.
I’m not strong enough to push him away.
When he kisses me again, sweeping me into his arms and pushing me back against the pole, my heart leaps as though I’m dancing. He hears the same song I do – of love and loss and hope and redemption.
His hands leave my body to unknot his tie. He grins against my lips as he slides his fingers down the inside of my arm, wrapping them around my wrist and raising it above my head.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
He holds up the tie. “May I?”
“May you what?”
“Everything in your life is about being in control. It’s why you won’t admit what your friends mean to you, and why you refuse to acknowledge the real reason you agreed to direct the variety show. It’s why you keep pushing me away.”
It’s why I won’t ask you for the hard drive.
Gideon searches my face, waiting for me to deny it. I don’t. Vulnerability flickers in his eyes, and the edge of his mouth turns downward before being tugged into his easy, satisfied smirk. “I want to show you what happens when you let go.”
He doesn’t know that I’ve already let go, that something in his kiss has sent me over the edge and he’s the only one to catch my fall.
It’s always been him.
So I let him knot his tie around my hands and lift them over my head.
Usually, this sort of play is not something I enjoy.
I never let my clients or paramours leave me vulnerable – I learned that lesson at the hands of Lord Astor.
But I can’t refuse Gideon. I don’t want to refuse him.
The idea of making my body vulnerable to him is oddly appealing.
I’ve already opened my chest and laid my heart bare.
His face is close to mine as he works on the knot. Gideon Blake is no sailor, but he secures me tightly. I search his eyes for any sign that he guesses my intentions. They’re as clear and bright as ever.
Gideon gives the tie one last tug. Both my hands are secured above my head, pushing out my chest and making my breasts point up. I can feel my nipples hardening from the cool air and the heat of his gaze.
He cups my cheek, pulling my face to his to kiss me. His hands roam over my body, sliding over my skin, skimming my hardened nipples until I am bending my back to chase the thrill of his touch.
“How does it feel to be at my mercy for once?” Gideon’s breath is a whisper on my cheek. I open my mouth to answer, but then he kisses my skin so softly, so all that escapes is a quiet moan.
“That’s the right answer.” He steps back, admiring his work.
I’m aware of how obscene I appear – tied with my hands above my head, breasts thrust forward, legs spread wide, wearing only my G-string, heels, and a dagger at my throat.
Every atom of me is alight. The air between us hums with the ghosts of my dance.
“What do you plan on doing with me, Gideon?” I ask, my voice coming out husky, betraying how much I’m enjoying this.
He smiles, taking a step back off the stage and running his hand along the edge. “Remember when I said I made some improvements to La Petite Mort?”
He pushes a hidden spring. A small compartment opens in the stage, the lid facing me so I can’t see inside. Gideon rifles around and grabs something, hiding it behind his back as he kicks the lid closed.
“In the hundred and fifty years since La Petite Mort, very little has changed. Upyr crave only three things in their immortal lives – power, profit, and pleasure. Like you, I aim to facilitate all three. But one thing has changed – sex toys are really fucking brilliant now.”
“You keep a cache of sex toys in a hole in the stage? For anyone to use? Is that hygienic?”
“Sinead and her team clean and replace them after every party,” he says casually.
Cool air caresses my body as he stalks towards me, wearing a suit so sharp it wouldn’t be allowed on an airship, his hands hiding some secret object behind his back.
I’m nearly completely naked while the only thing he’s taken off is his tie, and that has me off balance.
But every minute that I enjoy his game is a minute closer to getting that hard drive.
“I’m sure Sinead loves that part of her job.”