This is the only way.
I’msupposedto 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 andremember.
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. Forhim.
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 everwanted.
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.
Iam.
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.
