If he’s staring, says the vengeful voice inside my head,give him something to bite down on.
Isis is right. My plot to destroy Gideon using the tools at my disposalisfun. By the end of tonight, he will be at my mercy.
Then I can start figuring out how to take Sanctus from him.
I begin the choreography again, this time adding even more of my flair. The music hums in my veins. I roll my body and pretend to lick the pole. Gideon shifts uncomfortably. Triumph surges through me.
Even after one hundred and fifty years, I can still bring him to his knees.
I climb, gripping with my knees. I arch my back. I hang and twirl and flip to the floor.
I look around. Isis has fallen over. Mina has managed to climb halfway up her pole and is now stuck. Maisie’s legs go in oppositedirections, and she yelps in pain as she accidentally does a perfect middle split. Winnie isn’t dancing. She slumps against the base of her pole, watching me through a curtain of golden hair.
While Beth is distracted by their nonsense, I sashay over to Gideon. My skin prickles, aware that I’m dressed in skin-tight workout clothes and spiked heels while he’s in a full suit. But I’m the one who has the power.
“Gideon, what a surprise to see you here.” I toss my head. If I still had hair, I’d have flipped it.
“I’m supporting this local fitness initiative,” he says with a perfectly straight face. His eyes never leave mine, but I can tell it’s taking every ounce of self-control he has not to look down at my body.
I want to strangle him. I want to dunk his head into Beth’s mushroom juice until he stops wriggling. I want him to suffer. I want him tobeg.
He will beg. I have to be patient. I have to stop being distracted by those peacock-blue eyes.
“How very community-spirited of you.” I brush an invisible bit of dust from my top, trying to get his gaze to drop. “Be careful. You don’t want to strain something.”
His eyes follow my fingers. He lets out a low groan.
Got you.
I turn on my heel, accidentally-on-purpose rubbing my derrière against his crotch before sashaying back to help Dora untangle herself from her pole.
“Alright, dancers.” Beth claps her hands. “You’ve had time to practise. Let’s come together for a group performance.”
Komal groans as she picks herself off the floor. Dora looks utterly terrified as she lines up behind her pole. I cast my eyes out to the small audience. Everyone is clapping and cheering, except for Mike, whose face has become a black storm cloud.
My eyes meet Gideon’s, and suddenly, I’m not in the studio any longer. I’m back in Paris, the oil lamps burning low as sultry music wafts overhead, and although we have a full house, I’m dancing for one person only…
Beth starts the track. The bass line pounds in my chest.
“Three, two, one…” Beth counts us in, and I throw my head back and spin.
My eyes flick away, then meet his again as I complete the spin. I throw myself around the pole. The music hums through me, waking up long-slumbering bones.
A body roll. I break from Beth’s choreography to freestyle, spinning and flipping, climbing and twisting my body. My skin burns where it grips the pole, but it’s a good kind of burn. I drop to the floor in the splits, eliciting a gasp from the audience. Gideon’s eyes never leave my face as I crawl across the floor, raising my fingers to beg for him. He bites his lip.
I run my hands over my body, arching my back, telling a story with my movements – a story that Gideon will recognise. Cool nights walking the streets of Paris with him, a secret garden, a salacious painting, a night that I told him meant nothing but that is etched permanently on my bones.
A betrayal.
Aburning.
The music finishes. The whole room falls silent. I can feel every eye in the place on me, but there’s only one pair I can see.
I’m dancing for him.
What am Idoing?
9
