Love Beat (3 page)

I trail off under his steady gaze as he takes two jagged pieces of card out of his pocket and spreads them out on the low table between us.

I stiffen.
My training schedule
… An hour ago I hurled it into the wastepaper basket. How has he found it so fast? Does he have spies everywhere?

“I gather you plan to skip the training. Can I ask why?”

“Is it urgent, then?”

“It’s part of your contract. Nera needs returns quickly. The sessions are individually tailored and she has to finalize dungeon bookings by the end of the day.”

My insides shrink. “I thought it was just for fun. Do I have to?”

He frowns—a sulky angel cheated of a soul. “You’re down for sessions with the Panther, our guest celebrity Dom. We’re lucky to get him. We thought you’d be pleased.”

My face starts to burn.

His flickers with irritation. “Setting aside the insult to his reputation and your ill-concealed contempt for our hospitality, I have to ask myself just how committed you are to this project.”

I open my mouth to protest but he cuts me short. “Would you sooner leave?”

My stomach clenches. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d sooner not do it with the Panther.” That’s putting it mildly. And I wish he’d stop looking at me like that.

This is complicated.

I crave this. I even
dream
about it. I should be thrilled. But somehow, faced with the reality of it, I’m terrified. Submission? Bullwhips? I should run a mile. So would anyone normal.

I make words flow for my living. I can talk without drawing breath on pretty well any topic you care to name in front of millions of people. Now no words come.

I try again. “I know it’s only fun, a form of sex play.”

His lips twitch.

I go on quickly, my words spilling out in a rush. “But to me it feels more important than that. And… Well—
private.
This all seems so…flippant.”

He looks interested. “That’s very touching.” His low murmur flows over me like velvet. “I think so too. So that’s easy. You can switch to Nera. She’s good with vanillas. You’ll be in safe hands with her.”

I avoid his eye and carefully smooth the hem of my skirt where it skims my knee.

“What?”

“It’s just… I’d sooner it was with a man.”

He shrugs, unconcerned. “Most practitioners are female nowadays.”

I frown as something snags in my brain. What did he mean—
he thinks so too
? Does
he
do this?

Somebody once said to me that it’s easy to be a TV presenter. You just open your mouth and words come out.

Gee, thanks, Dad
. But I know what he meant. I do it now.

“I read somewhere that you’re a fully trained professional Dom.”

It’s totally untrue. I’m making it up. But the effect on him is electric.

For a few seconds he sits very still.

I wait for him to smile and lightly deny it. Nothing happens.

Bingo.

I take a split-second decision.
“Forgive me for asking, but could
you
do it? My training?”

His eyes glimmer. “Me?”

What have I said?
All at once words tumble out. “I know it’s a crazy request. I know you’re leaving soon. It’s just… I get these dreams, and—” I break off, appalled at myself.

“
Dreams?”

I swallow. “
Him
.” I can’t even bring myself to say his name. “That man and a—whip. Ever since meeting him like that last year. It was such a shock. And I can’t face him yet. It’s too soon.” A fleeting image of gleaming, oiled biceps and glittering, hooded eyes shrivels my stomach.

At the same time it sends a shaft of heat straight to my groin.

I press my lips together, furious that he’s grinning.

“Maybe you should see a shrink—or simply talk to Nera. She’ll take you through it step by step.”

I fix my eyes on his face in one last, desperate appeal. “I’d feel safer with you. I feel I know you.”

The grin fades, and I sense a sudden wave of anger.

“
Know me
? You know nothing about me.” He rises abruptly and walks over to the window. He stands, looking out with his arms folded. “Seriously, don’t you think that’s a tad offensive—sexist even? Suppose I asked you such a thing? Strip for me, maybe, or give me a blow job—because I felt I
knew
you
?”

I stare at him aghast, my cheeks burning. “I’m so sorry. It’s just… I can’t stop thinking about it. It’s…confusing.”

But he’s absolutely right. What was I thinking? I get up and walk quickly to the door, fighting for calm.

Okay, that was stupid. Now move on.

At the door I glance back. “Please forgive what I said just now. I’m new to all this. I’ll talk to Nera. But on behalf of the team, we’re truly grateful for the faith you’ve shown in us. We’re determined to make this a success. Have a safe trip.”

I slip outside, close the door more firmly than I intended and let out a long, juddering breath. The ice-maiden is hovering just outside. Over her notepad, her pretty face is a mask of disapproval.

I grimace back. “He’s all yours.”
And you can have him.

This is a disaster. I’m throwing away our dream ticket before we’ve even begun.

Why am I so rattled?
It must be this place. Everything about it is disturbing. I should never have come.

I hurry away, trying to ignore the stinging feeling behind my eyes.

It’s hard to take. Knocks are always hard. A rejected audition, a mistimed arabesque or even a spurned invitation to play kinky sex—they always hurt.

I’ve been a dancer. I know all about knocks.

Ginger Rogers had the only answer—pick yourself up. Start over.

So I do.

I find the others out on the terrace sprawling on sun loungers. Mel’s stripped down to a T-shirt and briefs, her face covered by a large sun hat. Ben and Jake are blatantly feasting in a very un-PC way on the celebrity eye candy parading by the pool.

“Hard at work, everybody?” My tone drips acid as I pull up a canvas chair and throw myself into it.

Ben groans. “Don’t rain on the parade, Tunis. We were, as a matter of fact. How was the job interview?”

I glare back. “The
what
?”

Ben yawns. “He wanted to see you alone in his office, didn’t he? What else was it for? Or was the job on offer unrepeatable in polite company?”

Still rattled, I blush. “Ben, please.”

The others look uneasy. A passing waiter offers a tempting tray of misted mint juleps. I take one gratefully and pass another to Mel. It disappears under her hat as she takes a long sip.

Jake fixes me with a scowl. “So what
did
he want?”

I sigh. “He’s having second thoughts about me doing this. I gather I’m insufficiently dazzled by his halo.”

Ben frowns. “That’s odd. He was pretty keen when he offered us the deal.”

“For fuck’s sake, Ben.” Jake sits up with a scowl.

There’s an awkward pause. I look from one to the other. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. It’s the champagne talking. Ignore him.” Jake looks sulky.

I hold my ground. “Something’s going on. Tell me.”

“He means you were the deal-breaker.” Mel’s sharp voice makes us all jump.

“Shut up, Mel.” Ben kicks her ankle.

Mel kicks him back then stretches lazily. “Why don’t you tell her everything? Tunis is the main reason we’re here. She’s got every right to know.” She swivels to peer up at me, shading her eyes against the sun. “When his company offered us the chance to come here and film, it was on one condition—that you were the anchor. And when Ben asked why, all they’d say was the order came from the top.”

* * * *

After another hour or so chasing agents round the pool and securing interview slots with celebs, I decide to slip away for a shower. It’s getting late now. Time to change for the evening. And tonight we’ll use the first of our embossed invitations—to the
Hit’n’MissTrix
Ball.

On the way up to our room I pause at a window to look out over the emerald sheen of the immaculate lawns, now streaked with late sunlight.

In the center of the lawn Cade Fitzlean and Miss Frosty are chatting to a couple of groundsmen.

I stand very still.
He’s still here? I thought he was leaving?

As I watch, Fitzlean claps one of the men on the back. I hear a gust of laughter then he and his PA turn and walk slowly back toward me.

He moves with fluid grace, talking earnestly. His PA is pale and slim, the breeze ruffling her silky hair. When her heels catch in the turf he pauses, smiles and waits for her to catch up.

They look easy together. She’s very pretty.

I frown. His relations with his staff are no business of mine.

I warn myself sternly I should look away. Now.

Too late. He looks up and our eyes meet.

I step quickly away from the window, cross with myself. Now he’s even caught me spying on him.
Can today get any worse?

Right on cue it does. I feel a touch on my arm. Nera is standing at my elbow, the sunlight glancing off her glossy black hair and her hard, pale face.

“Tunis? May I call you that? We’ve just moved your things to another room. I’ll take you up there now. On the way, we’ll discuss your options for the week.”

It’s the last straw and I snap. “Why the move? Mel and I don’t mind sharing.”

As the elevator doors slide shut, Nera and I glare at each other. After a few seconds she manages a chilly smile. “Feel free to make use of our spa and beauty salon while you’re here. We’re very proud of our visiting stylists. You’ll find them a far cry from the high street.”

“Thanks, but I rarely visit the high street and I have my own stylist.” My tone slices ice. I regret it instantly. It’s her job to look scary and now she’s offended. My heart sinks.

One more point against this place. “Anyway, why the upgrade?”

Now I sound rude. This is a private, if ultra-stately home, not a hotel. We’re guests here.

The Dominatrix chooses to ignore my putdown as she shows me into a spacious apartment overlooking the park. “We hope you’ll be comfortable here, Miss Vale. You’ve got the usual gift set”—she waves toward a basket brimming with lubes, condoms and naughty trinkets—“plus a few extras. You’ll find costumes and some eveningwear in your dressing room. Your own things are already here. Ring if there’s anything you need. I’ll leave you to settle in.”

“Wait. What about the others? Are they upgraded too?”

Her arched eyebrow tilts a fraction. “You’d better ask them. I never discuss other guests.”

She steps back into the elevator. The doors close with a soft hiss, just as I remember I’ve forgotten to ask her about my training.

I’ll do it later.

Left alone I explore. The suite’s huge, the furniture elegant. The walls are covered with antique mirrors and works of art. The bedroom seems vast, the windows veiled in floating gauze. It has its own bathroom tiled with marble.

I find a separate dressing room with my clothes already stowed neatly on a rail.

On another rail hang the costumes. I flip through them, heart sinking.

Two or three elegant, full-length satin gowns look modest enough at first glance, but the necklines plunge to the waist and the slim, clinging skirts are slit to the hip. Near them a leather harness sports a jeweled slave collar. The same hanger holds a sleep mask and a vicious-looking leather riding crop.

At the end of the rail is an assortment of flimsy lace-edged lingerie, including a peekaboo bra and half a dozen thongs, designer labels still attached.

Beyond them are three lace-trimmed satin corsets, complete with suspenders, and below, in polished mahogany racks, expensive-looking shoes in matching colors, some glittering with brilliants.

In spite of myself I feel a quiver of excitement. I touch the scarlet lace trim on one of the corsets. It’s made of silk and is whisper-soft.

These are no shoddy stage costumes. They’re the real thing,
deluxe
designer. A small fortune’s been spent here.

But why the move? Has Ben dropped a hint that I’m unhappy here? Does Mel want the room free so she can spend some quality time with him? She had only to ask…

A fond smile dies on my lips as a dreadful thought occurs to me.

It’s an apology.

Cade Fitzlean is making up for my humiliation in his office with an upgrade. He’ll have gone by now. Soon he’ll be high over the Atlantic on his way back to the States. He probably gave the order before he left.

How crass.

For a full second I feel a mix of shame, fury and deep, biting resentment. Then I take a deep breath.

I’ve only myself to blame
.
I’m here to work, not to party. I’ve got a job to do and it’s high time I got on with it.

Angrily I pluck a corset in scarlet satin off the rail and hold it up in the mirror.

It glows like flame against my skin. It looks distinctly
wicked.

I feel a delicious, naughty thrill. Maybe I’ll just try it on…

Some minutes later, showered, perfumed and made-up to perfection, I step into the corset, adjust the thigh-high black stockings and ease a saucy matching garter into place.

In the mirror I see a seductive fairy queen in sexy satin, breasts swelling against the scarlet lace ruffle, long legs elegant in sleek stockings, ending in tall scarlet heels.

Wow.
I can do this
…

At that moment my phone buzzes. I rummage for it in the untidy heap of clothes on the floor. The name on the caller display makes my heart leap. “Dad? How lovely—”

His voice is just what I need but as he talks on, my heart plummets.
Oh no.
Slowly I wander into the vast bedroom. I lean against the ornate gilt dressing table, legs straight out before me and take a deep breath. “So how long’s this been going on? Yes, of course I’ll talk to her. Janice? Are you okay? Dad said you’ve—”

I break off for a moment as my stepmother’s familiar voice trills in my ear. From time to time I break in and try to sound patient. “No, we’re staying in a secret location… It’s a secret job. I’m not allowed to talk about it. It’s not a holiday. It’s for work… I
am
doing a real job. News is a different section—”