Page 35 of Sinful Escape

Chapter Eight

Roman parked the bus at the curb, and I shuffled the passengers out. After he drove away, I herded them into the queue for the nine o’clock Moulin Rouge show. They chatted amongst themselves, and I absorbed the exciting vibes around me. People were everywhere. Most would be tourists. I hadn’t met a Parisian yet who’d actually been to the burlesque theatre.

The doors opened, and we filed into the Grand Room. The title was appropriate; its decor was truly magnificent. Red-and-white-striped fabric draped across the ceiling, giving it an exotic tented effect. Rows and rows of long tables lined the room topped with white tablecloths, silver cutlery, and cute red lamps that cast an elegant glow.

The maître d’ led us to our designated tables and within seconds, a waiter was at our side. Each of my guests ordered a drink, and when it came to my turn, I did something I’d never done at Moulin Rouge before. I ordered alcohol. Expensive French champagne, to be exact.

Look out, world. The new, fun Daisy Chayne has arrived.

The drinks were delivered. The lights lowered. The music started.

The show had it all. Enormous headdresses topped with giant colorful feathers that looked so heavy it was a wonder the petite dancers could stand. Minuscule costumes that miraculously remained in place despite the dancers’ high-energy and flexible moves. Glitz, glamour, muscle-bound men in elaborate costumes, dynamic music and nudity. The women paraded their well-toned bottoms in skimpy G-strings, and their pert breasts were on full display.

This was my thirtieth time at Moulin Rouge. I could do most of the routines myself. Except, my first high kick would result in a black eye; my second kick would take out a fellow dancer.

An hour and two champagnes later, I had to get out of there.

I leaned into Tiffany’s ear beside me.

“Hey Tiffany, I’ve got to go. I’ll meet you all outside after the show. Can you pass it on for me?”

“Sure. Are you okay?”

“Oh, yes. Yes. Just a little tummy trouble. Something I ate, I think.” That’d rolled off my tongue way too easily, and I cringed at my awful lie.

“Okay, Daisy. Let me know if I can help.”

The sincerity in Tiffany’s response made my stomach churn. During a gap in the songs, I made a dash for the door and crossed the plush carpet, head down, ignoring the scowling ushers. My mind snagged on my newfound ability to lie so easily. William had lied to me for years, and when I’d found out, the hurt nearly split me in two.

The door shut behind me, switching the music from the fast-paced beat of the burlesque show to the subtle tunes emanating from the twin bars flanking the entrance.

“Hey, Red.”

I skidded to a halt and spun to the voice.

Roman waved at me from the bar. “Where’re you going in such a hurry?”

Shit. “Oh, ummm.”

He patted the stool at his side. “You leaving the show?”

Forcing my feet to move, I headed to him and wriggled onto the stool that was a fraction too high. That wasn’t unusual, though; I was just five foot four, so most bar stools were a challenge. “Yeah. I’ve seen it thirty times.”

“Thirty?” His eyebrows bounced upward. “What changed your mind this time?”

I shrugged and continuing my lies, I said, “Got a bit of a stomach ache. Thought I’d grab some fresh air.”

“Are you okay?” His hand covered my forearm with such tenderness that my guilt thudded into my stomach like a brick.

Oh, God. Everyone is so nice and I’m a lying bitch. “Yes. Yes. I’m fine. Just needed some air.”

He huffed. “I’m sure you’re not missing anything. After thirty times, you could probably be on stage with them.”

I chuckled. “Except I’d fall flat on my face.”

A smile wobbled across his lips. “But you’d bounce back up again.” His throaty laugh was so damn sexy.

Stop it, girl. He’s your bloody co-worker.

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