Page 89 of The Failed Audition

“What’d he say you needed?”

“Something sexier, I guess.” Now he’s thinking about me, wearing close to nothing for an audience. I’m thinking about it too.Everyoneis thinking about it.

I am a frozen waterfall. With no hope to thaw.

He easily reaches over me and pulls out two hangers, my heart thumping too hard. “Try these.”

Try these.What are these…oh. Wow. The first is a white one-piece, that laces in the front, no wires, stretchy enough to movein. It’s not overtly sexual, but the low cut will be more than enough. The second is a rouge lace panty-set, also no wires. It’s pretty, actually.

I slowly turn around to face him, clutching the lingerie pieces to my chest. Should I try them onforhim? Or invite him in the dressing room? Or just…I lose my thought as his gaze strokes me in one wave.

“When you’re at Phantom,” he says, “you need to be careful.”

“I’m always safe on the hoop—”

“I’m not talking about the hoop. I don’t trust some of the people there, and I honestly hate that you work when I work.” His whole body is a rigid, stiff fortress. If I was tall enough, I would even contemplate givinghimthe massage, but in my Toms, my head reaches his shoulders.

Little mouse.

Yeah, it fits alright.

“I’ll be fine,” I tell him.

His intensity barrels through me. I love it more than he knows and more than I ever realized, his concern only flushing me more.

I add, “Don’t worry about me.” My sweltering body disagrees.

He gives me a look like that’s just not possible. “I’ve worried about you since you first showed up in Vegas and could barely drink a shot.” At The Red Death, when he said the city would swallow me whole.

“Really?”That long?He’s naturally protective, but still, I smile.

He lifts my chin. “I don’t lie.”

“That’s good to know.” My face tightens, realizing that response sounded flat on my account. “So…”

He kisses me, and I almost drop the hangers in a daze. If his eyes are hell, his tongue is heaven, and I would gladly return. I walk backwards with him, my lips stinging and my body aching.His hand falls to my hip, and it crosses my mind—he’s guiding me.

Leading me.

Somewhere.

My legs move of their own will, my brain no longer attached. I hold onto his waist, succumbing to wherever he’s taking me. The backs of my knees hit a bench. And he breaks apart to shut the dressing room door behind him. It’s tiny with a mirror, a wooden bench against the wall and a hook.

“Did anyone…see us?” I pant.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says lowly, his eyes devouring me. He steals the lingerie and hangs it on the hook. I look up. He stares down. A foot of space separating us.

I remain stationary, allowing him to dictate what happens next. The mystery pumps blood through my veins.

Nikolai fingers the hem of my green tank top, and he lifts it over my head, my dirty-blonde hair draping over my bare shoulders, only in jean shorts and a simple blue bra.

My breasts rise and fall with my heavy breath, especially the longer he studies my motions. I remember back to the first night at The Red Death, when he could tell so much about me from so little.

He kisses me again, my lips swollen with the pressure, and his hand slips to my shorts. He skillfully unbuttons them, lowers them, and I step out of the fabric. Now in a bra and white cotton panties. Had I known he would be coming here with me, I wonder if I would’ve chosen a less innocent color.

When he studies me again, I’m careful about appearing relaxed, my arms at my sides, not covering my chest. I want him to touch the barest parts of me—and my nerves shall not stop him. I won’t let them.

“Breathe,” he instructs as he steps near again, his hands on my hips. His tough skin along my soft.

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