Page 49 of Refrain

I’ve never been much of an exhibitionist before this, but Iwanthim to see. Everything. I want to give him a real reason to disapprove of my dancing or cast his pitying looks. I’m proud of my scars and my damaged soul. Or Iwas.

He peruses those broken pieces of me as the jeers and whistlesof the other men fade. Soon, there’s only him left behind, and god knows what he thinks—though I suppose that’s the irony of it.Hejudges me with more scrutiny than any higher power ever could.

It’s not fair. I want his disgust, not his curiosity. My traitorous body reacts to it in ways I don’t like. My nipples harden beneath his gaze. Muscles quake. Nerves tense and fire off at random.

He makes me sloppy.

Every limb is on fire when I swing myself around to face him again. I’m already anticipating what I’ll find—a frown. Instead, he merely nods as if giving me permission to climb down, so I do, trembling and slick with exhaustion.

Then he turns and walks away, denying my unconscious wish for a final verdict.

Only now do I feel naked. I barely notice when another smiling girl prances onto the stage, and the music switches over to something more upbeat. I make my way backstage in a daze and push past the other girls for the dressing room. The two cackling brunettes inside do their best to ignore me as I find a spot near the mirror on the far wall and catch my breath.

Focus.I flatten my palm against the table to reinforce the command. Focus!I snatch a wad of tissue from a nearby box and scrub at the lipstick Darcy insisted I wear. It’s a dark red that somehow minimizes the shadows lurking beneath my eyes.

But makeup can’t minimize the desperation. I reek of it, the need to hide, the itch to run. The confusion…

Little Ksei failed at many things in her short, tormented life, but dancing for men was never one of them.

Until now.

My nostrils flare, which draws my attention back to the present. Noise comes from the opposite corner of the room, someone entering.

“Espi!” one of the other women shrieks. “What the hell?”

“Sorry,” he says, his voice gruffer than I’ve heard it before. “You two mind clearing out for a second? I’ll leave after that. I promise.”

The two women sigh but gather up their things, and then I’m left alone with the intruder. Escape briefly flits across my mind, but it’s already too late. The steady thud of his footsteps marks his approach, and I watch him over the surface of the mirror in front of me.

“You looked…good out there,” he says once he’s a few steps away.

A sigh I didn’t even realize I was holding escapes in a rush, leaving me weightless.

“So do the stitches,” he adds, betraying the real reason behind his visit. His breath feathers over my neck, followed by the delicate brush of warm fingertips along my left arm. He’s touching me without permission, but my tongue can’t form a protest. “I mean—I don’t really know what I mean.” He laughs. “I sound like an idiot, don’t I?”

“An idiot?” My nostrils flare again, catching cigarette smoke. And whiskey? Reddened eyes confirm that suspicion. He’s been drinking, but the liquor didn’t chase away whatever’s clouding his gaze. I’m too much of a coward to ask what caused it. “Good is not the best compliment I’ve ever gotten,” I admit. “But it’s not the worst.”

“Well, that’s good too, I guess.” Another laugh doesn’t displace his unease. The worry lingers as he runs his fingers down my arm. Long after he should be satisfied by the state of my wound, he just keeps…feeling.

And the entire damn time he does, the mirror mocks me with a grotesque caricature of the woman I’ve become. I don’t recognize the way her brown eyes widen, so damn empty. I don’t recognize the way her bottom lip trembles, either, or how many times she has to flick her tongue along the flesh to moisten it.

Every brush of his fingertips jolts through my skin like an electric current. Soft. Softer.Blinding.

So much for Arno’s warning.

“I should get back…” My voice falls flat, and I don’t move.

Neither does he. I find an unreadable expression lurking beyond the glass. More pity? His gaze skims my shoulders before I can be sure, impossible to decipher.

Exhaustion and nerves make for a reckless combination. He takes a small step closer, and I inhale him even more deeply—mint, rainwater, fresh air. Wherever he was during the day, he spent most of it outdoors. He’s shivering beneath his jacket, but his hands feel steady. Too steady. There’s nothing sexual about them—no groping or wandering fingertips. Does that make this easier?

Regardless, my lungs deflate as he pulls away. With relief, or so I tell myself.

“I should probably let you get dressed now,” he says, his voice thick.

It’s only now that I realize that my bra is still undone. Confusing me further, he averts his gaze as I reach behind my back to refasten the clasp.

I grab his borrowed hoodie from a nearby hook and drape it around my shoulders. “I’m ready.”

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