Awaken the Devil Page 12

  When they got out into what qualified as sunshine on December first in Manhattan, she saw that she had a message. She called her message center and heard Chandler's hesitant voice preserved forever, if she wanted it. But she doubted that she would.

  "I just wanted to tell you…I mean, I…I expected you to answer." He sounded irritated. "I don't believe that continued lessons will be a possibility. I did warn you that this could happen given a change in my schedule. I…I'm sorry. Really."

  The call ended abruptly. There was no change in his schedule, she could guess well enough. He was upset, maybe even embarrassed, by his revelations on Friday night, and perhaps he felt that she had somehow put him at some kind of disadvantage, a position he wouldn't want to be in again.

  Even if he blamed himself for his case of loose lips, some part of him had no doubt pegged her as the cause. She doubted she was anywhere near as potent as four straight whiskeys, but it didn't matter. She had lost him. She hung up the phone stabbing the button in irritation.

  It had been working so well. She had had such high hopes, a certain feeling that they were dancing around an actual friendship. Now, all that she could do was use the information he had given her already and hope that she had planted enough seeds between them that she could still reach him even without the intimacy of being alone every night.

  "Are you okay?" Leslie asked suddenly. "Bad news?"

  "Oh, no. Just something I probably should have been expecting but wasn't. No big deal."

  She pled illness, and indeed she felt a little sick at the thought of Helena and her schemes and Chandler's sudden flight from their lessons, and shirked out of dinner. She went home and read Josh's list again and again, looking for something she had missed that would make it all make sense. By Tuesday, she felt removed enough from the horror of their Saturday conversation that she felt she could safely look every one of the names up on the internet and research the cases. Plus she had all this time available in the evenings now left to fill. Josh had been overzealous with some of the girls.

  For Carol Richards and Ashley Harold, someone had later been arrested, although in the case of Carol Richards, the man had later been released for lack of sufficient evidence. Someone dying while Chandler knew them was hardly tantamount to proof of murder. But it was odd. The sad truth, however, was that she still believed him to be innocent no matter what the facts said, and she was just as determined as ever to prove it.

  The week was not getting better for Chandler. He was still trying to remember just what he had told Fielding while in a drunken stupor. He was fairly certain that he had managed to keep his hands off her so that was something. He was also fairly certain that it was a feat he could not reproduce in his normal sober state. He was too far gone to trust his own self-control when the matter was Miss French.

  The first minute he'd had on Monday, he'd called her to cancel their lessons. He could look at himself objectively enough, even if he didn't like what he saw, to know that he was disappointed that he had gotten her machine. He didn't know what he had wanted to say to her, but he had wanted to talk to her. She hadn't even tried to return his call, and he respected her for it.

  He refused to say that he missed her even if he knew it was the truth. He didn't even see her at rehearsals because she had been all week in rehearsals for Profundo. He had been avoiding those meetings, concentrating instead on the line. They opened in just over a month, in the first week of January, and time was running short. He had hoped that Profundo would prove to be an easy addition, that the dancers would have no problem picking up the moves. They needed those dancers back in the line as soon as possible.

  Now it was Thursday, and Lynette was effectively destroying his dream of having a complete line again by Monday.

  "And I'm telling you, Chandler, they just don't get it."

  Armand was pacing the office looking like he'd just received news about the end of the world, cursing in French under his breath. Chandler tried to ignore him. He rubbed the side of his nose. "So do they know the moves?"

  "Mechanically, yes. I can't even deny it. They know the moves, I mean they've all been very professional about it, but the message behind it just isn't there. They can't perform this way. I'm going to need another week."

  Armand stopped so abruptly that he almost fell over. "Non! La semaine prochaine est trop tard. Il n'y a pas de temps. Aucun temps pour cette bêtise." He was so upset that he was literally shouting, so quickly that Chandler could barely understand the man. But he did understand the gist of it. They didn't have another week, and he was right.

  Chandler pressed his fingers against his eyes as carefully as any contact wearer must be, not to dislodge his lens. The last thing he needed right now was to be stressed and blind. "Have we gotten the costumes yet, Liz?"

  His office manager looked at her sheets she always kept on her omnipresent clipboard. "For Profundo? With this morning's shipment." She indicated behind her to the pile of boxes in the corner. "Haven't checked them yet."

  "Would you? We may need them. Here's my plan. Lynette and Armand, you have the rest of today to impart to these people the message that needs to be delivered via this dance. The simple truth is we just don't have another week to spend on one number. We have five weeks before we open, and we can't spare them. That means that you need to convince them by tonight to be the essence of sex. Otherwise, we drop the number."

  Armand went crazy immediately, shouting again. Sara finally spoke up. "I think it's important, Chandler. Give them another day."

  Lynette and Liz were silent. He looked at them. Liz shrugged, and Lynette nodded. He sighed. "If they don't get it by tonight, we go full dress tomorrow. Last chance. If they can't pull it off in those costumes, they will never pull it off. If they don't strike me as watching pornography in tap shoes, it's off. End of story."

  Armand wasn't done with his tirade, but since he wasn't speaking English it was easy to tune him out. "I expect another report this afternoon," Chandler told them.

  He sat back in his seat and watched a small group of angry and annoyed people leave his office. He squelched the tiny irrational voice telling him to go watch the Profundo rehearsal. A policy of brutal honesty made him acknowledge that he wanted to see Fielding not Profundo, and that made it an unacceptable option. He sighed again and went back to his paperwork. He was not leaving this desk.

  Fielding was tired and fed up with Lynette and Armand. She understood what they were saying. She even understood what she was supposed to be saying through the moves. That didn't mean she was able to do it. Not the way that they wanted. Some of the others, especially Charlotte and Bob, really were getting better. That didn't surprise her though. Charlotte had no problem with any matters of the bed, and Bob just did whatever he was told. And neither one of them had seen the people at Calor Profundo and knew how much they sucked.

  The morning had passed in a haze of hysterical French tirades from Armand and reproachful looks from Lynette. Thankfully, the rehearsal was almost over and she could go home and be miserable in private. She missed Chandler desperately, but was more than willing to attribute the empty feeling in her chest to not being able to work on her article. She looked at her watch. Fifteen minutes and she'd be blessedly out of there.

  Suddenly she knew he was in the room. She could feel his gaze on her like a physical touch. Her skin buzzed, and her breathing caught. She turned her head to stage right, and she could see him in the shadows. She could only see a jagged half of his face, still and silent in the shadows. He made no attempt to get any closer, nor did he look away when she caught his eye.

  Her heartbeat seemed slow and heavy. She felt she couldn't move if she wanted. Could it be possible that he was capable of hypnosis? She felt like she was in a trance. The almost uncontrollable urge to cross the room and touch him had to be brutally tamped down. The side of his lips that she could see turned up in the corner, and she had a distinct feeling that he was pleased although she had no idea why.

 
She licked her lips slowly, and he raised his eyebrow. She had the weirdest sensation that if she could see the other side of his body, he would be like the Phantom of the Opera. Angel on one side and devil on the other.

  "I thought I was supposed to come to you." The shrill reminder came from behind her. Lynette had finally noticed Chandler as well, probably due to Fielding's own clumsy halt in the middle of rehearsal. When Chandler came into the light, the illusion was broken. He looked like a man, nothing more, nothing less. The creepy feeling was lost.

  Not having seen him for six days had taken its toll on her ability to regard him with some sense of detachment. God, he was sexy. His indigo blue jeans and dark blue sweater fit painfully well. He needed a shave, and her fingers itched to touch the indentations of his cheeks and feel their roughness. She curled her fingers into her hands even though he wasn't close enough for her to actually touch. She noted that he stayed far away from her despite hovering close to the other dancers.

  "Please come a half an hour early tomorrow to be assigned your costumes for this number. You will be expected to wear them." His eyes lingered on her for a moment, then he turned and left. Charlotte looked at her then at his retreating back. Then she smiled in a way Fielding didn't like at all. She was glad to get away when Armand dismissed them. She had gotten the distinct impression that Chandler meant to attend tomorrow's rehearsals, and she needed time to shore herself up.

  "You've got to be kidding me." Kelly's words could have come from any of their mouths, except Charlotte who was viewing her costume with obvious admiration. If the piece of filmy cloth and the lacy panties that accompanied it could be called a costume, or indeed actual clothing, at all.

  Fielding held it up against her sweater and slacks with no small amount of trepidation. Lynette's skeletal face peeked into the room. "Ten minutes."

  "I guess we'd better put them on." Leslie didn't seem sure at all. Charlotte started stripping without any indication of self-consciousness. Fielding was somewhere in the middle. She knew she had to put the thing on, but that didn't mean she was happy about it.

  Once the costume was on she realized it really was sheer. Completely, ridiculously sheer. She took a deep breath and scooped up the absurdly high-heeled boots that had been issued to her with the swath of fabric she was currently sporting.

  Truthfully, she felt like an idiot in this get-up. She came out into the hallway and saw the men loitering, looking like they felt equally as ridiculous in their leather pants and lack of shirts. But even they couldn't understand the awkwardness of being almost completely naked while being almost completely clothed. She knew that Chandler hoped having them costumed would help them feel…what? Sexy? She didn't know exactly what his intention had been, but she sensed it was a last-ditch effort to save this number.

  Feeling like she was on display, she crossed onto the smaller stage. Although the dress's black color made actually seeing through it an impossibility the mirror told her that the outline of her entire body, right down to her nipples and the dip of her navel, were available for all to see.

  Leslie followed behind her with her arms across her chest. "I can't invite my family to see this now. I look like such a…" She didn't even seem to be able to say the word.

  "Prostitute." Charlotte filled in with glee. She seemed to be as delighted with her outfit on as she had been when it was on the rack. "We are supposed to be prostitutes, remember?"

  "I don't know why Horatio's forbidden love couldn't be a school nurse." Fielding couldn't cover her breasts while toting her stupid boots, but she wanted to.

  Armand and Chandler were already waiting when they got out on the stage. They stopped talking immediately, and Armand directed them to take their spots. Still feeling painfully conspicuous Fielding had to force herself not to hold up her arms and cover herself like Leslie. Especially when Chandler's eyes found her.

  There was a tangible heat in his gaze that was so intense she felt as though she were being stroked by ghost fingers wherever they touched. Her nipples tightened painfully when his eyes skimmed her breasts and then traveled back up to her face. His eyes darkened, and she could see his breath hitch in his chest. Liquid heat licked at her and a low moan escaped from her lips, but she choked it off.

  "Miss French, where are your shoes?" His voice was rough and low, but the question sounded normal enough.

  She pointed wordlessly behind her to where she had dumped them by the door. When she trusted herself enough to speak she added, "They're uncomfortable."

  His pointed glare separated him from the man who'd been looking at her a moment before. "And I am uncomfortable with having midgets in my line. If you please?" He indicated to her shoes.

  She did not please. She'd hated the boots on sight, but she slid them back on anyway feeling every eye on her until she rejoined the group. She deeply regretted taking this extra number now. It hadn't given her an extra in with Chandler, who had avoided every rehearsal but this. It hadn't given her anything but a headache. And maybe another nick from her objectivity. Oh, who was she kidding? Her objectivity was long gone, probably had been from the first moment that she had seen his eyes boring into her from across the theater.

  As she might have anticipated, the rehearsal quickly turned into a torture session. Armand counted off every single move in angry French, and Chandler circled them like a shark smelling blood. He spat off a barrage of commands about their style peppered liberally with insults.

  "Miss Wiseman and Mr. Triford, could you please attempt to act as though you've ever felt even a modicum of passion in the whole of your entire life? Could you do that for me, do you think?"

  "Mr. Collins and Miss Sanford, you cannot commit half way to this number. This is about making love. Nobody makes love halfway."

  Charlotte leaned her head back and whispered to Fielding. "Evidently Bentley's never met my ex-boyfriends."

  Fielding laughed low, but the reality was that this whole business wasn't particularly funny. Charlotte had Bob who danced like he had a stick up his butt, but at least he wasn't letting it be known that Charlotte came with the wrong chromosomes. It was difficult to even imagine lusting after Kyle who wasn't shy about making it clear that he would never lust after her. And Chandler's screaming was making it all that much harder to suspend this reality.

  "Miss French and Mr. Merck, perhaps you'd like to stop dancing and play a nice game of cards, since you exhibit about as much passion as my grandmother and her whist partner."

  Rattled, she tore out of Kyle's limp arms. "Well maybe if you'd stop shouting at us we could think about anything but you." Everyone stopped mid-move and stared at her gape-mouthed. More than anything that reminded her who she was supposed be, and she added a more deferent, "Sir."

  Leslie snorted nervously. Chandler motioned impatiently for whoever was controlling the music to cut the song. He strode up the aisle, his aggression obvious, and leapt onto the stage bypassing the stairs and landing on both feet with a solid thump. Both Kelly and Leslie stifled screams.

  "Good Lord. What's the matter with the whole lot of you? Have you never lusted before?" He paused, but no one offered an answer. He raked his hand through his hair.

  "Look, this is a song about wanting someone. Surely you've all wanted someone? Felt a clawing ache inside of you like you'll come apart if you can't breathe their breath?"

  He looked them over again. Fielding couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes. "Surely you've all thought at least once before that you would kill, or die, for a moment. A chance to taste their soul, their mouth, anything that would take you closer? A chance to touch someone's skin with yours?"

  Everyone was still silently staring, but Fielding could see that now they were momentarily hypnotized by his erotic words, his low, smooth voice. "Can you not remember wanting to touch someone's mouth with an ache like a raw wound that will never heal until you get to taste, to consume? Have you really never felt that longing? That's what this dance is about.

  "Horatio has b
een waiting. His need is so intense it's become physical. Like eating or breathing. Yvonna is forbidden to him but that doesn't mean he wants her any less, indeed, perhaps more. You are the ones who will tell that story. Forget your partner, forget your shoes, and forget your costumes. Forget everything but the music and the ache."

  Snapping his mouth shut Kyle took a ragged breath and put his hands on his leather clad hips. "That's easy for you and Mancier to say. You're not prancing around looking like a waiter at The Pink Flamingo."

  With a rude curse Chandler pulled his shirt out of his pants and over his head, throwing it carelessly off the stage. "You cannot allow external stimuli to control you. It has to be internal."

  Kyle shook his head in appreciative wonder. Fielding felt the same way. She tried not to look at him, but it was a near impossibility after his words which might have described the way she'd felt about him from almost the instant she had first seen him. His bare torso was amazing, all tightly corded muscles and pale, hot skin. She could literally feel the heat coming off him from three feet away.

  Roughly curling wheat-colored hair spread across his chest from one flat brown nipple to the other and then narrowed inching its way down into the waistband of his pants in a trail her eyes could not help but follow. She swallowed hard.

  "Miss French, as you were so kind as to interrupt us, you will be my partner." He pulled her flush with his body before she was ready, as though she would have ever been ready for this kind of contact with Chandler Bentley. The full contact between them stole her breath, her good sense. He signaled behind him. "From the top, if you please." He called out without glancing behind him to see if his will was going to be followed.

  But of course it was. The first notes of Profundo struck up almost immediately. She was still reeling from her first real contact with him. Feeling like she couldn't force enough air in and out of her lungs to combat her sudden, brutal dizziness. Control. That was the name of the game she needed to play here before she passed out and made a fool of herself. She would think of Kyle. That would put a damper on even the most powerful arousal.