Under the Lights: A thrilling, second-chance romance duet. (Bright Lights Book 1) Page 8

  I won’t leave her to take this step alone. The pull in my chest is too strong. I have to keep her safe from things that would hurt her, from the men who come here, from the way the crew talks about the girls. From the way some of the girls see themselves…

  “You’re so good.” Her voice is soft, and she traces her finger along the bandage before lifting her blue eyes to meet mine. “Thank you for buying me lunch. For saving me…”

  Without warning, she steps forward and wraps her arms around my waist, pressing her face against my chest, and I don’t hold back. She fits perfectly in my arms, and I inhale the sweet scent of her hair just before I press my lips to the top of her head.

  Her voice is muffled against my shirt. “It feels so safe here.”

  “Lara,” I whisper in her hair. “I want to keep you safe.”

  She pulls back, and I loosen my hold. But she doesn’t leave. She puts her hand against my cheek, lifting her chin as she rises higher on her toes. Hell if I make her work for it.

  Leaning forward, I capture her lips. They part, and our tongues meet, curling together as I hug her closer to me. She exhales a little noise, and her fingers thread in the sides of my hair. I trace a line with my lips to her ear.

  “I want you so much,” I whisper.

  She turns, searching for my mouth, and I kiss her. She fists my shirt in her hands, pulling it up and placing her palm against my bare stomach. I groan deeply, and my hands slide under her ass. I lift her against my chest, and her legs go around my waist. Our kisses are wildfire, fast-moving, lips pulling, hungry for something more. Something just within reach.

  She moves subtly against my waist, and the blood rushes downward. I’m hard and she’s riding me, stroking my erection with her crotch.

  “Lara,” I groan.

  Her lips still, and she holds my cheeks, looking into my eyes. “That night on the catwalk… The way you looked at me…”

  My brow collapses at the memory. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

  “I only want you to see me.”

  Her lips are pink and swollen from my kisses. I lean forward and kiss her again, tasting her like she’s water in the desert. She exhales a little noise, and it’s a charge straight to my cock.

  I love her lips. I love her mouth. I want more. I want all of her.

  “Does your waist hurt?”

  She leans forward, running her nose along my jaw. “Nothing hurts. Everything is amazing.”

  My mind races through the possibilities. Terrence is at my place. All the people are here. Fuck, I don’t have anywhere to take her, but I’ll be damned if our first time is standing in this lobby.

  “Here.” I ease her to her feet. We’re both breathing hard, and she’s still in my arms. “I have to sort some shit out.”

  Her lip goes between her teeth. “You have to work tonight. Up there… with Vanessa.”

  She seems to be retreating, misunderstanding my meaning. I catch her waist and pull her to me again. “What?”

  She shakes her head and holds my arms, stepping out of them. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t assume.”

  Desperation tightens my chest. “Stop.” My voice is sharper than I intend, but it works. She stops moving away. “I couldn’t be less interested in anyone—”

  “Don’t. You don’t owe me anything.”

  “Lara.” I catch both her cheeks in my hands. Ocean eyes meet mine, and I kiss her with all the heat smoldering in my skin.

  A little noise comes from her throat, and she covers my hands with hers, clinging to them a moment before pulling her lips away. Still, I hold her gaze. “Just give me time. I’ll work it out.” I slide my palm along her velvety, pink cheek. “This is going to happen.”

  She takes her hands from mine and jogs to the door leading into the theater. I don’t chase her. I can’t with the raging hard-on in my pants. Leaning my head against the wall, I close my eyes and relive what just happened.

  Even if she pulled back, that was real. No way am I letting her get away, and no fucking way am I letting her think anybody else is on my mind.

  Pushing my hand down the front of my jeans to adjust myself, I head for the door. I’ve got to work out these details so when the next opportunity arises, I can take it.

  8

  “We can’t escape ourselves.”

  Lara

  I have lost my mind.

  Jogging to my dressing room my body vibrates with the heat of being in Mark’s arms. My brain is drunk on his delicious kisses, and my heart is flying in my chest. It’s amazing. I don’t have to hide my true self from him, and I don’t have to act.

  He held my hand and told me to breathe. He kissed me and made me laugh. I’ve never felt so light and free and happy…

  Stopping at the back door, I close my eyes and relinquish the fight. I think of his lips at my ear and the crack in his voice when he said he wanted me. My insides clench, and I remember how we touched.

  Riding him, sliding my body against the steel rod in his jeans, I was on fire. Now I ache to finish what we started. I’ve never felt this way before… not even about Roland. I was a little girl then, dreaming of him writing songs for me and being my boyfriend.

  Now I’m a woman, and I’m dreaming of Mark as my lover. I imagine his hands on my breasts, his mouth everywhere.

  A loud crash makes me jump. Speak of the devil, Roland bangs through the metal side door and stops when he sees me. He walks to where I’m standing, facing the door to the backstage rooms.

  “Hey… I didn’t expect to see you here.” Dark eyes search my face. “Feel like going over some of the new songs?”

  “Not really.” My voice cracks, and his gaze fixes on my mouth.

  My lips are warm and throbbing from Mark’s kisses, and I know he sees it.

  “Ahh…” He steps back, turning to face the empty house. “I passed Mark out on the street just now. He seemed different somehow. Happy.”

  “Really? I wonder why.” I’m trying to keep my voice light and failing.

  “He’s a good-looking guy. Brave… Heroic even.” He starts across the stage, headed to the opposite door. “It’s too bad he doesn’t have any money. Or connections.”

  Roland continues up the aisle and out the door, leaving me alone. I read his message loud and clear. I need to get my head straight.

  Even if all I can think about are Mark’s full lips, his broad shoulders, the promise in his jeans… Roland is right. I shouldn’t be thinking about men in this place, or if I do, my thoughts should be on Freddie.

  Before Molly even opens her eyes the next morning, I’m up and pulling on my jeans and a black sweater. I spent yesterday running around the city with Mark, but I can’t afford to be so careless today.

  I’m out the side door and jogging up the alley in the direction of the library before the clock even hits ten. Stopping at a coffee truck, I use a few of our dollars to get a café au lait and a scone, then I hurry to catch the streetcar heading uptown to Loyola University, using another dollar for the short trip.

  When I reach Tulane Avenue, I hop off and toss my trash in a green metal bin before jogging up the steps of the public library. The building smells like pine cleaner and old books. The crowd is light for a Saturday—teens wearing braces and glasses, a young guy carrying a backpack—and I consider how there’s a whole different world outside the twelve-block radius beside the Mississippi River that defines my life.

  People here go to school. They have jobs and families. They worry about gas bills and tuition payments and who’s running for President. The math of tickets sold or nights in review or the density of glitter on a thong… the details of my strange existence are light-years from this place. I’m a foreigner trying to belong here.

  I find an open computer and sit down, holding my library card under the red scanner until it beeps, giving me access. Minutes pass as the cursor blinks in the white rectangle waiting for me to search for something. Anything…r />
  I consider Mark’s question. What do you want to do?

  If all I want is to be a singer, I can stay on Royal Street for that. Or head one block north and moonlight at a club on Bourbon. I have to think in this world, the world of Loyola and Tulane. I tap the mouse and type in the words jobs for young women and hit enter.

  A list appears, and I start to read. Most of them start with the word “volunteer.” I don’t know much, but I know that means working for free, so I keep scrolling. Places seeking interns—again a job where you don’t get paid. How do these people eat if they never get paid?

  More scrolling.

  A foundation seeks a grant writer. I don’t even know what that means. I’m attracted to an ad for a videographer and film editor for an independent production company making short films focused on historic sites in the city. Wow. I wouldn’t even know where to begin.

  A notepad and one of those tiny, half-pencils I’ve only seen in church sit beside the keyboard. I pick it up and make a few notes. College degree required is a common phrase in all the listings.

  Several hours pass, and my mind drifts to Mark. He wants to be a policeman, and I can see him keeping the peace. He’d look amazing in that uniform with his broad shoulders and narrow waist. I can see him in those aviator sunglasses, square jaw, and light hair. My stomach flutters and my lip goes between my teeth. I imagine the feel of nylon under my fingertips. His skin tasted salty, and his body was warm… Looking down, my notepad is covered in stars, hearts, and figure eights.

  Clearing my throat, I straighten and search a different combination of words, no college degree required. These jobs pay by the hour and take place at times I can’t work around my schedule at the theater. I have to find something that will build until I can leave the Pussycat with Molly. I can’t support us on any of these starting salaries, and at least we can live in the theater.

  Discouragement is heavy in my chest when two-thirty hits. The library closes in a half hour, and I’ve spent a whole day with nothing to show for it. Standing, I rip the sheet of paper out of the yellow legal pad and fold it several times. I shove the small square in the back of my jeans and head for the door.

  The wind is stronger now, and it’s starting to rain. I dash across the street and jog up the few blocks to the Walgreens. The metal door swishes open, and I head for the clothes section. Sliding plastic hangers across the metal bar, I choose two shirts for Molly. One is dark green with vertical white pinstripes. The other is autumn orange. They’ll look pretty with her complexion, and they won’t pull so much across her breasts. The more I can downplay her emerging assets, the better.

  Ten dollars spent, and I’m outside again, hopping on the streetcar headed to the river. When I arrive at the theater, it’s bustling with the dancers, musicians, set guys, and everyone preparing for tonight’s performance.

  Gavin is backstage, which makes everyone stress out. Roland snaps at Tanya as she warms up, and Vanessa complains to Rosa about her pasties not staying on her tits. I hunch my shoulders and do my best to disappear in the velvet wings before anyone sees me.

  “Lara!” I freeze at Gavin’s loud voice. Heavy footsteps cross the stage to where I stand clutching my Walgreen’s bag. “You’ve been shopping?”

  “Molly needed shirts,” I say quietly, doing my best to hunch to the side, pretending my waist is still in pain. It’s not, and he knows it.

  “Good. You’ll rejoin the production tomorrow night.”

  My shoulders drop, but I know. Nobody stays here for free. “Yes, sir.”

  He only studies me a moment before turning on his heel and heading back in the direction he came.

  Mark’s mention of new business drifts through my mind, and I wonder if that’s why Gavin is here.

  Vanessa’s voice goes loud. “I should be the lead tomorrow. The crowd loves what I’m doing. I bring character to the role.”

  “Lara can sing,” Roland deadpans.

  Vanessa glares at him. “I handle it as more of a speaking part.”

  “It’s a singing part.” He’s not backing down, and as much as I appreciate him fighting for me, I can’t deny my anxiety at taking the role.

  Being in the spotlight here is like having a bull’s eye painted on your forehead—or your crotch. I don’t engage. I keep my eyes fixed on the scuffed black floor and pick up the pace, headed to my room. Still, I don’t miss Vanessa’s final jab.

  “Too bad for Mark,” she sighs. “Our moments in the dark are so intimate. He knows how to touch a girl just so… Gets the fires burning.”

  Jealousy tightens my throat, and rage burns my cheeks. My eyes snap up, and daggers shoot from my glare.

  “Did I say something wrong?” Her green eyes are round, but the gleam in them says her innocence is an act.

  She’s baiting me, but I only clutch the bag tighter and push through the curtains. I’m heading to my room, moving fast through the darkness when Mark appears. It’s like the force of my possessiveness drew him. I want him to be mine and only mine.

  “Lara.” His voice is smooth, like a caress to my angry heart. “Where were you today? I was looking for you…”

  He’s in jeans and a dark gray tee, and he looks like everything good in my bleak little world.

  “I was at the library.” All the words I don’t say drift through my mind. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I missed you so much. You’ll be such a sexy cop. Don’t leave me here alone…

  “Oh, right.” He looks down and somehow manages to be even sexier in his regret. “I kept you from that yesterday. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” I smile, taking a step closer. “I mean, I wanted to go with you. I wouldn’t have missed that poboy for anything.”

  He steps closer, and his warmth makes my heart beat faster. “The poboy was good, but I thought something else was better.”

  My back is to the wall, and he leans beside me. The pull is back, the force inside me that craves his touch, his kind words, my dream of escape and safety in his arms.

  “What was it?” My words are a hot whisper, and he leans into me.

  I don’t pull away like I should. I pull closer, reaching for his shoulder, sighing from deep in my soul when his arms tighten around me. I turn my face to gasp for air as he kisses my temple, the side of my hair, my neck. His lips are a match to gasoline. I’m on fire, and logic and reason can kiss my ass—I want him.

  We kiss. Our lips unite, move apart, and our tongues collide and curl together. Heat blazes between my thighs with every pass, and I search his waist, slipping my fingers beneath his cotton shirt to his skin. A groan rolls from his throat as I trace the lines on his stomach. I want to go lower. I want to wrap my fingers around the hard muscle I feel straining in his pants.

  Our lips part, and he kisses my chin, my neck… He pauses, and his eyes fix on my breasts rising and falling rapidly under my thin shirt. I want to rip it off. I want him to devour my breasts. My body is melting from the heat, but I hear the footsteps on the stage out front. My reality trickles through the darkness.

  “Oh, Mark,” I gasp, my legs trembling as I step back. “We can’t do this here.”

  He stands before me panting, his hair tousled, his shirt loose, and God, he’s like a dream. I smooth my hair and straighten my sweater. I have to get to my room, but he stops me.

  “Wait.” I glance up, and his expression, his beautiful, caring face melts my heart. “I hope your search went well.”

  I nod, turning away so he can’t see the mist in my eyes. It didn’t go well, and in the smallest part of my heart, I’m glad. I don’t want to leave him.

  “It’s not true…” His voice is quiet. “I want you to find what you’re looking for, but I wish we had more time.”

  My eyes go to his, and I see his struggle. It’s my own reflected back at me. “I told Gavin I’d take the job.”

  “I return to the show tomorrow night.”

  We’re quiet in the face of our shared future.

  “It
’s your last night before you’re a star.” Slowly lifting a finger, he traces it along the line of my hair, a sad smile curling his lips. “Better rest.”

  I turn and run into the blackness to my little room as the passage door closes behind me. Two turns and I’m there, but I pause in the narrow hallway before opening the door. I press my fist into my chest and exhale, ordering myself to get control.

  But I can’t escape him. Images of Mark stubbornly invade my thoughts. His friendly smile, his burning kiss, his gentle touch. He promised to keep me safe.

  Is it possible we’re stronger than the forces surrounding us? I spent today learning I’m trapped in this machine… Can Mark help us escape? Shaking my head, I know my salvation won’t come in time. He’s right. I need to make the most of tonight, because tomorrow everything changes.

  Mark

  Again I’m in the darkness high above the stage, waiting.

  Gavin was pleased when I told him I’d take the job, but he was confused when I insisted I had to keep this task, up here in the dark making sure Lara doesn’t fall.

  He started to argue. My work for him doesn’t involve being on the set crew. Still, I argued I know the requirements of this position, and I’ve proven I’m willing to do what it takes to keep her safe.

  His watery blue eyes slid to my hands, and he agreed to my terms. Whether he knows my real reason, I can’t tell, and I don’t care. I don’t trust anybody up here with my girl, and I won’t risk Lara’s life as long as I’m here.

  I promised her I’d be here every night, and I won’t break my promise.

  Only this night, it’s Vanessa climbing that narrow ladder to the catwalk. With a heavy exhale, I step away, to the farthest point from the swing.

  She doesn’t wear a robe or any cover over her body. Her costume is more revealing than the one Lara wears, and it’s somehow less sexy as a result. Vanessa stands at the top of the platform in a nude thong, a network of glittering strings draping from her neck over her bare breasts, and the smallest pair of wings attached to her shoulders.