But I would be. For Ransom. As stupid as it sounded in my head, he was the only person who’d deserved my sacrifice. That was a one-sided, unbelievable decision that I hoped he never discovered. I would dance for him if it meant he’d find a release. If it meant he could step away from the punishment he subjected himself to, and smile a real, honest smile, just once.
“You set?” Ironside asked, leaning against the door.
I managed a final glance in the mirror, shaking my head at the long, fake curls on the wig and the deep red lipstick. It was all smoke and mirrors, meant to hide me from Ransom. Meant to give him the illusion of seduction that he could feel blindly, without any thought. It was an art form expertly executed, but I still hated it, hated why it was necessary.
The auditorium was packed as I walked through it, avoiding the crowd brimming with happy football fans still reeling from CPU’s win. The smoke was thick, the laughter like a buzz in my head that echoed. My heart raced, pounded hard as I moved around the crowd, catching no one’s gaze but the woman overhead, swinging from the rafters like a half-drunk green fairy.
No one stopped me as I walked backstage toward the private room and only the faint, quiet buzz of that crowd greeted me behind that curtain. This was the moment Ransom had craved, the same moment I dreaded. He would touch the dancer, not me. That anonymous face would greet him because it’s what he wanted. And as I twisted the silks around my arms, it was Ransom’s desire I thought about. That and the small hope that this hidden dance would heal him, if only for a little while.
The deep, electric vibration of a bass guitar, those slow, seductive moans of a sultry alto voice and I closed my eyes, tried to push away the thought of Ransom as I’d known him for over a month. I didn’t want to think about how wide his smile became when his little brother jumped on his back and weaved his arms around Ransom’s neck, refusing to let go, or how he’d stare after his parents like they amazed him. They had real love. And I guessed, as I took a breath, waited for the curtain to rise, that this small thing I did for Ransom was something like love too.
Maybe it was the thing I’d told him I never wanted starting to brim and grow inside me. Maybe I did love him. Just a little.
Ransom sat in that plush wingback, slouching like he had no energy left. He let his legs splay open, was relaxed and held his loose fist against his mouth. But his eyes were eager, hungry as I spun around on the silks. I caught the bright, anxious light in them and how steadily they followed me as I flew over that small stage.
Tonight, Ironside wouldn’t watch, I was going to make sure of that: as the beat continued, more of The Weeknd’s “Same Old Song,” I glided to the front of the stage and let the silks fall behind me. That fabric whispered over my skin and I moved, offering Ransom one glance, to the bar console and pulled off the tablecloth spread out there, walked to the small window next to the door and fitted the cloth around the molding, never once glancing at Ironside standing on the other side.
Ransom had turned to watch me as I ensured our privacy, and now that eager light in his eyes shone brighter as I moved back to the stage, to stand in front of him. That gaze didn’t dull. He expected me to take control, likely wanted me to and so I took up my position again in front of him, swaying, letting that music move me, hoping that he enjoyed the small show.
“Thank you,” he said, nodding toward the window.
That voice was low, deep and as he spoke, Ransom’s gaze caught on my subtle dance, moved with each slow grind of my hips. He was distracted, lifted his eyebrows toward me as his eyes focused on my body and with one deep dip that brought me closer toward him. Ransom’s eyes slipped up and over my body, then finally came back up to my face.
My heart raced when he licked his lips, when he rested one hand on my hip and slumped back like he needed something he couldn’t voice. “Come closer.” His voice was off, deeper than normal. “Please,” he said when I didn’t move. “I need you closer.”
I blinked, inhaled, trying hard to remember the deflection I desperately needed to keep my mind from flashing to the memory of his kiss or how Ransom was when I was Aly and he didn’t expect me to perform for him. This wasn’t how I wanted things to be with him. This wasn’t how anything should be for me at all.
But Ransom had a way of making even a request sound sweet and he pulled me toward him with the stretch of his hand and the downward cast of his dark eyes. That look had me moving, drawn to him because I cared. Drawn to him because he was all I wanted.
He took my hand and I straddled his wide legs, fitting against him as I had the first time. But the music did not lull me now, it didn’t move me like it had before and this time Ransom’s voice wasn’t calming me, telling me how it would be okay, to pretend that we wanted each other because Ironside watched. This time, he wanted me. Or rather, he wanted the anonymous dancer.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, sliding his hands over my hips to rest on my lower back. “So fucking beautiful.”
In the back of my mind he wasn’t speaking to the dancer. There was no war paint hiding my skin, no wig protecting who I was from this man. I heard Ransom whispering to me, Aly, like he meant it, like he knew who I was and still thought I was beautiful. But it was a dream, a lie I chose to believe because I wanted him. This wasn’t real, and even though I desperately wanted it to be otherwise, the way he touched me, his deep focus on me, didn’t give me nearly the same pleasure it had before.
So I pretended again because he needed me to. I willfully forgot everything else and inhaled, steeling myself to simply perform, letting the music take me away from that small, private room and the man who believed I was someone else.
The song lowered, slipped into another track and I steadied myself on the back of the chair, keeping my eyes shut tight as I came to my knees and worked a smaller, more intimate dance over his body. My hips rolled and popped, rubbing against him, and I got a little lost then, slowing my movements when the melody crawled, when that breathy background music slipped across my skin.
Ransom’s fingers stayed steady on my hips, but he didn’t guide me, didn’t seem able to do anything but follow my body, maybe needing that touch to keep him centered. I turned my head, still lost in that music, but glanced at his knuckles, and the small scratches across his skin reminded me of the day before when he’d been tortured by the roses and the reminder of Emily’s birthday. In the guise of the dancer, I reached out and pulled his hand to my lips, kissing each mark, hoping that somehow it might help to heal him, might let him know this was more than just a performance.
But it was foolish to think that this simple, gentle gesture would be able to break the spell of the powerful eroticism of the dance; Ransom’s breath came out not in a sigh of relief or pleasure, but in a lustful grunt, and he moved his fingers away from my mouth, to grip my hips again, tight.
“I love when you touch me,” he said, voice a little loud with the hint of restlessness in his tone. “Don’t stop.”
It was like taunting a starving lion with the freshest cut of bloody meat. A little groan moved in the back of my throat and I slid my fingers in his hair, closing my eyes and he pulled me close, his mouth came to my chest, hands gripping on my waist. And the faster I moved my hips, trying to keep up the pretense that I did this all the time, the harder he touched me, like he was needy, like only my skin would cool his burning fingers.
“God, I need this. I fucking need this so much,” he said, running his tongue beneath my collarbone, dipping his nose in my cleavage. “This is, okay. This is…this is fine.”
He sounded like he was trying to convince himself that touching me, having my body under his hands wasn’t wrong. Like he needed to convince himself that he was not broken. “Just…just you…only you touch me,” he said, fingernails smoothing down my back. “She…she won’t be mad.”