Page 30 of New Orleans Rush

But when the music amped up and he turned to strut on stage, she resumed her statue impression. She no longer wanted to paint Huxley’s face on a voodoo doll. She would write stage fright over the stuffed body and slash it to bits.

He turned, probably sensing her absence, and his jaw tightened with determination. Before she realized he was closing the distance between them, his fingers bit into her shoulders…and his lips descended on hers.

He kissed her hard, rough. She didn’t curl her fingers into his cape like she’d imagined. She didn’t even kiss him back, until his tongue brushed her bottom lip. She moaned into his mouth, opening for him. His answering grunt fanned her budding flames.

Then her hands moved.

Then she curled her fingers into his velvet cape.

Then she forgot her name and where she was and that she was supposed to perform.

He broke away. His lips were Cherry Bomb red, his eyes darkened with hunger. She was still on her tiptoes, leaning into him. “Wow.”

He caressed her upper arms. “Perform for me, Beatrice. Not for them. Just for me.”

“Will there be more kissing?”

His fingers stroked seductive figure eights on her bare arms. “After. There will be lots of kissing after.”

She wanted lots of kissing. And more figure eights. So she said, “Okay,” but her voice wobbled. Her belly was a mix of nerves and inebriated butterflies, throwing her off-kilter. Inhaling deeply, she shimmied her shoulders and forced a smile.

“Okay,” she repeated, steadier this time. She followed him on stage.

12

Huxley knew coercing Beatrice on stage was a risky move, but her deer-in-the-headlights performance still shocked him. She froze a handful of times. She turned the wrong direction more than the right. She grappled with Axel’s straitjacket buckles so long a teen heckled her. Her stunning eyes snapped wide with worry when Huxley shoved the first metal sheet through the zigzag box, and she fell onto an old man’s lap while working the audience.

Pleasure swamped him at each fumble.

Axel punched his shoulder afterward. “That color lipstick suits you.”

He touched his lips, remembering the feel of Beatrice against him. He hadn’t bothered wiping it off. “I’ll add eyeliner next time.”

“I’ll bring the blush.” His brother glanced down the hall, to where Beatrice had disappeared. “She was pitiful.”

Pitifully perfect. “She’ll get better.”

Axel removed his shirt. “At least she didn’t puke.”

“She did great.”

He smirked. “Man, you have it bad.”

He wasn’t sure how to define his feelings for Beatrice Baker, vandalizer, below-average assistant. All-around astounding girl. He just needed to see her and make sure she wasn’t crashing after her performance. Her adrenaline had no doubt ebbed. Anxiety could be setting in.

He strode down the hall and knocked on her dressing room door. When she didn’t reply, worry snaked through him. He shoved the door open. To find her dancing.

She twirled on the spot, face lit with joy. “I did it!”

Her brightness filled the room…and his chest. “You did.”

“I mean, I sucked, but I didn’t pass out.”

“We’ll call that a win.”

“I think I’m ready for the Bellagio.”

“Let’s get a few more nights under your belt first.”