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He cleared his throat. ‘Pasties?’
‘Nipple shields—tassels sometimes.’
He frowned.
She gave a sigh, as if he were being deliberately obtuse, and spelt it out. ‘Tit tape.’
‘Does this mean you’re not actually topless?’
He was speaking generally, but he suddenly wanted to know specifics. Specifically Gigi, and exactly how much of her was on show.
He’d seen a screen full of topless showgirls swathed in ropes of rhinestones falling from elaborate neck-pieces, nipples peeking through. It wasn’t exactly salacious—you could see just as much flesh on most beaches in Europe—but he was a man...he knew how other men would be looking at it.
He’d got the distinct impression those were her nipples he was seeing on that screen. It took a manful effort not to let his gaze drift down to her chest, given that the real thing had been under his hands not long ago, and the memory of her nipples poking enthusiastically into his palms wasn’t going away.
More blood rushed to his groin.
No, that wasn’t going away either.
‘Bare breasts are a traditional part of French cabaret,’ Gigi said, looking blameless as sunlight. ‘But a cabaret is not a strip joint. The emphasis in French cabaret is on fun, humour and glamour. There’s no sleaze.’
‘The entertainment division of the Kitaev Group is principally gaming and music venues.’ He watched her teeth sink into the lush promise of her lower lip and found his voice had thickened again when he added, ‘No poles.’
* * *
Gigi wasn’t too sure if she believed him. Oh, she believed him about the poles, but his plan for L’Oiseau Bleu was another thing.
Gaming and music venues?
Don’t frown, she told herself.
‘You don’t look too happy about that, Gigi.’
She understood that he was humouring her, but she took his question seriously all the same. ‘I’m just concerned, given you own some pretty outlandish venues.’
He gave her a smile. ‘I admit the Oasis Pearl in Dubai is fairly over the top, but it has to be to compete.’
Gigi made a mental note to look up the Oasis Pearl on the internet.
‘And what would make L’Oiseau Bleu...compete?’ She tested out the word and tried to sound as if she knew of what she spoke.
‘Why don’t you tell me?’
Drat.
‘I’m not really a businesswoman,’ she mumbled, ‘I’m a dancer.’
‘Why did you come to me, Gigi?’
It was a good question, and one she’d asked herself many times over since she’d discovered L’Oiseau Bleu had passed into new hands.
‘I guess it’s because the other girls needed a spokesperson and I kind of elected myself.’ She met his eyes. ‘And, unlike them, I know what L’Oiseau Bleu once was, and I have an idea of what it could be again. With the right person at the helm.’
There it was. The sincerity. Khaled couldn’t deny that she appeared to believe what she said. It went against his grain to lie to her, but after her little performance on the Champs-élysées he couldn’t risk handing over the sensitive information that he was passing on the cabaret only to see it broadcast the length and breadth of Paris before nightfall.
Gigi had a mouth on her. She’d proved it.
He couldn’t risk telling her the truth.
‘The other girls are loyal to the theatre,’ she said quickly, as if wanting to disabuse him of the notion she was a one-woman crusade, ‘but I don’t think they really understand how far downhill the cabaret has gone in the past few decades...’ She trailed off. ‘Sorry, I get carried away. You don’t have to do anything. I mean, you could sell us on. It’s not as if we saw anything of the last owner.’
‘Ahmed el Hammoud?’
‘We never met him. Do you know him?’
‘I know he’s useless at cards.’ The oil sheikh’s incompetence at poker meant Khaled now possessed some nice Arabian breeding stock and a tinpot cabaret that time forgot in Paris. And this girl.
No, she didn’t come with ownership papers—more was the pity. Khaled smiled privately to himself.
‘Is that really how you ended up with us?’
He glanced her way, almost literally tripping over that shy look she was so good at giving him.
It just muddied the waters—had him wanting to lecture her on coming up to a stranger’s hotel room and at the same time wanting to drive her down backwards onto this sofa, scatter the cushions and reacquaint himself with the sweet, sensual response she’d given him in the bedroom.
