Page 2 of Savage Temptation
Of course, he doesn’t know it, but I’m only three streets over from the man I nearly married. I had the white gown, all the lilies a girl could want and the pretty little cake.
His biker brothers must all hate me, too. They probably use a picture of me for dart practice over rounds of beer and bourbon.
I grimace at the thought. I wish it had turned out differently for us, but my father’s actions sealed my fate.
Now I’m burned out, overworked and want nothing more than to fall into Jagger’s arms and ask him to take me back. The worst part is, I’m stuck. My father is dead, but my younger sister is very much alive. I stay because I’m the only person keeping her safe.
I kick off the tight, open-toed heels—high enough to stake a vampire—and toss them onto the growing pile with the feathered headdress. The mirror in front of me reflects a girl who looks put together, but frankly it’s all a mask and a ton of makeup hiding the dark circles under my eyes.
My heart hurts and I don’t know what to do about it. I sure as hell don’t deserve any kind of rekindling with Jagger. Even thinking about it is ludicrous. Besides, Oliver has his hooks so deep in me, my soul feels the bite of the piercing metal. The last time I checked, I have another five years on a contract with him. If I don’t honor it, he’ll put me in the bayou as lunch for thegators. I’ve seen the monster do it, so I know what I’m talking about. And then he’ll go after my sister.
My head has a lot to say about my current situation, but my heart softly hums another truth that is hard to ignore. Twenty minutes is all it would take and I could set my eyes on the deliciously tattooed temptation and no one would have to know.
Yeah, right.
Jagger would probably put a bullet between my eyes before he ever swung the door open and welcomed me back into his life.
Tonight is my last night in New Orleans, anyway. Two weeks of gluing my feet to the boundaries of this theatre has kept me out of trouble. I only need to make it another sixteen hours, and we are off to New York.
I have one more show to perform tomorrow and then… I sigh deeply. “And then what, Emilia?” I ask myself. Another show, another city. My brain says go and search out the one man in this town I should never go looking for. I grab the remote and change the fucking gothic music playing on screen. No wonder I’m depressed as hell. I flick the channel to anything and immediately get pulled into a sight I never expected.
A whoosh of air jolts me out of my pity party.
“Hey girl! Great show tonight. You slayed out there. I think all the girls wanna be you and the men want to beinyou. If you know what I mean.”
My friend, and fellow burlesque artist, as she likes to call us, waltzes her tall, feminine frame into our shared dressing room. She looks every bit the sexy siren she sounds like, draped in redfeathers and glittering with every sequin you could possibly fit onto two seashells and a barely there bottom piece.
We’re basically wearing the same thing, only she looks a million times better.
“Me?” I quip, running my eyes up and down her figure. “You’re a walking sex announcement.”
Her ruby red lips form a broad smile. “You know it, baby girl. You know it.” She grabs a tube of the same lipstick and reapplies. That’s when my eyes fall to the roses on the dressing table.
I’ve told Oliver a hundred times not to let the audience back here. That’s how showgirls get plastered on the evening news as some stalker’s hacked up victim.
I grab the bundle of roses still wrapped in decorated paper with one destination in mind.
“Hey where are you going lookin’ like you want to murder the flower boy?”
I get to the door and turn to Jada. “To give these back.” I pluck the little note card from its holder and flip it over with a sigh of irritation. “They’re not even for me.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, they are for Oliver of all people.”
Jada’s lips quirk into a half smile. “He’s not happy with you, by the way. Don’t think he didn’t see you duck out before the encore.” I meet Jada’s green eyes through the reflection of the mirror.
I lift a shoulder in defiance. “Everything makes that man mad.”
Over Jada’s shoulder I catch the flash of red and blue lights filling the flatscreen, but it's the glowing neon sign in the distance that has my heart seizing and my feet glued to the floor.
I wave a hand at Jada. “Hey, turn that up.” I don’t believe what I’m seeing…
“Good evening. We’re live in New Orleans tonight with breaking news from the French Quarter, where tragedy struck at the popular Voodoo Lounge late last night. Authorities confirm three college-aged patrons were found unresponsive inside the club. While the official cause of death has not yet been released, law enforcement sources tell us that the dangerous synthetic known as ‘Euphoria’ may have been involved. The drug…”
My stomach churns with disgust and horror. Once a long time ago the Voodoo Lounge meant something to me.
The reporter goes on but the words turn into a dull murmur when a man with long raven hair and eyes the color of smoky obsidian comes into view.
