Page 6 of Welcome to Gothic
His words were no more than a breath, but they made her want to touch his lips, melt into his body...
Someone above jerked the rope he held, and they both came alive to their surroundings; they were onstage, with hundreds of eyes upon them, and they had seconds before they had to play the second half of the stunt. His arm slid around her waist, he pulled her tightly against his side. She gripped his shoulders with one hand, the other circled his chest and clasped the rope. He lifted her off her feet—Percy hadn’t mentioned that part—which made things easier; Wendy wrapped her legs around Hugh’s thigh. He shot her a look of approval and... something else. Something heated.
Her breath caught. This man was potent.
He placed one foot onto a knot on the rope and used the other to propel them out over the stage.
Someone above was manipulating the rope, but Hugh had given them a good shove in the right direction and they flew through the air toward the proper platform.
They both stuck the landing, hitting hard with feet flat while all around them, lions roared and elephants trumpeted.
She knew what happened now. The kiss. He had to kiss her as if he was the mighty Tarzan, king of the jungle, and she was his chosen mate.
So corny...
His lips touched hers. She breathed his breath, soaked in his warmth, found a home in his arms—
The lights went out.
Miss Lindholm jerked on her arm.
As Wendy stumbled away, she heard him whisper, “Wait for me.”
Chapter Four
Backstage was the same madness it had been before, with costumers, palm wavers, dancers and Percy gesturing frantically at the soundman to add more jungle sounds to the chase scene.
But Wendy had changed. Before she’d gone onstage, she’d been sure she had suffered a head injury and was out of her mind.
Now she didn’t care if she was out of her mind. All she wanted was to do what Hugh commanded—to wait for him. To see what he wanted, to kiss him again, to find out if that single moment of connection was more than a dream.
When she walked up to Percy, he started to slap her on the butt, then at the last minute clapped her on the shoulder. He looked terrified.
“That’s fine,” she said.
“Good job, princess.”
“Calling meprincessis not fine.”
“You’re a gosh-darned funny woman, but Miss Lindholm was so happy with your performance she said you should change in her dressing room, and you should come to the wrap party tonight up at the estate.”
“Oh. Good.” Wendy touched the tender knot on the back of her head. Would she be unconscious long enough to go to a party? To see Hugh? She hoped so, because he might be an illusion conjured up by her injured brain, but for him, she wanted to give her brain a blue ribbon.
Percy handed Wendy a folded piece of paper. “Here’s your salary.”
Wendy opened it and stared.
The date scrawled at the top was September 16, 1940.
Wendy thought about hyperventilating.Such a strange dream. So specific.Almost as if when she fell, she fell through layers of time to... this.
“Holy—” Don’t say crap. A woman in 1940 wouldn’t say crap. “Moses!”
“I know. Not bad for five minutes’ work.” Percy sounded smug.
She looked at the amount: three dollars.
Don’t spend it all in one place, Wendy.
