Page 42 of A Certain Appeal
He frowns. “It’s not as though I’m expecting—”
“That’s not what I’m saying.” I laugh. “You may have trust issues, but I think the bigger problem is a limited imagination.”
Darcy crosses his arms, settling in. “Then please, Ms. Bennet, broaden my perspective.”
The flirtatious edge to his request inspires a score of Ming-like replies, but I keep them to myself. I have a point to make.
I hop onto the table, mindful not to bump any photos, and settle beside the purloined canapés. “The first day of my Burlesque 101 class, we’re introduced to tassel twirls. We practice, and we’re having a great time with it. It’s very satisfying.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“Out of nowhere, one gal starts crying. But she’s also smiling. She apologizes, but the tears keep flowing. And she explains, ‘I have two kids. I nursed both of them, and I never thought my boobs would do anything cool again!’ ”
“Okay—”
I throw up my arms. “Her boobs were hers again! They were fun, not functional. She was reclaiming part of herself, and it made her so happy, she cried. We all cried. It was a moment.”
I turn to face him, my knee bumping the tray between us. “I’ve been witness to so many of those moments in the scene that, frankly, it’s offensive to have someone reduce it to something purely sexual.”
Darcy nods slowly, like he’s taking this all in.
“Maybe saying ‘We all have our reasons’ wasn’t the right way to put it,” I admit. “It’s more that there’s so much to get out of performing. Onstage, being cheered for, you’re not thinking, ‘These people are pumped about this glove coming off!’ The rush comes from being celebrated, that you deserve to be celebrated. And if you get onstage and someone gives you a hard time? Sure, it sucks, but it proves you can survive a hit. And knowing you have that kind of strength in you can inform other parts of your life and make you brave enough to do other things that scare you—”
I swallow hard as the truth in my statement rings back to the inconvenient revelation from our last exchange. “If you let it.”
Beside me, Darcy is silent. His lips part, and I wait for him to say something. He only watches me. His look isn’t assessing, though there’s something thoughtful about it. I watch back.What is he seeing?
“I apologize. I can see I wasn’t respectful the other night. Thank you for being patient enough to explain.”
“Thank you for listening.” I smile as the shadow I’ve been refusing to acknowledge for the past few days suddenly clears. “You don’t have to ‘get’ burlesque. But I don’t want you thinking there’s some grand conspiracy going on onstage. It’s supposed to be fun. Fun for the performers and the audience. Whether it’s titillation or shock or amusement varies, but the audience is supposed to be having a good time. So, if you’re not experiencing that, I’m really sorry.” I grin. “Because it’s a blast.”
“Thatdefinitely comes across. Though I don’t know if that’s made it more or less disorienting, given my limited perspective.”
“Is there nofunin intimacy?”
“I didn’t say that. Though I can’t say I’ve ever experiencedshimmyingduring an intimate moment.”
“Hmm.” I fight back a smile. “Then I’m sorry about that, too.”
His smile takes that lower lip of his from appealing to irresistible. Just as I commit to searing the image into my brain, he laughs. The full-bodied sound ignites my entire nervous system. And I was right; it does feel like an accomplishment.
He’s still laughing when a “Will?” comes from the doorway.
A middle-aged woman in cat’s-eye glasses enters the office. It’s Marley, the GM. She looks at us with a mix of relief and surprise.
“Marley.” Darcy’s voice is bright. He straightens from his perch on the table, and I hop down beside him. “I’m assuming you’ve met?” He places his hand on the small of my largely exposed back. His fingers tense against me, sending a current of pleasure up and down my spine. He leans to look at the point of contact. I hold my breath.Bless you, Ming, and your many strands of sequins.
Across from us, Marley grins. “Sorry to interrupt, but I need to steal Will. I didn’t realize you were still around,” she tells him. “The caterers are looking for extra burners.”
Darcy grimaces and hisses a low, “Shit,” between his teeth, which my heart rate finds particularly appealing. “I don’t think they ended up getting ordered.” His hand leaves me, and I force down the whine of disappointment that rises in my throat. “Let’s—” He gestures to the door, then turns to me. “Sorry, Bennet. I’ll need to figure this out and then—” He checks his watch. “I was supposed to leave half an hour ago.”
“Oh?” The part about leaving sounded like an apology.
“Feel free to stay up here if you’d like.” His gaze scorches over me again. “Will you be around midweek?”
“You know where to find me.” My response is breathless. I remember we’re not alone and turn to Marley. “Thanks again for everything. Good luck with the burners.”
She smiles broadly, eyes darting to Darcy and back to me. “Anytime.”
