Page 19 of Dancing With Lies

Roxie wasn’t interested, though.

“I’m surprised you’re even here, to be honest,” Kai said. “You normally bail on us, and people beg for invitations to this party.”

Roxie glanced over to see Emily look at her with big eyes. Emily was one of those people, but even that almost laugh couldn’t bring Roxie down from her moment of panic.

“What’s wrong?” Emily mouthed to her, but Roxie just shook her head, her face still studiously observing the wood floor.

“Well, I was getting bored sitting at home, so decided I might as well come out. Especially when Lincoln told me what this year’s entertainment was.” Trevon answered, and Roxie saw an opportunity.

“Speaking of, um, is there a changing room where I can get ready?” Roxie muttered, her hair still around her face. How was she going to perform later without any of these guys figuring out who she was?

“Martha?” Lincoln called to a passing crew member dressed in a green t-shirt and shorts. “Can you show Ms. Simpson to her room please, and when she’s ready, take her to the cinema deck where we’ve got her stage set up?”

Roxie breathed a sigh of relief as she lugged the backpack with all her gear to the room the young woman with light brown hair showed her too. She hadn’t even said goodbye to Emily and Dylan, she’d been so eager to get out of the way of the men that could identify her as someone other than who she said she was. Someone she’d learned to be over the last ten years. Someone who wasn’t the girl they’d all teased in those long-ago days when she spent so much time with June dreaming about the Paris ballet.

Roxie had showered and done her hair before she came, but she let it down to braid it while leaving lots of tendrils around her face. It wasn’t much, but maybe it would do the job. She added more eyeliner to change the shape of her eyes, contoured her nose, cheeks, and chin, and soon looked in the mirror at a face that wasn’t exactly hers. Squinting, she hoped that it was enough to throw off the suspicious eyes of the man who’d taken her virginity a decade before.

She’d seen how he looked at her, coolly but with suspicion as he examined what he could see of her face. Lincoln was smart, observant, he’d figure out who she was if she didn’t manage to avoid him for the rest of the night. Nobody had said anything about the boat leaving the dock and now she was trapped on this rich man’s playground.

Shit, shit, and holy fucking moly, what was she going to do?

She decided there wasn’t much more she could do to her face without running the risk of it all running down her skin as she performed. With numb fingers, she pulled on a pair of black lace boyshorts, a leather top that was more strings than leather, and added a garter belt over the shorts. Once her stockings were attached to the garters, she dug her black leather stiletto ankle boots out of the bag, added knee guards that somehow emphasized the look rather than took away from it, then the long, diaphanous black robe she’d wear to walk onto the stage.

The organizers of the party were supposed to set up the lighting, the stage, and the pole for her, all she had to do was walk out, perform, and come back in here to hide until the yacht returned to the dock and she could grab a cab to her hotel. That was her plan, anyway.

Her nerves started to jangle for the first time in years as she followed Martha to the cinema room and entered by one of the doors towards where the stage was set up. The area where the audience sat was barely lit and a spotlight shone down on the small stage. It wasn’t a large stage, but the room was big and she had enough room to perform.

Most of the show was a floor show anyway, a version of choreography that closely resembled that of a performance she’d found on YouTube. She heard the first driving thumps of Nine Inch Nail’s Closer, a song every dancer had in their repertoire she’d decided years ago, and took a deep breath. Time to shine.

The crowd cheered as she came onto the stage, her face haughty, daring the audience not to respond. She pranced to the center of the stage, her body taking over from her brain. She went through the steps, designed to keep every pair of eyes in the room on her, and strutted her stuff. At one point, she caught sight of Lincoln, his eyes glued to her as she headed for the pole, the second half of the song spurring her on.

She couldn’t look away from his eyes, even as she climbed up, she couldn’t take her eyes off the way his jaw clenched, even as he sipped at a glass of beer. She saw lust in his eyes, and maybe anger? Or was it jealousy? Was he jealous that he couldn’t have her or that other men were looking at her? And did he respond to every dancer like that, or had he figured out who she was?

Her thoughts didn’t show, not even for a second, as she performed the well-rehearsed routine, one of her favorites. She went up and down the pole, flinging herself out so only her thighs kept her aloft. Did he want her to dance for him like this, on him like this? Thousands of men had wanted the same thing, but she’d only ever allowed a few between her thighs.

She slid down the pole one last time, crumpled to the floor, proud of the dance that was designed to entice while taking ownership of her own body, her own sexuality. This was her place, even if it was generally men that looked at her, this was her temple, and she loved performing. It gave her life, and no man or woman could ever take that from her.

She exited the stage to loud applause and cheers for more, but Lincoln had paid for one dance, and that dance she’d just performed better than she ever had before. He’d got his money’s worth, now she was going back to her room and hiding until she could get the fuck out of here. Before he figured out who she was.

7

Lincoln

He’d barely contained himself as he watched her on that stage. He wanted to fuck her like the animal the song belted out, he wanted to drag her off the stage and hide her where no other man could see her, but he’d also been proud of how she handled herself, how she dared any man to touch her while also…enticing them. It was a head-fuck in far too many ways and Lincoln beckoned for one of the waiters to bring him something stronger.

What was he going to do with little Ms. Chloe? Roxie as she called herself now, he reminded himself for the thousandth time. He’d noted the makeup change, knew she’d recognized him, and knew she was probably eager to get off this yacht now. They weren’t heading back until the wee hours of the morning, though. That’s how this party worked.

“Good show, who the fuck is she?” Trevon asked, and Lincoln glanced over at him.

“Someone that I used to know,” Lincoln replied calmly, almost sardonically, with a tilt to the corners of his lips.

“I see,” Trevon answered, not really seeing but he knew Lincoln well enough not to push. He’d tell him if he wanted to. “She’s good.”

“She’s very good,” Kai said from Lincoln’s left, sitting on a couch they all occupied. “Is she giving another performance?”

“No, just the one. But it was enough.” Lincoln got up from the couch as he spoke and looked back at his friends. “Shall we eat?”

“Yep, I’m starving,” Trevon said and pushed up from the couch.