“A condition?” she asked, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.
“A medical condition which requires you to have sex at least once an hour? Be honest, my dear. There will be no repercussions, and we will make allowances as we may.”
“No, there’s no medical condition.” She straightened, wishing there was a way she could instantaneously be sitting back in her chair. “I’m sorry. I misunderstood what you were asking.”
“That seems patently clear. When I want sex from my partners, I am very direct about it.” He indicated that she should go sit down. “If I am not demanding sex from you, you may rest assured it is not desired.”
“I’m sorry,” she said again, miserably. His cool tone wasn’t mocking, but Valentina nonetheless felt mocked. “I do have a bit of a condition. I am too...enthusiastic. Too impulsive and passionate, not just with sex, but everything.”
“These are excellent problems to have, in my opinion. Before I knew you were called La Vampa, I sensed you had a bit more fire than everyone else. I need your fire, Miss Sancia.”
She stared at his broad, classically handsome face, his generous mouth. “You can have my fire, signore. As much as you want.”
“What if I want all of it?”
Did he mean—? She rose to go to him again.
“No.” He held up a hand. “I do not mean that. I mean that we are to mount a new production here in Paris. New cast, new performances, new blood. I have conceived a show about the elements, but it needs a central symbol. A flame, a fire, an explosion of life to anchor the rest of the acts. You understand? The show needs a spirit to drive it. You have this spirit and I want to use it to delight Paris audiences. The production will be named Cirque Élémental.”
“But...” She wasn’t sure what he asked. “I’m an acrobat, a banquine flyer. I don’t have an act to last an entire show.”
“Not an entire show. There will be other acts, but you’ll be the show’s figurehead, the vision on the poster. We’ll create an entire production with ten or fifteen other acts. Dance, lights, costumes, humor and pathos, feats of strength and agility. You know...circus.”
The steady tone of his voice never altered, but some deeper challenge in his gaze excited her almost beyond bearing. At the same time, he’d made it clear he wanted her artistry, not her sexual advances. He hadn’t wanted her on her knees before him. Very sad.
“I will do whatever you like, Mr. Lemaitre. Simply tell me.” She gave him a look, one she hoped communicated that she was his vessel to use, artistically or otherwise. “Whatever you want from me, sir, I am yours.”
Chapter Two: Vesuvius
Valentina squirmed on the massage table as Priya dug relentless knuckles into her latissimus dorsi muscles. It was the end of November, six weeks since she’d arrived at the Cirque, six weeks since Mr. Lemaitre took her to his office and told her he needed her spark. No, not her spark. Her fire. Since that day, she’d been burning to please him, training hard and working with Adei and Jason Beck to develop an artful and intense hand-balancing act. Unfortunately, since that day, she hadn’t seen him once.
The Cirque was building a venue in Brussels, so Mr. Lemaitre was needed elsewhere. During his absence, new acts for Élémental arrived from all corners of the globe. Valentina liked practicing her hand-to-hand act with Adei. He was alternately her pedestal, her trampoline, her stairs. He lifted her, supported her, threw her in the air and caught her. He held her motionless while she balanced on his upstretched arms. He was strong and steady for the most part, and when he wasn’t, she let him have it. They were no longer lovers.
She had a regrettable habit of getting bored fast.
Because of that, Valentina spent most of her nights at Le Citadel, the Cirque’s secret sex club. Jason had taken her the first time, along with his fiancée, Sara, who was Mr. Lemaitre’s daughter. Valentina liked Sara because she was beautiful and exotic, with light blue eyes just like Mr. Lemaitre’s, but she wasn’t sure Sara liked her. Valentina never would have flirted with Jason if she knew he and Sara were engaged to be married. Even after Valentina apologized, Sara had given her baleful looks.
Valentina had a way of alienating people even though she tried to be warm and exuberant. Jason called it “recklessness” and he didn’t like it. He warned Valentina that he would monitor her activities at the Citadel, and bar her from the club if she couldn’t control herself. People laughed and embraced at the Citadel, kissed and flirted and fucked right in the open if they felt like it. In the back rooms, men and women played more serious games. Dominance and submission. Power exchange. Mr. Lemaitre had his own private dungeon built of stone and steel, where people bowed before him and called him Le Maître, a variation of his surname that meant “The Master.” Valentina heard all this secondhand since Jason wouldn’t let her go to Mr. Lemaitre’s back room, or any of the back rooms.
“Not yet,” he said. “Not until he approves it. Those are the rules.”
But Mr. Lemaitre wasn’t around and Valentina was dying to know what went on behind those walls. She wondered what it would be like to be one of his slaves, to yield to his barely-leashed sexual power. She’d never considered such things, but she thought, with someone like Le Maître, she might enjoy it. She loved trying new things and he’d said that she inspired him...
Speaking of which, she hoped she would inspire Mr. Lemaitre today. He was finally back in Paris to judge the progress of Élémental’s acts. She hoped he loved her work. In her fantasies, he loved it so much that he rushed over and took her in his arms and whispered, “I want you,” or something gruff and demanding like that. But what if he didn’t love her act? What if she fell or messed up? She moaned just thinking about it.
Priya paused and frowned down at her. “What? I hurt you, girl?”
“No, it’s okay. Don’t be gentle,” Valentina said. “We’re performing for Mr. Lemaitre today. I need to be really loose.”
The masseuse’s dark brows snapped together. “From what I hear, you are already loose enough.”
Valentina ignored her, concentrating instead on relaxing her muscles and joints. She began a mental exercise where she visualized herself in performance, imagining her body’s alignment, the placement of her limbs, even the graceful form of her fingers. Priya moved from her shoulders to her spine, digging her palms into the vertebrae and carefully realigning them. It felt so good that Valentina moaned again. “Priya, you’re a goddess. Don’t stop.”
“Hush,” said the Indian woman.
“Oh, yes. More. That feels so good.”
Priya’s magic fingers massaged away all the tension and worry, until Valentina sailed on a sea of relaxation. A good masseuse could make you feel like a brand new person. Valentina’s moans rose with the increasing pressure of Priya’s fingers. Suddenly, the door flung open.
Jason scowled at her, arms crossed over his chest. “Just checking.”
Priya flashed him an irritated look. “Mr. Beck, I am almost done. She want to be loose. I’m making her loose.”
Jason lounged against the door frame. “I think she’s already loose enough.”
“What?” Valentina’s temper flared. “Priya made that same joke five minutes ago.”
“You might ask yourself why.”
“It’s insulting.”
“Insulting or accurate? I could hear you moaning all the way down the hall.”
Director and artist scowled at one another as Priya gave her a final pat down. “Go, you,” she said, helping Valentina up. “Do good for Mr. Lemaitre. You very loose and open now.”
Valentina glared at Jason, daring him to make another comment, but he stayed silent as he led her ou
t of the physical therapy office and down the corridor toward the practice facility. The relaxation of the massage ebbed away, replaced by the usual tension she felt at Jason Beck’s side.
He looked over at her. “Nervous?”
“No. Yes.” She frowned. “Priya doesn’t like me. I’ve put in several requests for a male masseuse. They have stronger fingers.”
He looked away to greet a passing coach, then back at her. “Males are called masseurs, and we don’t have any who are appropriate for you.”
“What does that mean?”
“We don’t have any that wouldn’t cave to your inevitable seduction.”
Valentina set her teeth. “You know, I am tired of being made fun of. I am a single, healthy woman who enjoys physical pleasure and connection. I’m safe with sex.”
“That’s good to know.”
“It’s not hurting anyone.”
“Isn’t it? Adei just stopped moping over you last week, you almost ended Peter and Silas’s twelve-year gay relationship, and now you’ve got the Russian juggling troupe at each other’s throats.”
“I didn’t realize they were all brothers. I didn’t know!” She thought a moment. “They are all very good in bed.”
“Valentina,” he said in a tone of warning. He pulled her into the smaller practice studio and shook a finger under her nose. “I appreciate that you’re comfortable in your sexuality, but you’re here to work, not seduce the entire company. If you keep causing havoc Lemaitre will step in and you won’t like it when he does.”
She jerked away and sprawled on the closest blue mat to stretch and warm up. Other performers did the same in various corners with other, nicer coaches. Because she was one of the production’s stars, she had to work with stern, exacting Jason, who scolded her all the time. Her sex life was none of his business, and as for her various partners’ interpersonal nonsense, that was no fault of hers.