Ripped (34 page)

“We need to get up, Jaz. It’s a big day today—my first as a dancer and not a spectator.”

Her head lifted from my shoulder, just enough so she could see the clock through bleary eyes. “Still got half an hour,” she grumbled. A firm hand slid from my chest to my abdomen. “We still have half an hour,” she said more clearly. “What should we do to fill in the time?”

Soft lips followed the hand that had travelled from chest to abdomen and was now reaching lower. I loved that mouth, all the things it could do and the feeling it could invoke in me, from desire to lust to sheer joy with just the tilt of her lips into a smile. And now, as her lips traced the trail down from my navel, I closed my eyes and rested my hand gently on her head. With one swipe of her wet tongue up the length of my shaft, I was like putty in her hands. Her hot mouth closed over my glans, and a shudder ran through my body. Through half-closed eyes, I watched the quilt bob up and down in time with her movements underneath, her hand and mouth in sync.

With a flick of her free hand, the quilt was off her head and I could see as she lavishly traced my length once more with her slick, wet tongue. Through messy hair, her gaze lifted to meet mine, a sexy half-smile wrapped around my dick as she hummed and watched as my back arched and I sucked in a harsh breath.

She knew every button of mine and how to push it, and went to work bringing me to the edge, then backing off right at the point when I was ready to explode. When I couldn’t take any more teasing, I fisted her hair tighter and she instantly sped up, her hot mouth taking in as much of me as it could. With every flick of her tongue, I took another step toward the brink, that point of no return.

“Keep going, Jaz,” I murmured. “That’s it.” I was seeing stars. Every muscle in my body tensed for a split second before my balls tightened and that hot release pumped through me.

She kissed her way back up and huddled in again, pulling the quilt under our chins. “Eight minutes to cuddle before we have to get up,” she said, casting a glance at the clock.

“What if I want to return the favor? Can we be late?”

She slapped my chest playfully. “Not on your first day. Besides, I wanted you to be relaxed when you walk into the theater as the newest member of the cast.”

A goofy grin spread over my face. I was finally dancing again, albeit as an understudy, but it was still doing what I loved, with the girl I loved more than anything in this world.

“People, people, gather around.” Pierre’s booming voice from the stage had everyone racing to see what the announcement was about.

I held back, but Jaz grabbed my hand and pulled me forward. I was part of the show now so anything Pierre had to say would concern me also.

“Please, take a seat.” He waited while we positioned ourselves around him on the floor. “I have some terrible news for you all.” As he spoke, he searched Jaz out, then held her gaze. Heat flushed her cheeks as he looked right through her. “We have fallen into financial difficulties.”

There was a murmur. Everyone had heard the rumors.

“A prominent financial backer has withdrawn their support for us, and we may not be able to open.” He stood silently, allowing the reality of what he’d just said to wash over us. “I know, I know. It is devastating.” He shook his head, his eyes downcast. He was such a hypocrite. If he returned the money he’d taken, we would have more than enough to continue. “But there is nothing I can do.” He held Jaz’s stare squarely. “Truly, nothing any of us can do to change the situation.”

There was more chatter among the group. Did we go home or continue rehearsals in case a miracle happened and the show did go on?

“There must be something?” someone called out.

“Another fundraiser, maybe?” Becca asked.

Pierre’s downturned face would have been comical if not for the severity of the situation. “The only way to save the show is to recast.”

My heart leapt. Was this his way of getting rid of Mikhail and casting me in the lead?

“I’m sorry, Jasmine.” He stepped closer toward us. “But we must do what is best for the production.”

My heart that had soared only moments ago plummeted to my stomach. The triumph in Pierre’s eyes was sickening and could mean only one thing—he was fighting back and had found a loophole. He had let her think she had the upper hand but he had turned the tables once more. To save the production, Jaz had to sacrifice her position. If she exposed Pierre, the show would close. If she didn’t leave, Pierre would take the money and the show would close.

“Sneaky fucking bastard,” I hissed under my breath.

“That’s bullshit,” Tiffany called out. “Jaz’s the strongest dancer here.”

The support from the other cast members was heartwarming as one after another voiced their objection to Pierre’s proposition.

“But what can I do?” he asked, hands to the side in surrender.

Standing, I took a step toward Pierre, my height and build dwarfing his lithe dancer’s frame. “Give us until the end of the week.” I had no plan and no clue how we would achieve this—all I knew was that this asshole wasn’t going to push Jaz out of the show. Looking around, I saw one by one the other dancers stand and walk toward me. We were united, and it gave me strength. “We’ll get the money … and I’ll make sure every cent is accounted for.”

Tiffany’s arm was around Jaz’s shoulder. “I’ll help. We all will.”

“And I know a great accountant who can take on the financial running of this production,” I added. “Just to make sure we’re not overspending in any one location … like Switzerland.”

The other dancers laughed at my comment but Pierre didn’t. His eyes widened, and I gave him my best easy-going smile, assuring him that I knew all his little secrets.

“So, we have until the end of the week then.” I didn’t wait for a response; I trotted from the stage as other dancers who I’d only met in passing came to pat me on the back, keen to help.

Now that I’d volunteered to find the money, there was only one thing left to do. Come up with some way to raise a couple of million dollars by the end of the week. Should be easy enough.

The trip from Greenwich Village to Chelsea was only a short one, but the architecture changed with every minute that passed. Chelsea may have once had the eclectic charm of the Village, but parts had been developed to the point where the old and new lived side by side. Janice Durbridge’s gallery was one of many in Chelsea, and all my hopes were riding on her. She had said she was a fan of Jaz’s and to call her if there was anything we needed, but that didn’t mean she would be willing to part with her hard-earned cash. Having already said she had no confidence in Mikhail, we were now going to ask her to take a leap of faith.

Jaz’s heels echoed as we walked through the gallery, the white-tiled floor and white furnishings taking nothing away from the art that hung displayed on the walls.

She was into post-modernism; I would never have guessed. I would have picked her for a lover of Monet’s Impressionism style. But the red-painted canvas with splashes of black made me wonder how anyone who thought that was art could also love dance. The two were vastly different. Dance was all about heart and soul, invoking feelings and drawing you into the story. This art looked like a cat had walked across the canvas with paint on its paws. It left me cold and detached.

The
clip-clop
of heels made me turn around.

“Jasmine, Baxter, how wonderful to see you both.” Janice hugged and kissed us both on the cheek, her genuine warmth making me relax instantly. Behind her stood a young girl of maybe ten or twelve, her posture and elfish features leaving no doubt that this was her daughter, Ophelia.

“Lovely to see you, too,” Jaz said with a grin. “And you must be Ophelia.” Jaz held out her hand to the young girl who turned bright pink but grinned from ear to ear.

She nodded and took Jaz’s hand as if it were fragile and may break.

“Hi, I’m Baxter. Your mom’s told Jaz all about you and how much you love to dance.”

I didn’t think it was possible, but her pink flush turned to a darker shade until her cheeks were scarlet.

Janice showed us to her office. As soon as we stepped through the door, I relaxed further. This was how I had imagined the woman. The chairs were big and over-stuffed so you sank into them. The mahogany desk proudly wore scratches and dents to show its age. It was a stark contrast to the gallery.

“I don’t usually conduct meetings in my office; I usually go to the boardroom, but it’s so uncomfortable.” She sank into a tapestry upholstered armchair. “I feel with you two, I don’t need to uphold the pretense.”

I chuckled, and Jaz rested her warm palm on my knee. “We’re so glad you agreed to see us,” Jaz said. “We were wondering if you’d be interested in perhaps hosting a fundraising performance for us?”

Ophelia sat forward in her seat. Maybe if Janice wasn’t keen then at least Ophelia was on board.

Janice leaned back into her chair, her fingertips bridged under her chin. “I’ve heard the rumors about the show.” Her gaze dropped to her lap for a moment before lifting back toward us. “You know I’m not a fan of Mikhail, I’ve made no secret of that fact.”

We nodded in unison. “Bax is one of the understudies now for Mikhail. Perhaps we could perform here, just the two of us.” Jaz suggested.

I could see from the corner of my eye Ophelia was nearly bursting at the seams with excitement. I held my breath. This was the only plan we had. If it failed, if she said no, then there was no Plan B to fall back on.

“This may not be a smart business move,” Janice said on a grin. “But for some reason I want you to succeed. Not just the show, but the two of you personally.” She looked over at Ophelia with so much love in her eyes. “I think we should do it. What do you think?”

Ophelia sprang from the chair with the grace of a gazelle and into her mother’s lap. “When, Mommy? How soon can you arrange it?”

“Ah, about that,” I piped up. “It will need to be within the next five days.”